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fortheloveoffanfic · 9 months

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Daylight

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Author's note: Sort of AU; Grace is alive and runs the children's home herself. Do I make this a thing or nah? Summary: Tommy's affair with a school teacher employed at his wife's charity venture reaches a cross roads. Masterlists Warnings: Angst, infidelity

Sometimes, the shame of what they’ve been doing feels like punishment enough. The ache in her chest when she looks in the mirror, the pinch in her soul when she catches the lingering scent of him on her sheets and the bruises that she’s earned from trying to scrub his touch off her skin in the bath- it feels cruel enough to make her stop.

But she hasn’t.

Because when he shows up at her door, or she picks up the telephone and its his voice on the other end, her guilt melts, only to be replaced with pride and something that’s akin to a pleasant flutter in her chest. When Thomas touches her, the rest of the world fades away and for an hour or two, they’re in a realm of their own, where the poison tastes like wine and sin feels like the closest thing they’ll ever get to heaven. Perhaps it is.

What if the warmth of his embrace and the feel of his mouth on her neck is the closest she’ll ever be to paradise and the sound of his voice rasping sweet nothing and empty promises in her ear is the only and truest happiness she’ll ever get?

What if it starts and ends with Thomas? Heaven, hell and everything in between.

At times, Y/n can swear he feels the same. When the room goes dead silent while he’s getting dressed or he takes care to not speak her name when they’re on the phone speaks volumes to the guilt he harbors. And even if it shouldn’t, and she doesn’t understand how, it gives Y/n some comfort that he feels the same too. At least its something else they share, something that transcends the weight of his body on hers; a burden that binds them.

The burden she feels privileged to bear; at least Thomas chose her, his eyes search the room for hers and he seeks her out in private moments. She’s special to him, at least, Y/n hopes she is.

She has to be, else she’s just another mistress, lurking in the shadows and lurking in the background of another woman’s marriage.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, eh?” The tips of Thomas’ fingers trail up and down her spine as she traces the tattoo on his chest.

“Huh?” Having lapsed into deep thought, Y/n missed half his question.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” He repeats, “You’ve been….lost in your head all evening,” he raises his hand a little to thread his fingers through her hair.

“Oh,” Y/n elicits softly, “I’ve just been….” She knits her brows as doubt creeps in; what if she is just a mistress? What if Thomas is just waiting for the next best thing to catch his eye before he moves on from her? If Grace, the woman who he’d been entrapped with from the minute they met couldn’t keep him on the straight and narrow, then she can’t be much more than a good Friday evening.

“Do you think….” She hesitates before continuing, wondering if she even wants the truth. “Do you think….you ever might stay one day?”

Thomas hums in contemplation, “Grace might take Charles to Ireland to see her family next month, maybe I could-”

“I don’t mean like that,” Y/n rolls over and out of his embrace, tucking the worn duvet under her chin in a manner that feels almost childish.

Sighing heavily, Thomas reaches to give her hip a squeeze before shuffling closer, “Oh come on,” he chides lightly, “Don’t be like that sweetheart,” he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Blinking away a wave of moisture that prods at her eyes, Y/n huffs, “Be like what?” She retorts defensively.

Exhaling again, Thomas skirts around her question, “Let's not ruin our afternoon, yeah? Why don’t we open the bottle’a wine I brought? Its one you like,” he offers, hoping the problem is one he can solve with expensive liquor.

“I don’t want wine,” she spats bitterly.

“Then what do you want, eh?” Thomas gives her hip soothing rub and she clutches the fabric tighter, “Tell me and you’ll have it. Fuckin’ anythin’.”

“I just told you want I want,” Y/n huffs, shifting so she can settle on her back. Lifting her hand, she reaches to touch his face. Slowly, she drags the back of her fingers up the side of his face, caressing his sharp cheekbone, the tip of his ear and then the side of his head. “Why don’t you ever stay?” She asks softly, searching his eyes.

“Its complicated, you kn-”

“Its been complicated,” Y/n rolls her glassy eyes and sniffles. “I love you,” she professes in a hushed, pitiful tone, “But I hate this,” Y/n admits just as Thomas lifts his hand so the tips of his fingers graze her cheek. When he doesn’t respond with anything more than icy blue eyes searching hers, she continues, “It feels like we’re trying to outrun something,” she looks past him, to the plain ceiling above.

Thomas doesn’t return the profession of her affections, he never has and Y/n often thinks she’ll never hear those words from his lips. But in the absence of them, she’s interpreted every minuscule action- and inaction- to mean that he does love her. The tenderness of his touch, his forehead pressed to hers after they kiss and his arm curled around her shoulders pulling her close.

Knitting his brows, Thomas regards her curiously, “What do you mean?” His thumb traces her jaw and he searches her eyes, ��We’re good, everything’s alright,” it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is her.

Swallowing thickly, Y/n shakes her head, “Its not,” she sits up, taking handfuls of the sheets up with her to guard her modesty and Thomas shifts to slide an arm across her back and tuck her into his side, “I see it in your face all the time. That guilt; You don’t want to do this to…” Y/n can’t even bring herself to say Grace’s name, “Her.”

He doesn’t offer an immediate response, which is enough to tell Y/n that she’s right. “Its complicated,” Thomas eventually repeats.

Licking her lips, Y/n scoffs, “Is it complicated or is everything alright?” Sniffling, she turns her face towards the wall to her left, pale yellow flowers decorating light pink paper, the orange glow of the evening sun making it seem a bit brighter than it usually is.

He’s going to leave soon, like he usually does. She doesn’t even know why she even bothered asking him to stay when she’d known the answer before it came.

“Why’re you changing your mind on me, eh?” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, “What we have is good. You get what you what, I get what I want; it works.”

His words cut deep; they make whatever it is they have between them seem so transactional. His certainty scares her too; is that what's always been to him? Money and sex?

Y/n has never been a prostitute, before Thomas she held herself in high esteem; she’s a school teacher at his wife’s orphanage, she doesn’t give herself up to just any man, especially not married ones- but he’d walked into that place one morning and her whole world had been turned on his head. He roused a flutter in her stomach that she’d never felt before and his crude charm was unlike anything she’d ever come across. She’d known he was married even then, she knew whose husband Thomas was, but Y/n couldn’t resist his offer to dance at the orphanage’s annual Christmas party or his flirtations when he’d led her to a vacant balcony.

“I like you,” he’d said, lips close to hers and fingers curled under her chin.

He liked her. She liked him too.

“Have you ever been to London?” She hadn’t, but she should’ve said no, “I have a place there, a club. Lots’a rich fuckers,” he’d chuckled and she’s smiled, “But fuckin’ good champagne. I’d like to take you.”

Y/n should have said no, she sometimes wonders what would have happened if she had.

Would someone else have come along after? Would Thomas have persisted in his pursuit?

“Not anymore,” Y/n shakes her head, “Not for me,” sniffling, shrugs off his arm and reaches for her slip, which hangs off an iron bedpost. Suddenly embarrassed to be naked around him and burning with the desire to cover up, she tugs on the silk garment and pulls in down her thighs as she shuffles out of bed.

As she stands, Thomas reaches for her hand before Y/n can walk away, “What can I do, eh? Mm?” His calloused thumb caresses the back of her hand as he gazes up at her with wide, desperate eyes, “Why don’t we go away for a weekend? London, the country- whatever you want.”

Licking her lips, Y/n glances down at their joined hands, “Will you go home after?” The question ushers in a period of tense silence and Thomas averts his gaze for a moment.

“Y/n,” he breathes her name and just for a moment, she thinks Thomas is going to give her the answer she’s hoping for- or at least, a worthwhile lie. But when he doesn't, a lone tear slips past tangled lashes and warms its way down her cheek. “You know its not that easy for me.”

“Well this isn’t easy for me either, you know,” Y/n wretches her hand away and hastily swipes at her face, “Next time your bored of your life,” she shakes her head and by then the tears are falling, unchecked, “You should stay home,” her voice breaks and her throat burns.

Gathering the sheets around his hips, Thomas rises from the bed to follow Y/n as she heads towards the door of the adjoining bathroom, “Sweetheart, think about this, eh,” he tries to reason placatingly, “You don’t want to do this.”

She really doesn’t.

“Doesn’t matter,” Y/n swallows thickly, pausing as she reaches for the knob, “Please….just go.”

When Thomas reaches for her arm, she lets him, almost forgetting herself and submitting to his comfort. “Neither of us want that,” he offers quietly, “Please don’t do this to me,” he pleads.

His desperation seems so genuine that Y/n briefly considers back-tracking. Briefly. But she can’t keep living like that; in the shadows, like a crime. She cannot stand to be just another thing that he needs to atone for; another regret on his ever-growing list.

And she’s starting to hate that he’s even made her one in the first place.

“Just go!” In a fit of unbridled anger, she snatches her arm away and then pushes at his chest when Thomas tries to get closer, “Just go and leave me alone!” She snarls, “Go back to your fucking wife,” a sob punctuate her words and Y/n bends her head as she cries, “And leave me alone.”

“Is that what you want, eh?" He swallows harshly, "For me to leave you the fuck alone? So you can....fuck!” She knows he can come up with a million insults that'll hurt as much as a serrated blade hacking away at her heart, but Thomas spares her and she can only hope because deep down, she does mean more to him than a good shag. In the absence of razor sharp words, Thomas’ jaw tightens and his gaze hardens, matching her fury.

It takes a handful of seconds before she finds the resolve to answer, but when she does, she lifts her head and squares her shoulders, “Yes.”

Mirroring her defiance, Thomas’ grip on the sheet around his hips tightens until his knuckles are white, “Fine.”

For a solid minute, they linger there, her back to the bathroom door and Thomas in the middle of the bedroom. She can’t tell whether or not he’s hurt, he’s always been good at protecting his feelings- she’s never known anymore about him that he’s wanted her to.

And yet, Y/n thinks she’s as close to him as anyone could be.

But no more.

“Y/n-” The minute her name leaves his lips, Y/n turns abruptly and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door so harshly behind herself that the frame rattles. Lurching forward, she drops to her knees and turns on the hot water and still gripping the glass knob with one hand, she holds onto the lip of the porcelain tub with the other as her loud wails join the sound of falling water.

At least she doesn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #fanfic #daylight

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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Fool Me Once (part 5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (Aegon ii x reader 👀) (wc: 6k)

Summary: As the further truths are uncovered, the battle for the Iron Throne begins

A/N: soooo, I said part 5 would be the last part, but in typical annoying writer fashion I’m not so sure now 😭. Either way, I truly cannot express how grateful I am for all the followers, and support I have received since starting it. I consider fmo my brain child but our baby with how interactive people have been. I’d love to get feedback or request on what hotd stuff you guys want to see from me. My inbox is always open so please let me know how you liked fmo (any thoughts or headcanons) and what you want to see 🫶🏽

Fmo masterlist

“We should run away to Yi-Ti.”

You look up from Aemond’s desk at Aegon with an exasperated expression. It was not the first time Aegon had thrown out the idea of leaving King’s Landing for good. There always an idealistic nature about Aegon that is as sweet as it is delusional. You know the guilt he would feel about leaving, and he knows you would too.

I have a dragon we can who can drop us anywhere. I can shave my head and we can change our identities

“You are supposed to help me be looking for this map,” Not bothering to give the same speech you tell him every time he brings it up.

Gently placing everything where you found it, you squat down to check the cabinets of the desk. Aemond kept his study annoyingly tidy, and you are sure we would notice if anything were out of place. The last thing you need is another argument.

There are multiple books, all of them relating to Westerosi histories, and a plethora of written works of poetry. Nothing stands out till you find a pile of letters. Your throat tightens. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but now the situation has moved past just Aemond wanting to be with someone else. It affects your kids, your relationship with everyone in the family.

You are just tired, and you just want it end. Or at least to have some sort of closure through an explanation or an apology. You are not holding your breath for the later.

With a sigh, you sit, slumped against the wall. Across from the desk. Noticing you are out of his view, Aegon walks around the desk and sits next to you. The two of you sit in silence before Aegon speaks.

“We can skip dinner,” he suggests softly. “I am sure our absence will not be noticed.”

It is a lie. You both know that if you do not show up, you will be in for an earful from Alicent. Especially now that Viserys has finally worked up the strength to leave his chambers. Aegon reaches over to grab your hand. You look at the large ring on his pinkie finger. The golden scales an ode to Sunfyre. Even with all the problems Aegon has with family, he has always fully embraced his dragon. A bond you have never seen before between rider and dragon. You run your hand over the cool metal.

“You know, despite my hesitance towards dragons, sometimes I am envious of you guys for having them.” you laugh flatly. “It is not even the beasts themselves, but everything they represent. This strange strength that means you are better than everyone else. A free pass for destruction.”

The past year and a half had been a sobering one. You feel so disconnected from yourself. Depleted by actions outside of your control.

“But then I think maybe it is good I do not have a dragon; or more so I do not have the power that comes along with it. I have spent my whole life doing exactly what I was supposed to, just to still get dealt a hand of misfortune,” you murmur emotionless. “I fear that there was tiny seed of hate put in me when I first found out about Aemond’s actions, and that everything that has happened since has only made me more bitter and revengeful. I was told that fighting wrong doings with more destruction was never the answer. I do not know how much I believe that now.”

You look over at Aegon with an illegible look in your eyes. “I would go mad with the things I would do with that kind of power.”

Aegon swallows thickly. Honestly, his first instinct is to make a joke. You, the girl who got teary eyed when she learned about the field of sheep kept in the Red Keep for the dragons, speaking with such gravity. But his eyes travel to the faded scar on your arm and back up to you. The harm done to yourself, grief-stricken eyes, and tired frown. He’s only seen that type of look on his mother. The most persistent person he has ever known, and probably will ever know. She wakes up every day to tend to a man that has never done right by her and run a kingdom she did not want in the first place. There is a simmering type hate in your eyes that he is sure only comes from being around his family for too long.

He wonders if this is how his mother felt when she had him. Young, exhausted, and utterly pissed.

“You are not the only one who feels that way,” he softly. “But - you cannot let it get the best of you. Once you get in that place, it is hard to get out.”

You know he speaks from experience. Resentment leaves a bad taste in the mouth of those who feel like life has let them down.

You want to say that another worry is what will happen if you ever find equal footing with the men in your life. Would the spell wear off you were a flight risk? Would you be seen as a volatile powder keg if not a maiden to come to the defense of? Would you be seen as the prize in his eyes if you were not in the position you ate in? In that moment, you think you should tell him about what you let his grandsire do. If anyone would understand, it would be Aegon. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder.

You do not have the words for that just yet.

————

The search for the map in Aemond’s study goes unsuccessful. You decide to change tactics. There is a slight uneasiness you get digging through his things in the chambers. Soft whiff of lavender and citrus hit you nose as you look through folded clothes of his. You heart rate spikes when you see a scroll of thin parchment. Looking back to check the door, you then unroll the paper.

There is various lines and arrows, but the words are all in high Valyrian. You have picked up and word here and there since being in the Red Keep, but not well enough translate every word. Instead, you follow the arrows. Walking around the room in a way you are sure would look silly to someone if they walked in.

You find yourself in front of the small outline wall next to your clothing wardrobe. Blinking blankly at the wall, you frown. You run your fingers gently across the fabric on the wall. The deep red and gold stitching smooth under your hands. You push harder than intended and gasp when the wall swings open.

In front of you are stairs that lead down a pathway. A tunnel. You do not venture too far, but you see where the path is leading to. Daemon had given Aemond a direct line to outside the Red Keep. And a direct line for anyone to come in.

But why?

As you walk down the tunnel, something shiny catches your eye on ground. You pick up a single earring. A gold plaited coin earring. It is oddly familiar, but you cannot seem to put your finger on who it belongs to.

All you do know is that someone has been using the tunnel recently.

A part of you wanted to storm through the castle and find Aemond. Have him explain what the Seven Hells has been going on. Or if he even used the tunnels. But you surprise yourself when you knock on the Hand’s study door. Perhaps he is not the best person to go to in this state. You know it is not comfort you will find. But for all his faults, Otto Hightower will tell you want you need to hear or at least you will have his ear.

You are now not naive to how much Lord Hightower seems to want to keep you around.

After it was decided Aemond and you were to get married, you were not clueless enough not see the clear advantages not only for you house, but also for his. Your only naive thought being the mutual benefit would keep you safe or protected.

When you walk into the study, you find Otto sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. You know Viserys’ surprise appearance at the petition hearings rattled him as much as it pleased Rhaenyra and her family. You do not know where to begin or what you are even expecting of this conversation.

“Did you know about the tunnels,” you blurt suddenly. “The ones that run under the castle.”

In typical Otto fashion, his face does not give anything away. But he does shake his head, and gestures for you to continue.

“I…. I think Prince Daemon may have had something to do with my… problem.”

That makes Otto lean forward in his seat, the mention of Daemon clearly stirring something in him. You aren’t ready to put anything on Princess Rhaenyra yet. Partly because you are still wonder where her limits are opposed to seeing exactly how Daemon operates. And because just saw what happens when you question Rhaenyra, even if you have proof or a valid criticism.

“And if they had something to do with her, I cannot help but wonder if they had something to do with what happened to Alaric’s blanket,” you still shudder thinking about it.

You already had a deep sense of guilt since giving Otto the go ahead to find Alys. Taking a life is not something you want on your hand and conscious, and it only doubles knowing how this all could have been a perfectly plotted scheme. Your anger at your husband reaches a new level. Whether Alys was the shiny poisoned apple or a woman in love that has gone rouge, this still involves your kids.

“It seems your family’s influence is something many have noticed,” Otto finally speaks, voice gravely and tone even.

Your brows furrow. “They think threatening my son is going to make me tell my parents or uncle to back Rhaenyra’s claim?”

Your grandsire was an old man by the time Rhaenyra was named heir; your uncle took over for your house shortly after that time. And your uncle was just as thrilled as your parents when you married Aemond, clearly excited to have familiar ties to the Targaryen family. Now that you thought about it, you had never asked him where he stood when it comes to Rhaenyra being heir. But based on knowing how your family acquired their wealth and how they operate, they have never been ones to stray from tradition. Despite your grandsire bending the knee to Rhaenyra, you get the feeling everything is up the air especially with you being the good sister to the other possible claim.

“No, dear girl,” Otto sighs, eyes growing tired. “But I am sure they think you feeling unsafe here and having no love for your husband’s actions will.”

Your mind goes back to Rhaenyra’s offer. You are always welcomed at Dragonstone.

They hoped you would seek refuge in them, and in turn feel compelled to drop any allegiance you have to this side of the family. Did they know about how close you had grown to Aegon or to Helaena? Or that even through this turbulent time, you still find yourself having a soft spot for Alicent. You are sure they would reassure your safety if you ever switched side, but you know your safety was not a priority to them. Only the men or ships that would come with it.

“I am not shocked Daemon would go to such lengths, if true,” Otto says. “I would say I am shocked Rhaenyra would go along with it, but the Princess has always found a way to involve herself in things while feign innocence.”

His words make you raise a brow. You never knew if the Hand’s anger towards the Princess came from how she treated Alicent or his grandchildren, or if it came from the pressure he felt to get Aegon on the throne. Perhaps it is Alicent, even all this time and animosity, still craving a relationship with Rhaenyra that eats him up the most.

“You do not need to worry about that. Everything will be put to rest once the rightful heir is put on the throne, and any possible threats have been ridden,” his tone turns stern. You scoff sardonically in response. This is never going to end till there is a clear winner, and win to means there was a fight. War. That would only start if…

“The Queen would never let you do that. Usurp the throne or kill Rhaenyra,” you say immediately. Otto eyes narrow; the tell. It will always be Rhaenyra for his daughter, and it burns him inside. But that can be used in your favor. “Not unless she had more reason to. Rhaenyra could be a good queen for all we know, but her brazenness will always be her pitfall. Now she has Daemon at her side. Spilled blood is clearly not something he is worried about.”

You sit back in your chair and think for a second. Entitlement is like a dangerous herbal, and many members of this family get off on it.

“If you want Aegon on the throne, it may be best to take your time with this. Give Rhaenyra the chance to do what you think she does best… mess it up.”

By the time the power struggle between Rhaenyra and Daemon finally comes to fruition, maybe Aegon think differently. Your mind goes to Aemond, stewing silently about how his brother manages to get everything handed to him. You bite back a smile. Is a miserable existence to always be in the cards for him? If being with you is so terrible to him, maybe that is exactly what he deserves.

“I think I know how to start this off.”

———

You leave Otto’s study, but not before he leaves you with a long, meaningful glance and tells you he needs to discuss somethings with others. You assume it is the council, but you have a feeling his daughter is not privy to that.

The next time you see everyone is at dinner. Your eyes strained on the empty plate in front of you. A sick feeling coming over you every time you look down the table at Daemon and Rhaenyra. A large gap for the king between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

There is something unsettling about how everyone seems to think what happened in the Grand Hall was nothing. You all saw a man beheaded, and now are to sit down to a "family meal" at the behest of the King. The only mention of Vaemond comes in a prayer from Alicent; you catch the eyeroll given by Daemon. The lives of others are expendable if it prolongs or prompts up whatever claim is being fought for.

False promises do nothing to move you while that is all that makes up the Targaryen family. False promises to make up for future deceit. The gull of Viserys to plea for peace when many the broken relationships in the family can be tied to him. Tied to his indecisive, feeble reign as a king. The King That Never Should Have Been perhaps.

A sick sense of irony rushes over you watching his rioting body and empty eye socket while sitting next to Aemond. You have learned that the Gods can be deliciously cruel.

The crown not stand strong is the House of the Dragon remains divided

It’s all flowery words that seem to go in one ear and out the other for your peers. You can tell by the way Aegon’s eyes gloss over, Helaena brows burrow as she fiddles with whatever butterfly Aegon gave her, and how Aemond’s back stiffens that this final push for family unity comes too late. But it seems that all the older adults in the room are moved by the Viserys' speech, or at least Alicent and Rhaenyra are.

You and Otto, sitting across from each other, share a look when Alicent says that Rhaenyra would make a fine queen. The Queen and Princess exchange shy smiles and peripheral glances; for a moment, they look like young girls, untarnished by the world around them.

Your eyes catch Jacaerys’, and he gives you a warm smile. You try to replicate it to the best of your ability. None of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s children have done anything to make you suspicious of them, especially Baela and Rhaena. But you do notice how Lucerys never seems to look you in the eyes. You are still trying to figure out if that is a byproduct of you being Aemond’s wife or if he is privy to information.

When you were receiving offers for your hand, Jacaerys’ name had come up by members of your house but was instantly shut down by your parents. Though the idea of you being future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was tempting, but they did want to risk the embarrassment of the worst kept secret being spoken. Marrying a bastard was not the vision they had for you, Queen or not.

But when the music behinds, you do get an idea.

“I going to dance,” you whisper to Aemond.

“You know I do not like dancing,” Aemond sighs, and Aegon gives you a look at the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes at him. You remember the lecture his mother had to give him before the wedding festivities about being a good sport, and dancing with you.

“I never said I wanted to dance with you,” you hiss at him, and get up. You feel Aemond and Aegon watching you as you walk to Jace.

“I was wondering if we could dance,” you hold your hand out. Eyes going from Jace to Baela. “If your betrothed is fine with it of course.”

Baela gives you a good-natured shrug and smile. Jace looks surprised by your offer, but nonetheless grabs your hand and leads you to the free area near the table. You turn back briefly to see Aegon and Aemond look at you with mirrored looks of disbelief and disgust. You have duck your head to keep from laughing.

“I have to warn you I am not much of dancer,” Jace smiles as you begin to dance. “But I am sure I cannot be any worse than my uncle.”

You raise a brow at the comment but say nothing. While you are dancing, you see Viserys get carried out. The fact that he has lived to this point is a marvel… and a confusion. He refuses to go away.

“I do hope after that all of this, our families can see each other more often,” he lowers his voice slightly. The sentence seemed sincere enough, but he has also grown up having pretend half of him does not exist. If it is something Alicent and Rhaenyra’s children have in common, it is knowing when to put on a front. They learned it beautifully from their mothers. “I am sure Daella would appreciate seeing Dragonstone. And the girls would love you around.”

There is that mention of Dragonstone again. Before you can even reply, a commotion disturbs you. You turn to see Aemond standing with a drink in his hand.

“I want to make some final tributes,” a small smirk comes onto his face, and his eye flicks over to you. “First, to my dear wife. A gracious mother, and always keeps me on my toes.”

Your face gets hot when everyone’s eyes turn to you. Alicent looks at her son with a nervous look in her big eyes, confused by his sudden need to speak after a dinner of silence.

“And to health of my nephews - Jace, Luke, and Joffrey,” a sinking feeling comes into your stomach. There’s a glint in Aemond’s eye that you recognize all too well, and know not to trust. You see Jace’s shoulders tense at the mention of him and his brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise…. Strong.”

Your throat tightens. Even putting aside, the absolute irony of that coming from him now, you all just saw what happened to someone who questions the parentage of them. And now he is doing here in front of everyone.

“Aemond,” you begin, not even caring to use formalities with him. He cuts you off and continues.

“Come, let us drain our cups to the three Strong boys.”

And of course, to make matters worse, Aegon confidently raises his goblet in the air. They’re imbeciles. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Jace punching Aemond, Aemond pushing Jace with ease, to out of the corner of your eye, Aegon slamming Luke’s face into the table. You wince at the scene before you as Helaena gets up to move you out of the way of the guards restraining Jace and Luke.

Alicent and Rhaenyra both get up from the table, yelling at their boys to stop. You take notice of the roasted pig on the table; you had heard about the pink dread prank from Helaena. It was never something you pushed with Aemond or Aegon, knowing it led to a large rift in their relationship. You know they love each other; you can tell by the way they backed each other up that they do. They just do not have the words to express their love, or their pain.

A dinner that was meant to bring everyone together ruined. There will probably always be too much bad blood, and not enough honest or apologies for reconciliation. Before Daemon leaves the room after staring Aemond down, he gives you a smile filled with mirth. A chill runs up your spine.

You watch as Alicent all but walks up to Rhaenyra, eyes soft and pleading. She gently rubs her arm as they smile at each other.

With the dinner going wrong, Aemond stalking out of the room, and learning about the map - everything seems to be put into perspective. As you watch your good mother, you wonder if that is how you will be with Aemond. Always waiting and ready for reconciliation, even despite mistreatment. Foolishly dismissive to how you can be hurt again if it means just moments of reprieve. Or maybe a better comparison would be Rhaenyra and Daemon. Knowing exactly what situation you got into, but still finding yourself wanting more because you thought you would be the exception. Both scenarios mean being in a constant loop of love and hate, praying for the day you reach apathy.

Rhaenyra seems to share Alicent’s warm disposition. Everything is warm and lovely when Rhaenyra smile. She is the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Even with the little time you have spent around Rhaenyra, you see how she operates. It is the way all Targaryens are treat her like the world revolves around her, and she’s yours. Entitlement and confidence used to mask a hallow shell, a trait she shares with her husband.

The possible reconnection of old companions would be a sweet affair. Instead, you finally get the complaining Aegon does about his half-sister. To hear the praises of those who have little regard for you.

Daemon giving Aemond the map, Alys introduction into your life, Rhaenyra telling you Dragonstone will always be a place you can go, and your families ties to this family are all connected. The same way your marriage to Aemond was always leading to something.

It was always a question you pondered since coming to the Red Keep. Does the Iron Throne corrupt those who vie for it or do those who vie for it corrupt the Crown itself?

Now not only have you been caught in the crossfire, but you children as well. And who knows what will come of the rest of your family once King Viserys dies. One thing you do know is that you will not leave any stone unturned by the time Rhaenyra tries to sit the throne. If your involvement is what they want, your involvement is what they will get. If your happiness and well-being is worth the price of the throne, what would happen if it was taken away right when she had it? Like your stability or sanity, ripped away without any caution or care.

This power that Rhaenyra is sure is hers to claim. The one that those want so badly for Aegon. The seat Aemond watches enviously as Aegon scoffs at the idea of it.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you call out after her before she leaves the dining hall. You reach out to grab her hand in a similar manner to Alicent. “I want to talk with you about Dragonstone.”

If they are willing to rip each other apart for the Iron Throne, so be it.

Aegon and Aemond stare at you like you have three heads when you tell them about wanting to stay at Dragonstone. Aegon goes as far as to giggle at your proposal. His eyes wild and glossy from the abundance of wine.

A part of you thought maybe you should just leave, but you know them. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot find you on dragon back. Plus, you still had to explain everything to your parents. You let them in on you leaving while holding some cards to your chest. Their faces go through a mirage of expressions. Aegon's brows shooting up when you mention the tunnels and Daemon while Aemond's going painfully stoic. You know he does not want you or Aegon to get a read on what he is thinking.

"So, you think Daemon and by extension Rhaenyra knew about the Strong whore, and wanted you to be upset enough to leave," Aegon begins sardonically, and Aemond's eye flickers to him when he says whore. "And in response.... you are leaving. Wow dearest, you are really sticking it to them."

You glare at him. You know he is hurt that you are leaving, even if it is for a short time. He is upset that this all leads back to the throne. For every part of Aegon that is loyal and loves deeply, there are parts that are equally selfish. It hits you that Aegon has never had to try with relationships; the only ones he knows are with women that are his family or with ones where he can buy their affection. Those women have no choice but to be around. But you are leaving, and without him… that would be a blow he would not recover from.

"I am not going for long, and I will be taking Quinton with me," you say, and Aegon rolls his eyes in response. "They involved my son, so I will get to the bottom of it."

"I'm sure Jace will be thrilled to hear it," he scoffs.

"You have no right to be jealous; you are not my husband."

It was cruel to say, and you can tell by the way his resolve turns from anger to bitterness. "I am needlessly reminded of that, thank you."

Your brows furrow at that. Who is reminds him of that? You sigh, running your hands over your face.

“This is punishment. This is because of me.”

Aemond finally speaks up, interrupting your argument with Aegon. He looks away from the fire and at you with a look you have not seen in moons. Sadness. You are sure this news is a lot for him to take in. It would be a lie to say that you are not at least a little happy that he feels uneasy about you possibly leaving. Or a little happy that the love story he had built in his head was not exactly what it seems.

It would serve him right. He felt comfortable enough to do what he has done because there was always the expectation you would be around. Sitting in the Red Keep, taking care of your children and waiting to him to finally come around.

“Give us the room,” you whisper to Aegon. He leaves in a huff, not happy with you. You walk over and sit on the seat opposite to Aemond's.

The only noise that permeates throughout the room is the crackling of the fire in front of you two.

“It is foolish for you to think they would not harm you, especially now,” he starts to fiddle with his fingers, a tick he has picked up from his mother. “You would in place surrounded by her people… by dragons.”

“She would not hurt me. Not now, she wants my family’s support,” you rebut.

He does not answer right away.

“You would be giving her exactly what she wants. Us apart.”

Us. You two have not been an ‘us’ for quite some time, and Aemond referring to you as that makes you chuckle coldly.

“That’s the point, dear husband,” your eyes drift from him to the burning flames. “You know how your sister is. She wants everything entirely too much, and now she has a guard dog, planning and watching her every move. This just one step in her 'preparing' for the throne, and what may happen if she takes it."

“She is not fit for the throne. Neither of them is,” he says bitterly. “It would cut her up inside and out just like it did my….”

He trails off softly. Viserys was never made to be King, but then again who is. By the time everything falls into place, things will be different.

“So, we let it.”

Your conversation is stopped by Quinton opening the door for Jayne.

"Sorry, my lady but your parents were asking for you," she says softly. You notice how her eyes seem to survey the room. Taking inspection of anything and everything in it. Your parents watched Daella and Alaric for you during dinner. You nod in acknowledgment, but as you get up you notice the necklace she wears.

A gold plaited coin dangling on a dainty gold chain, perfectly matching the earring you found in the tunnel. Your blood runs cold.

"Thank you, Jayne," you stand up slowly as your eyes go to Aemond. You hope he can read something, anything from the look in your eyes. Your eyes travel to the wall where the secret door is. His eye looks at you, then to Jayne, and you watch him swallow and sink back into the chair.

"Ser Quinton, if you do not mind staying," Aemond says softly, going back to staring at the fire. "I have something I need you to tend to."

Quinton gives you a skeptical look, knowing the tense history between him and Aemond but you give him a reassuring smile.

Maybe it is time Quinton proves his unwavering loyalty to you.

“I just need…. to get away,” it was not a complete lie. On top of having things to figure out, you were looking forward to getting away from the Red Keep. Even if it was to Dragonstone of all places.

Your father had giving you a skeptical look when you mentioned going to Dragonstone. You tell him this the perfect time for him to stay in King’s Landing in your stead. You whisper to him to stay close to the Hand and to Prince Aegon. When his resolve still did not chance, you told him about this being an opportunity for Daella to get connected to her ancestral home, and he understood. He always has a soft heart when it comes to his grandchildren.

It was your mother who gave you the most grief about the proposition. She stays in the room after your father has left.

“I do not think it is appropriate you leave your husband,” she sighs. “Especially at a time like this.”

It has always been her concern. Your allegiance to Aemond and in turn to the who she thinks should sit the throne. A part of you wants to tell her the plan. Maybe rub in her face that Aegon wants you.

But you know you would not be met with an impressed gaze or her questioning how your life has come to this place. Instead, she would ask why you haven’t debased yourself for him yet? Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to be in his bed, in his mind, under his skin the way real lovers do. Sometimes you look at Aegon and ask yourself the same questions. The most frustrating part is you know he would take you up on it. Aegon would indulge the most depraved parts of you because those of the ones he likes the most.

Your mother always manages to seep her way into things that should be good for you. It happened moons ago when you first became friends with Helaena. It is how you are in this mess now. Telling her about Aegon before the right time would be fatal. A blow to your plan, and the last remaining pieces of your heart.

“Perhaps he can come with you?”

“The point is to have some time away from each other. He thinks it would do us some good too.” Your spine feels tight as you are painfully aware of your posture in front of her, “The Princess offered, and it would be rude not take her up on it. She is till the heir till otherwise.”

Your mother stares at you for a moment. She scrutinizes every part of your face, the face she gave you wholly. Her only daughter. The person she has invested so much in.

“You always do this,” she starts coldly. “Shrivel up when things do not go your way. You have so much put in front of you, and you do so little with it. Leaving your husband when things are tough? I thought I raised you better than that.”

A lump grows in your throat. You are taken back to your wedding day. Your mother talking you through a panic attack, telling you to think of your future. That not going through with the marriage means throwing away years of work. In the end, you walked down the aisle. You followed through, and now the debt comes due. You are her biggest star, and her gravest disappointment.

Everything she could have had, and nothing she ever was at your age. You know your mother is happy with her position now, later in life. Reaping the benefits of your father’s house, but it was not always like that. There was never an opportunity to be draped in silk or have the ear of the royal family when she was your age.

“When this does not work, I hope you will not go running to your father.”

And with that she gets up and leaves you in the kids’ room.

You flinch when the door slams. As you sit in silence, you wonder if you would have gotten a different response if you told her about Alys. Maybe she would have pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger. Deep down, you know she would have asked you what you did wrong; what did you do to make Aemond want to find comfort in another woman. Regardless of the pretenses, he still jumped at the first chance he got at something he saw as real. She would see it as a sign of failure on her part. She did not instill the right values in you to keep your husband happy. She has a funny way of flipping everything on its head, and yet you still crave any validation from her.

Your mother is as cruel as she is dutiful. As cold as she is charming. And as calculating as she is hurt and wounded by the world, she grew up in. The more your plan falls into place the more you find solace.

You are your mother’s daughter.

Taglist: @hydrationqueensworld @xkennobi @dc-marvel-girl96 @lyannesworld @msmarvel-19 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @widemiffyhappy @thenovelcarnival @hanihoney88 @kore-of-the-underworld @xoprincessmel @strawbrryquinn @targaryenmoony @blazzlynch @curlszx88 @crazymusicgirl104 @fanfics4ever @anndraco0523 @weepingwitchofthewest @alinagonewlid @signyventia

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader

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matan4il · 1 year

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Buddie 616 meta

Maybe I’ll start with Eddie confirming something I’d already discussed in my meta posts more than once before, most recently in my 614 meta, which is that he married Shannon because she got pregnant. He heavily insinuated this to Bobby back in 217, but now he said it explicitly, to everyone, and without the same kind of weight which we saw from him in the past. I think this change is indicative of how he IS healing from the trauma of how badly his marriage failed and how guilty he’s felt over it, now that he’s capable of talking about it more lightly than he did before. I love that for our boy. ~~

Speaking of these men actually being boys, moron husbands, partners in dumbness, we got Buck and Eddie sharing one brain cell and NOT putting it to good use. Even though in the overall scheme of 911 things, that might not seem that significant, I have to say I just love seeing them like that. It’s FUN seeing them being morons who support each other in the way they try to deal with Chim thinking that just popping the question to Maddie is enough, or in Eddie supporting Buck’s dumbass suggestion of a flash mob, or just being pressed together in the fire truck ‘coz they never have any personal boundaries with each other and they don’t understand why those would even be needed (seriously, don’t think too long about how all of a sudden five people had to squeeze in the back instead of four, and OF COURSE it would be Buck and Eddie rubbing thighs together, because no other pair out of the whole team is as comfortable with each other’s bodies). This may not be the deepest part of their bond, but it IS a part of it, a consistent one, the daily partnership that’s the foundation for the big, important, profound parts. ~~

Once again, we get a demonstration of how the way Buck and Eddie are with each other is different to how they act with their other friends. Even when Eddie is exasperated with Buck, he never actually gets upset, he just tries to get Buck to focus, like we saw him in 516. But with Ravi, Eddie does kinda snap.

Buck as well, when he hears some unpleasant truths about Madney from Hen, there’s no fondness underlining their talk, as much as we know that they DO love each other and have a sibling-like relationship. But compare that to how insufferably affectionate the glances that Buddie exchanged in 504 were as Eddie did essentially the same thing for Buck. ~~

And then of course, we see how Hen has Chimney’s back in this ep, putting his well being first, but she does end up hurting him. They talk it over, and within the same ep she apologizes, he forgives her, everything is resolved, and they move. It’s lovely, but think about the difference in intensity between this and what Buddie went through back in s3. Buck files the lawsuit that would stop him from seeing Eddie in 304. Then the very reserved Eddie has a public meltdown, in the middle of a store, and right in front of his colleagues, because he can’t deal with Buck not being in his life. In fact, that’s the final straw that makes Eddie turn to street fighting. Not only that, because the intensity of his feelings overwhelms him, he doesn’t even directly express his hurt, he uses Chris to convey how much Eddie himself is missing Buck. When Buck realizes just how much pain he unintentionally caused, he wants to apologize, but Eddie is too hurt to be able to hear him out right away. It’s only in 306 that they finally talk, Eddie forgives Buck and then we get the beauty of their hug. But this is STILL not the final piece, no. The show will get back to this in the kitchen scene in 309, where Buck shows Eddie he’s worth apologizing to a second time (even though he’s not even asking Buck to), and the final shot of this is the domestic image of Buddifer on the couch, playing video games together. This is when we know that all is TRULY forgiven, when we get to see them once more as a family unit. Because that’s what they are on top of being best friends, like Hen and Chimney. ~~

I’ll point out that Madney and Buddie paralleling is not new. This has been an ongoing theme since Buck and Chim’s new love interests were both introduced in 201, and since Madney got their onset in 206. The very fact that Maddie thinking Chim’s cute is revealed through a dialogue between the Buckley siblings that also indicates Buck sees Eddie in the same light says it all. I have also gone on about how Buck and Maddie served as truth tellers, voicing their sibling’s crush back to them, I have talked about how Madney were friends first, incredibly domestic friends with their own intertwined routine, before they became explicitly romantic, I wrote a whole meta post about the parallels between Madney and Buddie in 512, and now I can add to this. Because Madney easily fell into the comfort of domestic life, Chim told us this week that got in the way of them stopping to make their commitment official. That’s in a sense Buddie’s story, too. They’ve been building their lives and family unit together without even clocking that they can and should stop to figure out what this thing between them is, and commit to it.

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ ~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ I’m so thankful to the amazing @whosoldherout for the meta gifs she does each week! They’re always challenging, and you always manage to knock it out of the park!

~~ Thank you to anyone supporting these meta posts. I could never express enough how grateful I am and that they continue to exist thanks to you!

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #buddieedit #911edit #madney #911 spoilers #wm #buddie gifs #buddie edit #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months

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For 40 years, Big Meat has openly colluded to rig prices

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

Noted socialist agitator Adam Smith once wrote, "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

Smith was articulating a basic truth: when an industry grows concentrated, it grows cozy. Cultural differences between dominant firms are homogenized as top executives move from company to company, cross-pollinating attitudes and approaches. Ambituous, firm-hopping workaholic top brass make all their friends at the office, and so their former colleagues from one or two jobs back remain in their social circles.

Once an industry consists of half a dozen firms, the people running those companies constitute an incestuous financial polycule. They are executors of one anothers' estates, best men and maids of honor at one anothers' weddings, godparents to each others' kids. They play on the same softball teams and take family vacations together.

It would be heartwarming if it wasn't so costly to the rest of us. Remember Smith's maxim: "the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the publick, or in some contrivance to raise prices." Class solidarity among corporate executives forms a united front to screw us in every conceivable way, from corrupting our politicians to maiming and cheating workers to gouging buyers.

That's the basis of American antitrust law. When Robert Sherman was stumping for the passage of the Sherman Act, America's first major antitrust law, he thundered "If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

Or rather, that was the basis of American antitrust law – until the Reagan era, when the fringe theories of the Nixonite criminal Robert Bork were elevated to a new orthodoxy. Under Bork's conception of antitrust, monopolies were evidence of excellence. If a company puts all its competitors out of business, that must mean that it is "efficient."

In Bork's fantasy world, the only way a company could attain dominance is by being so beloved by its customers that every competitor withers away. Governments that bust monopolies aren't protecting the public from "autocrats of trade"; they're overthrowing the winners of an election where you "vote with your wallet" to pick the best company.

But Bork and his co-fantasists couldn't quite manage all that with a straight face. They grudgingly admitted that a certain kind of bad monopolist could hypothetically exist, one that used its "market power" to raise prices or lower quality. Only when these offenses against our "consumer welfare" occurred should the state step in to protect its people.

This may sound good in theory, but in practice, it was a dead letter. The consumer welfare test isn't as simple as "If prices go up after a merger, punish the company." Instead, the government had to prove that the price raises came from "market power," and not from an increase in energy or labor costs, or some other "exogenous factor," like Mercury being in retrograde:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/10/you-had-one-job/#thats-just-the-as

And wouldn't you know it, it turns out that the mathematical models prescribed to distinguish greed from unavoidable circumstance inevitably "prove" that the monopolist wasn't at fault. Surely, it's just just a coincidence that the priesthood that understood how to make and interpret these models were Chicago School Economists who sold model-making as a service to companies that wanted to raise prices.

Pro-monopoly economists insist that this isn't true, and that their theory still has room to prosecute bad monopolies and cartels where they occur – more, they say this is already happening. In particular, they insist that "greedflation" can't be real, because it would require the kind of conspiracy that Smith warned of, and that their sickly antitrust enforcement is sufficient to prevent:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

This strains credulity. After all, the CEOs of giant companies in concentrated industries openly boast to their shareholders about how they've used the covid and Ukraine invasion shocks to hike prices to increase their profit margins – not just cover their additional costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

While excuseflation is new, open, naked price-fixing by industry cartels is not. Take the meat-packing industry, dominated by a tiny handful of giant corporations whose executives literally ran a betting pool on how many of their workers would get covid each week while working in their cramped, unventilated factories:

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-55009228

These companies have seen their margins soar – up 300% over the lockdown – while their payments to ranchers and growers cratered:

https://www.reuters.com/business/meat-packers-profit-margins-jumped-300-during-pandemic-white-house-economics-2021-12-10/

All this might leave one wondering whether there isn't something a little, you know, "conspiracy against the publick"-y going on in Big Meat?

Let me tell you about Agri Stats. Agri Stats has been around since 1985. Every large meat packer pays to be a "member" of Agri Stats, and they each submit weekly, detailed statistics about every aspect of their business: all their costs, all their margins, broken out by category. Agri Stats compiles this into phone-book-thick books that each member gets every week, telling them everything about how all of their competitors are running their businesses:

https://www.agristats.com/history

The companies whose data appears in this book are anonymized, but it's trivial to re-identify each supplier. Tyson execs hold regular "naming process" meetings where they go through new books and de-anonymize the data. A Butterball exec confirmed that he "can pick the companies for rankings with 100% certainty."

As David Dayen writes in The American Prospect, these books are incredibly detailed: "bird weights, freezer inventory, and 'head killed per operating hour.'" Within the cozy meat cartels, Agri Stats acts as a clearinghouse that allows every business in the industry to act in concert, running the entire meat-packing sector as a single company:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-10-03-lawsuit-highlights-why-meat-overpriced/

As interesting as the list of Agri Stats members is, the groups that don't get to see Agri Stats' "books" is just as important: "farmers, workers, or retailers." Agri Stats also offers consulting services to its members. As an exec at pork processor Smithfield put it, Agri Stats advice boils down to four words "Just raise your price."

Agri Stats ranks its members based on how high their prices are – they literally publish a league table with the highest prices at the top. Meat packers pay bonuses to their execs based on how high the company's rank is on that table. Agri Stats meets with its members throughout the year to discuss "price opportunities" and to advise them to "exercise restraint" by restricting supply to keep prices up. When one Agri Stats member considered leaving the cartel, Agri Stats wooed them back by telling them how to make an additional $100k by raising bacon prices.

The reason Dayen is writing about Agri Stats now is that the DoJ Antitrust Division has brought an antitrust suit against them. This is part of a wave of antitrust actions brought by Biden's DoJ and FTC, who, along with his NLRB, are shaping up to be the most pugnacious, public-interest force against corporate power since the Reagan administration:

https://www.meatpoultry.com/articles/29124-doj-sues-agri-stats-for-complicity-in-meat-market-manipulation

All this enforcement isn't a coincidence. It comes from an explicit rejection of neoliberalism's core tenets: inequality reflects merit, monopolies are efficient, and government can't do anything. In Biden's DoJ, FTC and NLRB, they're partying like it's 1979:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

What's amazing about the Agri Stats conspiracy to raise prices is that it's been going since the Reagan administration. It's a smoking gun proof that "consumer welfare" never cared about price-fixing and robbing the public (can a gun still smoke after 40 years?). There was never a time when consumer welfare antitrust cared about consumer welfare. It was always and forever a front for "a conspiracy against the publick," a "contrivance to raise prices."

Big Meat has been robbing America for two generations. Some of those stolen funds were used to corrupt our political process. The meat sector gets $50 billion in public subsidies and still gouges us on prices and rips off its suppliers:

https://www.ewg.org/news-insights/news/2022/02/usda-livestock-subsidies-near-50-billion-ewg-analysis-finds

Which means that it's possible that we're simultaneously being ripped off with meat prices and that meat prices are artificially low. Try and wrap your head around that one!

The do-nothing, pro-monopoly neoliberal antitrust is a virus that spread around the world. The EU's antitrust laws were reshaped to mirror American laws after the war through the Marshall Plan, but since the late 1970s, European lawmakers and enforcers have ignored their own laws (just like their American counterparts) and encouraged monopolies as "efficient."

This Made-in-Europe oligopoly, combined with energy and grain shocks from Russian invasion of Ukraine, created the perfect storm for European greedflation. As food prices spiked across the EU, Austrian hacktivist Mario Zechner set out to investigate Austrian grocers' pricing. Using the grocers' own APIs, he was able to compile and analyze a dataset of prices at Austrian grocers:

https://www.wired.com/story/heisse-preise-food-prices/

When Zechner open-sourced his project, collaborators showed up to expand the project across other EU countries, and an anonymous party donated a huge database of prices stretching back to 2017. The data reveals clear collusion among the grocers, who raise prices in near-lockstep, and use gimmicks like cyclic price drops to hide their collusion:

https://github.com/badlogic/heissepreise

Not every grocer has an API, and even the ones that do have APIs could easily block Zechner and co from accessing their data. When that happens, they could – and should – turn to scraping to continue their project. They should also scrape grocers elsewhere, including in Canada, where grocers rigged the price of bread:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/25/deep-scrape/#steering-with-the-windshield-wipers

Because Big Meat's "conspiracy against the publick" isn't unique to meat. It's in all our food, it's in all our goods, it's in all our services. The fact that the meat industry was able to rob American buyers, ranchers and farmers for two generations under a 200' tall neon sign that blinked "AGRI STATS AGRI STATS AGRI STATS" night and day is frankly astonishing.

But there's never just one ant. If the meatheads running Big Meat were able to do this in broad daylight since the NES years, imagine what all the other industries were able to get up to in the shadows.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #meat #monoopoly #price fixing #antitrust #austria #mario zechner #scraping #adversarial interoperability #greedflation #price inflation #market power #david dayen #agri stats #meat packers

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readingcoco · 4 months

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Mood board credit: @rivetingrosie4

So after months of reading everyone else's work, I finally got round to finishing this one shot inspired by the wonderful @rivetingrosie4! It's the first thing I have ever written so any critique will be highly cherished. This is hopefully a good practice run for a longer story I will be working on for the rest of the year.

Taglist: @photo1030, @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr

🍑PEACH FLESH🍑

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI | 5067 words | Ao3 Link TAGS: Plus-Size Reader, Oral Sex, Fake Marriage, Internalised Fatphobia, Squirting

The door almost swings off its hinges as you and Arthur stumble into the second-best suite Strawberry’s Welcome Centre has to offer. Despite being a dry town, you were both half cut and giddy from the two bottles of brandy shared over dinner with the newlyweds you hoped to rob blind first thing in the morning.

The room is womb-like, lit dimly with low wooden ceilings and dark red baroque wallpaper lining each wall, in the centre stands a grand four poster bed adorned with more blankets than you know what to do with, set diagonally facing a little wood burner that radiates out heat that stings slightly against your mountain chilled cheeks. You haven’t been around such finery in years, the excess of it all feeling somehow grotesque when compared to the simple pleasures you’d now learnt to love.

“My Lady”, Arthur bows as he raises his arm, gesturing to the empty room.

“Husband”, you giggle, door closing behind you. The ridiculousness of that word still not losing its novelty.

“I’ll be sure to let Hosea know we’ve got a regular little con artist on our hands.”

Your body is vibrating with energy, the thrill of the past few hours still coursing through your veins; how you’ll sleep tonight, you don’t know, even with the promise of such a comfy mattress to lay your head on. You’d been terrified of letting everyone down ever since Dutch had summoned you to his tent to inform you of the job he had lined up for Arthur and the role he expected you to play. You were sure there must have been some mistake, but when he explained that your upbringing made you the ideal candidate, you couldn’t see a way to protest. So now you were here, just you and Arthur, and things were surprisingly going to plan for a change.

“I can’t believe how naive they were. Was I really so soft when you first met me?”

“A little”, Arthur smirks as he sits on the oak trunk at the edge of the bed, pulling roughly at the puff tie around his neck, eager to free himself of the restrictions of such formality. You had been shocked at how naturally he found getting into character after spending half the ride there grumbling about it. “Suits you, though, a bit of softness. Glad we ain’t fully sullied that good name of yours just yet.”

You bristle a little at the mention of your name, all the good it had done you when you’d drifted from town to town, relying on the goodwill of others to keep you from starving. Your name hadn’t saved you then, but the Van der Linde gang had. It was them to whom you owed a debt, not your family.

“We best get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You nod as Arthur moves to hang his dress coat in the wardrobe, and you catch sight of him over your shoulder in the large cheval mirror that stands to the side of the bed. He looks different somehow, here away from camp, more at ease maybe, less burdened by thoughts. This was the longest you and he had spent one-on-one, and you had found it surprising how quickly you had both fallen into an easy rhythm. You had always got on well in camp. You shared a closeness with him more akin to one of the girls than any of the other men; he’d bring you fresh peaches whenever he could, knowing them to be your favourite, and you would craft tonics and bitters for him to take on his travels. A trade between friends. Truth be told, if it wasn’t so implausible, you might have wanted to take advantage of the sleeping arrangement that now presented itself - Karen or Mary-Beth wouldn’t have given it a second thought! But as it was, that was a delusion, and Arthur had already courteously agreed to sleep on the floor.

Your reflection distracts you then as you compare the neat up and down of his form to your own inelegant roundness in the mirror. What was the word Grimshaw had used? Fleshy? And more on display this evening than you had ever elected to show to the gang.

When Trelawny had taken you to the dressmakers, your eyes had almost bugged out of your head when you saw the mannequin donning the dress he had selected for you. An off-the-shoulder, deep emerald gown with a swan-like bust made from velvet. Quite possibly the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You begged Trelawny to allow you to wear something, anything else. But he would hear nothing of it. To con an heiress, you would have to look like one. The ridiculousness of that notion forces a snort of laughter to escape your mouth. Arthur turns to you, lips preemptively curling upwards, expecting you to share your private joke.

“Somethin' tickle you?”

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

But his face doesn’t let up. You hesitate, trying to find a way to make him understand without sounding foolish.

“It’s just, I didn’t expect any of this to actually work. I went along with it because… because I wanted to be useful. I didn’t actually think anyone would believe that we were married.” You laugh, but Arthur looks confused.

“Why not?”

You giggle, gesturing back and forth between you like it’s the plainest thing in the world, but he still stares at you blankly.

“Don’t play dumb, Arthur! Look at me, and then look at you!”

“I’m lookin'.”

Your smile falters a little, realising that he is going to make you state the obvious, that unspoken truth that you have been biting your tongue not to scream out loud since Dutch revealed the con two weeks previous.

“Arthur, please…” Your voice is quieter now, traces of humour all but evaporated. “There ain’t no way a man like you would ever take someone like me as a wife. It’s just not the way of things.” Your eyes are now firmly rooted to the ground. Shame coursing through your body for putting such a dour end to a fun evening. Wishing desperately to go back to the teasing and lightness of moments before. “You're deserving of a fine woman, not a stout, plain thing like me.”

Arthur rears back on his heels as though slapped.

“Ought not to speak about yourself that way or judge whose hand is or isn’t deserving of mine, calloused and scarred up as it is.”

You laugh quietly at that and lift your head back up at him, where he hooks you in with a look so serious it catches you off guard, brows knitted together like he is weighing up some great debate. He sniffs-

“You looked beautiful tonight, Mrs Callahan.”

He steps towards you slowly, as one might approach a spooked horse, head tilted and low, looking up at you with sparkling pools of tranquil blue. You feel the overwhelming urge to bolt, but something about the assured look he has on you keeps you tethered to the spot, unable to move as the space between you grows smaller.

“Don’t tease me, it ain’t kind.”

“I’ve not been able to take my eyes off my pretty wife all evening.”

You search his face for some small hint of insincerity, half expecting him to rear back at any moment and mock you for not seeing his obvious joke. But he doesn’t pull back. Unyielding in his approach until he is close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your crown. The smell of brandy and tobacco smoke wafts deliciously in the air. You hesitate to look up, not sure you could withstand the heat of his gaze without melting into the rug.

“You know, I’ve not seen you wear anything like this before,” Arthur gently raises a hand up to your exposed shoulder and fingers some of the lace appliques around the rim, his chapped knuckles lightly grazing your skin. Your eyes close, and a faint sigh escapes your lips as you lean into his touch. “Caught myself thinkin’ about how much more of your loveliness you’ve been hidin' away.”

You are still unable to lift your eyes higher than the buttons on his shirt. But then he’s tracing a line up your throat, resting his thumb on your chin and gently manoeuvring your face to meet his. To be invited to view him up so close and personal this way is a delight you want to savour. The white lines around his eyes from squinting in the sun, the crook in his nose, badly set, smattered with freckles, the chip on his frontmost tooth, the face of a man who has only known hard work and fresh air. But the exchange of looks goes both ways and suddenly, you are reminded of the indolent, dumpy girl he must view.

“Arthur-”

His lips press into yours so keenly that your overthinking brain only has room for the sweet sensation of his insistent kiss, opening you up to him, coaxing you deliberately with his brandy, rich tongue. A needy whimper is spilled from your mouth into his, which he drinks from you, like a man parched, tasting your lips and then deeper, lapping you up. Your shaky hands find purchase on the plains of his broad chest, and you fist at his shirt to pull him closer.

As though that were the signal he was waiting for, Arthur grunts out a low groan before dipping his head to kiss at your neck and cushioned collar bone, hands running along the stiff shape of your corset, reaching around your sides, your back, searching blindly for some hidden opening. You have never seen him this feral.

You pull backwards, struggling to catch your breath, lips swollen, hair all but falling down.

“Wait,” You gasp. “You’re drunk, you don’t really want-”

“Woman, if you don’t stop tellin' me what I do and do not want.” He laughs, but there is a seriousness that underpins his tone. “Now, if you don’t want it, that’s different.” He lifts an eyebrow in question.

“It’s not that. I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” He offers you a look that could almost read as exasperated if it wasn’t so filled with fondness. Your chest is pounding, you're not sure that you have ever wanted something, someone, so much in your entire life. Your eyes dart around the ornate room and land on the glowing gas lamp behind Arthur’s head. “Maybe if it were dark?”

He laughs dismissively. “You’re still not gettin' it,” He pulls his hand down his face before interlocking your fingers in his as though trying to work out how to explain something simple to a small child. “You think I would be here kissin' on you, actin' a fool, if I weren’t attracted to you?”

You don’t know how to answer him, so you remain silent. Chewing a loose strip of skin on your lip.

“You think I ain’t noticed you're bigger than most?” Your cheeks burn red at the acknowledgement of your body, something you have taken great pains to draw attention away from for as long as you can remember - modest clothing, intricate hairstyles, humour and helpfulness. His thumbs rub soothingly on the pulse point of your wrists.

“Ever considered that might be something I might like?” In truth, you hadn’t because how could it be? You had never seen images of women who looked like you in catalogues or advertisements unless it was to market some magical cure for the ailment of looking like you, never read about them in books unless they were some wicked aunt or old crone. How could Arthur be attracted to such a thing?

“Turn around.”

A command given so soberly that you find yourself spinning without thought. He pulls your back flush to him as he scoops the fallen tendrils away from your left ear, lips pressing into newly revealed skin. Your eyes find each other in the mirror as he trails a path of wet kisses down your neck to the tip of your shoulder. Unfolding you in his arms as if to show you off to the two figures staring back longingly, enjoying their own embrace.

“You see?” He traces the length of your arms with his rough fingers, ghostlike as they make their way down the curve of your arms, one wrapping tightly around your waist while the other seeks out your breast. He finds you heavy and full in his palm, and your bodies roll together in a languid moan released in unison.

You observe Arthur’s eyebrow hitch momentarily in the mirror, and his eyes darken as you feel a tug from your side and realise too late that he has found the opening of your dress. He wastes no time unhooking each clasp one by one, your breath coming in heavy as you watch him work, peeling the right side of your wrapped bodice away from your corset, the swell of your breast revealed, covered only by the thin cotton of your chemise.

You lift your hand to help with the clasps on the other side, but Arthur nudges you away as though this is his solemn duty to bear alone. He reaches around to your left-hand side until you are fully enveloped in his arms, and you can feel his heart pumping in his chest. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head falls back to meet his firm shoulder as you feel yourself going weak at the knees, like it has been the rigidity of your clothing holding you together this entire time; one more loosened clasp, and you are liable to break.

“I want you to see what your body does to me”, Arthur rasps out as he unwraps the left half of your bodice, leaving your chest fully bared, apart from your underthings. You watch as his fingers delicately trace their way up your corset, and he takes each of your full breasts in hand, rolling your beaded nipples with his thumbs. The sensation courses through your veins as your arms shoot behind you, grasping blindly in an attempt to ground yourself for fear you will float away. One hand meets his left hip, while the other finds the tight muscle of his thigh before something more protruding grazes the pads of your fingers. Arthur lets out an involuntary grunt as he bucks into you.

You run your fingers along his length more deliberately then, and the fire it ignites in him is enough to rival the sun. Eyes still locked firmly onto yours in the mirror, he pulls your bodice from your arms with two rough jerks before throwing it to the side to begin work on your skirts.

“Face me.”

You turn, as he pulls you into a deep kiss, fingers hooking behind you to undo the ties at your waist. His hands glide down your back, over your ass and hips, skinning the fabric away from you until it bunches up and falls to the ground. Catching his breath, he steps back, panting, taking in the curves of your now semi-exposed form. You have never been looked at this way, hungrily, like your ripened flesh is the only thing that could save this starving man.

“Goddamnit”, He hisses, more to himself than you and backs away from you further.

Without the solid touch of him to reassure you that the last few minutes haven’t been some momentary lapse in sanity, a wave of self-consciousness pulls you outside your body like some sort of uninvited voyeur, looking down at the scene, struck by the implausibility of it all. Here is this man - Adonis, even, who could have his pick of women, not just in camp but in polite society too; you had seen how the newlywed wife had looked at him over dinner, and then you, dimpled and misshapen like a bruised peach.

Sensing the sudden shift in your demeanour, Arthur quickly steps back to you, resting his forehead on yours, blue eyes burning intensely, cupping your cheeks with both hands.

“You still don’t believe I want ya?”

You stare back at him, his lips so close you must hold back the urge to nip at them.

“I’m sorry” you whisper. Softly, Arthur removes a hand from your cheek and finds your own covering the curve of your stomach. He hooks his fingers into yours and guides your hand lower down to the hard line of his trousers.

“My whole body’s achin’ for ya, Darlin'.” His arousal is undeniable now, and for a moment, you start to believe that he could be true to his word. Perhaps certain tastes are only acquired by a few. Your thumb reflexively works up and down the solid ridge of him as he presses his lips to yours and lets out a groan.

“Now-” He’s struggling to maintain his focus as your fingers continue to stroke him. “I’m going to sit down right here, and you are going to show me what I’ve been wantin' to see.” He huffs out and pulls himself back from you again and sits at the edge of the bed, eyeing you eagerly in anticipation.

For a moment, you stand there, tethered to the spot, brain failing to remember the motions one must go through to undress, as though this was something entirely new and not the most ordinary of tasks.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply to gather yourself before loosening the ties of your petticoats and allowing them to fall to the floor like the heavy skirt before it. A rumble of approval from the bed forces your eyes to open. When you are met with a look so full of adulation, it’s hard to stop the grin from spreading across your entire face. You step over the crumpled petticoats with a little skip before marching to the bed and lifting your heeled foot to rest between Arthurs's legs.

“Care to do me the honour?”

“My pleasure.”

Arthur takes your stockinged ankle in his large hands, pressing a flurry of kisses to your knee as he peels the silk down your leg before unbuttoning the pointed-heeled boot and tossing them aside. As you lift your other leg up to him, he hooks your knee and carves his hands upwards underneath your bloomers, fisting a handful of the meat of your inner thigh.

“Patience,” you say, fully enthralled by this new sense of power you feel in your core like you could tell this man to walk through hot coals, and he would thank you for the privilege. You flick the point of your shoe towards him to undo.

Heels removed, you step backwards again, fingers tracing the shape of your body slowly, tantalisingly, noting how each swirl of your thumb, each flick of your wrist registers like a shockwave on the gunslinger’s slack-jawed face. You press your clothed breasts together, lifting them experimentally and letting them fall. And then once again. Arthur lets out a hiss.

“Woman, you don’t know what I have planned for you.”

Your fingers ghost the eyelets of your corset, the moment you have been dreading. The barrier moulding your shape into something deemed acceptable by society. You feel without it, you may fall apart. But if his face isn’t goddamn begging you to take it off. Who are you to disappoint him?

You pull the top clasps together, and then the bottom and your lungs fill with air as your body relaxes in kind. You stand there in only your chemise and bloomers, near transparent, backlit by the light from the fire. You hitch your chemise to your waist, inch by inch, as Arthur leans forward, almost salivating. Your fingertips slide under the waistband of your bloomers as you shimmy them down to your ankles with a wiggle, exposing the thatch of hair at your sex for a split second before your chemise falls back into place.

A thought comes to you then, and you're not sure if it’s in part to delay the inevitable shame of baring yourself to this man so completely or if part of you is starting to have fun, but you realise the power you hold stood before him in nothing more than your chemise. What would he give up to see your exposed flesh? What trade might he offer now? A peach for something saltier perhaps? You toy with the frill at your hem.

“Planned? You sound like you’ve been dreamin' on this for a while, Arthur.”

You step towards him again so that your scantily covered breasts are now at eye level. He reaches out to touch you, but you shoo him away.

“You ‘been having indecent thoughts?”

“The worst”

You cock your head to the side in mock outrage. The giddiness of dinner, playing dress up, and make-believe comes flooding back with full force.

“What thoughts?”

“Takin' you in my tent… spreadin' you out… all pretty for me.” He can barely get his words out as your finger lifts the corner of your chemise.

“You ever done anything about those thoughts, cowboy?”

The rush of crimson to his cheeks surprises you as you imagine him alone in his cot with only daydreams of you to keep him company. You have so many other questions: When did this start? Why has he only chosen to act now? But they will have to wait. You glance down at his lap.

“Show me.”

Like an eager puppy, he springs from his seat, towering over you, but you don't step back. Arthur’s disrobing is a much more efficient affair; suspenders are shrugged from his shoulders, shirt unfastened, trousers kicked haphazardly across the room until he is in a comparable state of undress, left in only his union suit. If you’re not mistaken, a similar wave of trepidation pumps through his veins, too. You eye the proud ridge of his length, straining the stretched cotton as Arthur unbuttons his union, first revealing the coarse blonde hair at his chest, which darkens with each new release, lower and lower. At the juncture of his groin, thick brown curls frame the base of his shaft, and as he steps out of the suit, cock springing free, filling the space between you, you're not sure you have seen beauty like it.

“Show me.” Your voice is a whisper now. Arthur takes himself fully in hand and slowly strokes himself while holding your gaze. You watch him intently: artful and precise like every other task his expert hands carry out. You almost lose yourself watching him before you remember your own throbbing need and push him back to his seat on the bed. You are ready now. Confident.

You raise your chemise up your strong thighs, the curve of your hips, swell of your belly, higher still to meet your heavy breasts that fall as the fabric catches them momentarily; you pull the cotton above your head, over your plump arms, until you are stood naked as the day you were born, goosebumps adorning your skin, like velvet. They prickle as you smooth your hands across your belly, as though touching it for the first time. Maybe you are touching it for the first time with gentle hands? You smile at this private realisation and then towards the cowboy, who is near cross-eyed with want, stroking himself vigorously at the sight of your unveiled form.

“Am I what you expected?”

“Git over here already. I’m tired of just lookin'.”

Before you can protest that you don’t want to crush him, Arthur is pulling you onto his lap, the ripe head of him grazing your clit and pressing between your stomachs. You try to hold some of your weight from him by awkwardly balancing yourself where your shins meet the mattress, but then he’s grabbing two firm handfuls of your ass and lifting you up with him. Reflexively, your legs wrap around his waist as you are suspended in the air. It feels like flying. You have not been picked up like this, cradled, since you were a child, and even then, by the time you turned 7, your papa had started to groan that you were too big. But Arthur lifts you effortlessly, kissing into your mouth as he spins you round and lays you out on your back, his body curving over yours.

His knuckles tenderly graze the shape of your cushioned ribs, rising and falling in time with his own. He slowly lowers himself down your body, taking care to kiss an open-mouthed trail down the centre of your sternum, between the valley of your breasts, palming each on his journey. Your body arches up hungrily in anticipation of each kiss, eyes drifting shut as you feel the warmth of his breath waft against the moistened curls of your pelvis, already sodden with want.

A flash of ecstasy pulls the air from your lungs as your eyes spring open, and you grasp wildly to pull him back up to you. He can’t. It’s too much. But the cowboy holds firm. You peer between your legs in horror as Arthur begins to feast greedily at your cunt. From the depraved sounds from his chest, you intuit that this must be another of this man’s acquired tastes. Still, the sight has you scandalised in such a wickedly licious way you find yourself biting your lip as a drawn-out groan rasps itself out of you.

A wave of impossible pleasure builds first in your chest. Then it permeates outwards, sending vibrations down your arms and neck, catching in your cheeks, forcing you to huff out pathetic little pants. You begin to writhe and wriggle under the pressure of his tongue, brazen as it dances along your slippery folds. Long, languid licks, lapping you up.

“Ohh-”

Your legs pull together reflexively in a vice-like grip, ensnaring his head. Still, if Arthur fears suffocation, he shows no signs of stopping, sucking you wholey on the clit until your body is quivering like that of a bow fully drawn.

“Arthur…” You beg as another wave has your head rolling back into the mattress. “Please… I can’t.”

“You can.” He rumbles as he pushes a finger inside you, and your legs start to tremble violently, loosening their grip around the cowboy’s head. Jesus Fuck. You jut your pelvis forward involuntarily as your whole being seeks out a deeper penetration. Sensing your rising need, Arthur slides a second digit inside you and curls them in an upward motion as if coaxing your climax to come quicker, harder. Don’t be shy, it’s alright. You're doin' so good for me.

You feel it then, pressure, unlike anything you have experienced from your own hand. Like you are a jug being filled from a fast-flowing river, you feel yourself reaching the brim and then spilling out, overflowing. Water gushing from within, swirling you up in its current and washing you out to sea. Clear liquid streams from your cunt, coating Arthur’s face and neck. As your body resurfaces the only way you know you have not drowned is through the heartbeat you feel pumping in your ears.

“I’m so sorry” You gasp, as you pull off him and quickly try to cover the sodden evidence of your release, fisting desperately at the blankets, distraught by all the new and mortifying ways your body seeks to humiliate you. But then you hear Arthur’s chuckle as he wipes his face with the back of his hand, grinning from ear to ear.

“I ain’t never made a girl come like that before. C’mere.” Arthur takes hold of your frantic hands and pulls you towards him, scooping you up in his sturdy arms, resting your cheek against the soft curls of his chest and looking down at you adoringly. “You got nothing to apologise for. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You silently shake your head, certain you will never be able to look at the man in the face again. He frowns then, trying to work out how to bring you back to him.

“I hope you're not ashamed on account of me? Ain’t nothing prettier I’ve seen, lettin' go for me like that.”

“But I made a mess.”

“Just as well Grimshaw ain’t here to scold us about laundry then. ‘Sides, if we hang them by the fire, they’ll be dry by the mornin'. No harm done.”

You feel his rough palm tenderly cup your cheek, angling your face to his and placing a light kiss at the end of your nose. “I hope you won’t see me different now, Arthur.” Your voice is shaky as it suddenly strikes you how exhausted you feel, body totally spent, laying heavy like lead in his arms.

“I sees you for who you are; that ain’t changin.” He says earnestly, “We should rest, though; we've got an early rise.” You can still feel him hard as a rock against your hip and wonder if it causes him discomfort. As your eyes trail downwards, he lets out a knowing laugh. “Plenty of time for that after tomorrow.”

After tomorrow?

He lifts you up to sit on the chair in the corner of the room, wrapping one of the unsullied blankets around your shoulders, another around his waist as he strips down the bed. Thankfully, your release has only soaked through the quilted throw, leaving the linens underneath untouched. He pulls back the sheet and beckons you over.

As your head hits the pillow, you feel the pull of sleep dragging you towards it, but then you realise Arthur has yet to follow suit. You sit bolt upright, eyes searching around the room for him needily.

“Hey, I’m just here. I weren’t sure if you’d want me in the bed or not. I didn’t wanna assume nothin'.” You practically roll your eyes at his honorableness, as if he wasn’t buried tongue-deep in you no more than five minutes earlier. You reach out a sleepy hand towards him.

“I couldn’t rightfully allow my husband to sleep on the floor now, could I?” you smirk as Arthur finally makes his way over to the bed and tucks himself in tight beside you, wrapping you up underneath his chin. It’s not long before you are drifting off into a deep sleep, with thoughts about what happens after tomorrow filling your dreams. 🍑

#Peach Flesh #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #red dead smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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ladystarksneedle · 5 months

Text

A fool for you

Aemond x niece reader

Summary: A princess longs for more, mourning a loss through time

Word count: 980

Next>

Masterlist

“Final tribute, to the health of my nephews”

The words still ring in her ears as he storms out of the hall, leaving her behind yet again. She locks eyes with the woman in front, a flicker of understanding passing between them before she rushes to follow, her mother's pleas falling on deaf ears.

She doesn't call out to him as she sees him retreating into the depths of the Keep, knowing his uncanny awareness of her pursuit. As she rounds the corner trying to close the distance between them he whirls around trapping her against the wall nearby.

“What part of go to your chambers do you not understand” he growls shoving her further “Or do you wish to continue this ordeal further.”

“Keligon ziry” she pleads looking up at him. (stop it)

“Jikagon arlī. Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ȳdragon naejot ao” he says releasing her with a frustrated grunt, lip quivering in anger. (go back, I do not wish to speak to you)

“You will not escape me qyybor, not like this,” she speaks, reaching for his arm as he moves away. “Not after what you've said tonight.”

“Do you wish to dispute the truth yet again” he laughs cruelly “It is plain for all to see.”

“Why didn't you include me in your toast then” she counters.

“Is that what bothers you? My exclusion of you in a jest” he smirks incredulously.

“Your dismissal of me, yes, continuing as if I don't exist.”

“Don't”

“Don't what” she exclaims, closing the distance between them “Why are you so intent on breaking whatever peace we may have between our families.”

“You are a fool to think there'll ever be anything but contempt between us”

“There was long ago,” she says, searching his eye for the memories that haunt her.

“What do you have to say for this” he grits, removing the eyepatch adorning his face.

She looks at the injured socket in pain, brilliant blue glinting in the dark.

“Iksan vaoreznuni” she says tears filling her eyes. (I am sorry)

“I do not want your pity” he spits, “The peace you pray for is long gone. There can be nothing that can bring it back.”

“I did not wish for this.”

“You did nothing to stop it either” he says scornfully.

“I was a child” she all but screams “We were children, I cared for you, I didn't know what to do.”

“You made your choice years ago, now you must live with it” he says dismissively, her name on his tongue cutting her just as deeply.

“Kostilus” she says pulling his face towards her “ You've known what is in my heart since we were young, I wish for you to see it still.”

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bisa naejot aōla. Nothing good can come out of this” (don't do this to yourself)

“Are you concerned about the goodness in my actions now?”

“Someone must keep you in check,” he says reluctantly, leaning towards her.

“I've missed you” she whispers as he touches his forehead to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist. She feels him hum in response as he pulls her closer.

“I've heard you are to be betrothed” he whispers against her, stroking her head as he speaks.

“So are you, if the rumors are true. Another task you'd excel at” she says, voice tinged with jealousy. She feels him grin against her in pleasure as she scoffs in turn.

“Where are you to be sent?”

“Trying to extract more from me? I'm not as much of a fool as you think I am”

“Only in matters of the heart then” he says, pulling back to look at her.

She gulps in response as she looks at his face tinged with remorse and awe.

“I wish you'd feel the same”

“And it seems you've proven me wrong byka mittys” he chuckles. The name stings as she feels a tear slip past. (little fool)

“Must I say it now” he says, wiping it off swiftly.

She looks at him in earnest before burying her head in his chest, rumbling with laughter.

“They won't have meleqeldlie cakes there, it's too cold for anything good to thrive.”

She whips her head back in response, staring at him in confusion.

“Orange cakes” she whispers, realization dawning on her. “They think I-”

“Love lemon” he finishes. “A simple mistake yet it has caught on quite well, has it not”

“You remember”

“Well, a six year old girl clinging to my leg demanding I give up my share lest she stop crying isn't something you'd forget.”

“There are many six year olds running about now”

“None as troublesome as you” he smirks.

“I remember it differently. I didn't cry that much, merely asked for them”

“Demanded”

“Asked politely”

“There was nothing polite about your request”

“You admit it was a request then”

“A plea rather”

“I accept”

He hums in response as she chuckles happily “It is my first memory of us at that dreaded feast. I know there have been more but that has remained with me still, not because of those orange cakes and thank you for that” she laughs “But because you were the only one who was kind to me, who checked up on me when everyone left” she says tearfully “I am sorry”

The word hangs between them, as he gazes back at her “Consider it my tribute to you”

“Orange for every time you think of me?” she giggles wiping her eyes.

“Orange, for when you haunt me the most”

She clutches the scroll in her palms, pressing her nails deeper into her broken skin as she sits before the hearth. The tears on her cheeks glinting in the flames ahead as they dance mockingly in orange, a fitting tribute for her brother lost to the seas.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

#house of the dragon #zae's fics #aemond fics #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x niece!reader #hotd imagine #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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murdocksdaughter · 2 years

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missing you, kissing me (jacaerys velaryon x fem!velaryon!reader)

a/n: no this is not canon complainant. also im trying to feed my fellow jace girlies. and i did write this on my 9 hour flight home no joke 💀.

warnings: kissing, technically targaryen incest, aegon slander, helaena and rhaenyra are besties, the reader is a velaryon reader but physical descriptions are neutral minus mention of hair color, luke yelling at jace, happy targaryen family au, also rhaenyra is queen (whoo hoo no war)

summary: leading up their wedding y/n and jacaerys has had any alone time together

word count: 1.3k

“let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain”

She loved everything about him. From his smile to his war hardened face. Y/n was so utterly in love with Jacaerys. They were to be wed in a few weeks and time couldn’t move any slower. With Jacaerys being in line for the throne, the wedding was to be a week long event to be followed with a giant ceremony.

Y/n hadn’t gotten to spend alone time with Jacaerys. It was only either in meetings to plan the wedding or at family meal. Along with Jacaerys’ High Valyrian lessons and training with Aemond. The spare time they had together was nonexistent.

And since the betrothal sneaking out to see each other at night wasn’t an option. With the watchful eyes of the Queensguard, it was impossible to have moment to themselves.

Y/n dreaded it.

Looking out the window as she half heartedly worked on her embroidery of the day, Y/n was bored. Even the pleasant company of Helaena couldn’t hold her attention.

Y/n’s face held a longing look as she continued to watch the clouds roll over King's Landing.

“You miss him.”

The voice of Helaena broke Y/n’s trance- (More like startled her). Y/n jumped slightly before looking at the Targaryen princess with her face and her neck feeling hot.

Helaena only smiled at Y/n, “I would miss him too, he treats you well.” she continued before she went back to her embroidery of caterpillars.

Y/n always valued the words of Helaena; they were always truthful albeit sometimes cryptic. Y/n smiled at Heleana and nodded.

“I do, we haven’t had much time to ourselves since our betrothal. I just wished to be married already.”

Helaena giggled at Y/n’s eagerness.

“What’s so funny?” as the Queen Rhaenyra walked in.

“Y/n’s eagerness to marry.” Helaena confessed. Rhaenyra cackled, sitting next to her future daughter-in-law. “So eager to be a bride yet I doubt my son knows how to undo a bodice,” she commented.

Y/n blushed at Rhaenyra’s comment.

“Ageon still can figure out a bodice, we’ve been married for years. Marriage is a very…complicated thing,” Helaena said with a small frown forming. Rhaenyra reached out for her sister’s hand and squeezed it lightly.

Y/n’s lip tightened in a thin line. She knew how Aegon treated his wife. That was typical for marriages for women like them; loveless and only to strengthen alliances, the men are sleeping around sire-ing bastards. Women always stuck drinking their woes away and becoming bitter of any younger woman in their presence.

“Jacaerys adores you Y/n. Your marriage will be an amazing union.” Rhaenyra tried to lighten the mood.

“He’s a truly good man, better than most I’d say.” Helaena continued. Y/n smiled and looked down at her lap. “That is true, he’s more like a prince from the books we read as children than what we usually get.” Y/n jokes.

“Leagues better than the drunken excuses we get,” Helaena slyly commented, taking a jab at her husband.

Rhaenyra laughed loudly, grabbing Helaena’s hand. Y/n’s face scrunched as a silent laugh shook her body. Helaena smiled to herself proud of her joke.

Rhaenyra took deep breaths as she continued to giggle to herself. “Oh by the gods Heleana that might be the funniest thing you’ve said.”

As the three women calmed down to a comfortable silence, a member of the Queensguard came in.

“The Prince Jacaerys requests the presence of Lady Y/n Velaryon,” He announces. A grin grew on Y/n’s face. She stood up, smoothing her dress out as she quickly made her way to the entrance of the room.

Y/n followed the Queensguard out of the room when she noticed it was pouring. Her eyebrows furrowed. Training must had been cancelled due to the weather.

Then a bigger smile than she had before grew on her face. Training was cancelled.

As Y/n followed the Queensguard she could feel her heart squeeze in excitement and her body set aflame.

She was so excited to see Jacaerys. Y/n felt like a little girl at a jousting tournament and watching all the handsome knights come out on their horses. Her whole body was shaking as it inched closer to her betrothed.

Once she arrived there Jacaerys stood leaning against the arch way of the court yard.

“The Lady Y/n Velaryon my prince.” The Queensguard announced their presence. Jacaerys turned around to see Y/n standing there with a grin on her face.

Such a simple thing brought her joy. Just seeing Jacaerys. No one but him.

“My love.” He stretched out his arms. Y/n swiftly moved to his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Jace…” she whispered.

His warmth surrounding her completely. His arms caging her waist pulling her closer to his chest. Jacaerys hummed im content. “I missed you,” He mumbled into her white curls.

“I hate being engaged, I never want to go through this again,” Y/n whined into Jacaerys chest.

Jacaerys pulled away slightly, “Are you planning to marry someone else?” he jokingly asked, raising an eyebrow. Y/n rolled her eyes at him. “Oh and you roll your eyes at me?? The heir to the Iron Throne.” Jacaerys put a hand on his chest in disbelief.

Y/n shook her head. “You’re ridiculous Jace,” she muttered, pressing her lips on his jaw. Jacaerys laughed, pulling Y/n back to his chest. He squeezed her tightly.

Y/n felt content with the only sounds of rain and her betrothed breathing filling her ears. It was a moment of peace. Jacaerys planted a kiss on her cheek and muttered “I love you.” Y/n could feel her heart swell.

“I can never get tired of hearing that from you.” She looked up at Jacaerys.

He just smiled at her, “I never get tired of saying it,” he whispered leaning down his lips ghost past hers.

Just as Y/n started to lean forward to meet her lips with Jacaerys a voice called the prince’s name.

Both groaned as they pulled apart and looked to find the source of the call. Y/n found the dark hair of Jacaerys’ younger brother Lucerys. Giving Jacaerys a sympathetic look. The prince just rolled his eyes.

“I suppose our time ends. I’ll see you at dinner, Mother wants me to sit in on her small council meeting today,” Jacaerys half heartedly mutters. Y/n just nodded, running her hand through his hair.

“Of course my love,” She said with a half smile. Jacaerys slipped put of her grasp running across the court yard trying his to escape the rain as fast as possible.

Before he made it across Y/n called his name. Jacaerys stop to and to find her running to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Jacaerys wrapped his arms around her waists pulling her deep into the kiss. Y/n’s hand traveled from the back of his neck to his cheeks, cupping them both feeling how wet they were from the pouring rain.

Jacaerys gripped Y/n’s waist squeezing it lightly. The kiss seemed to last forever as they stood in the rain, drenched. Lucerys called his brother’s name again this time far louder and with an annoyed tone.

This time they pulled slowly from each other, smilies dawn both their faces. “I’ll see you at dinner?” Y/n asked despite knowing the answer.

Jacaerys nodded frantically. “Yes. I’ll see you then-”

“JACAERYS!! DON’T MAKE ME DRAG YOU FROM HER MYSELF!!” Lucerys voice engulfed the courtyard.

Jacaerys laughed throwing his head back. “Goodbye my love,” he said before running off to his brother who was leaning against an arch with an disgusted look on his face.

Y/n was left standing the pouring rain with the biggest grin on her face. Her hand gripping her soaked dress.

By the gods she really did love Jacaerys Velaryon.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagines #fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #house of the dragon #hotd one shot #hotd imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagines

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hearts4hughes · 1 year

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12. “because she’s totally whipped over ___” with jack please?

whipped - jack hughes

jack hughes x fem! reader

100 followers celly !!

warnings: swearing, one mention of nsfw, but no actual nsfw

notes: this took me so long to write for no reason. i apologize for any mess ups in the writing. i did not proofread this. enjoy reading lovies!

gif is not mine

“uno!” trevor yells out, causing everyone to huff in frustration.

“that’s the tenth fucking time you’ve won!” jack exclaims, throwing his cards onto the ground.

“he’s cheating! how many times do i have to tell you guys this?” i say in an annoyed tone.

what once started as a night we were supposed to go out and get drunk, came to a halt when trevor found a deck of uno cards in a random desk around my apartment. however, that was three hours ago. now, quinn, trevor, luke, jack, and i, all stay sprawled out on my living room floor- probably on our twentieth game of uno.

“i’m sick of this bullshit!” luke dramatically rolls back from his sitting position, into a laying one. i giggle, hitting his head playfully, causing him to flip me off.

“oh, you’re sick of ‘this bullshit’? i’ve won almost every game, and every single time i’m accused of cheating!” trevor whines acting like his a victim of some sort.

“maybe that’s because you are cheating, zegras.” i widen my eyes, pointing at him. i’ve known trevor since i was ten, and there is no fucking way he is winning all these games without some sort of cheating.

“hey!” trevor yells in his defense. he looks around the room for someone to help him out, until his eyes land on quinn, “help me out over here, quinny.”

“don’t bring me into this.” quinn laughs, unproblematic as always.

“whatever, i’m going to grab some water.” standing up, i excuse myself, needing a desperate break from everyone for a moment.

walking into my kitchen, i grab a glass of water and check my phone.

from lola: how’s everything going over there?

i smile, looking at the text i received from my best friend.

to lola: pretty good. we didn’t end up going out, trevor found uno and we’ve been playing that ever since

from lola: is jack over?

my eyes widen at the last message. i gulp before beginning to reply.

to lola: yes, but what does that have to do with anything?

jack hughes has been my crush since we met. our families grew up together, so it wasn’t very surprising when i became great friends with the hughes. i mean what is there not to like about jack?! he’s adorable, completely insane at hockey, and he has a great personality. that’s like winning the lottery of men!

from lola: you know exactly what it has to do with

from lola: this is your fucking chance! make a move on him or something. put those flirting skills to work bae

to lola: are you insane or something? make a move on him now? both his brothers and his best friend are here too!!!!!

from lola: so what? at least you’ll have witnesses for when you retell the story to your children!!!!

before i can type my response, a familiar voice brings me back to reality.

“there you are!” jack beams, startling me and almost causing the glass to fall right out of my hand. “oh sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you, cutie.”

did he just call me cutie?

my heart flutters at the nickname and jack begins to move closer to me. “no it’s ok, just didn’t see you.” i couldn’t be more nervous right now as he is now barely a couple inches away from me.

“where’d you go? i missed you in there.” he admits as a devilish smirk tugs at his lips.

what the fuck.

someone pinch me so i can wake up.

nervously, i begin laughing it off. “yeah, uh, i just went to get some, uh… water.” i can barely say the sentence- my throat just getting dryer and dryer.

“you’re adorable. the boys wanted to play truth or shot. you in?”

i excitedly nod, putting my phone in my back pocket as jack grabs my hand, leading me into the living room. right as we enter the room, we see quinn with a bottle of schnapps, pouring the beverage into various shot glasses. jack sits down, tugging at my hand so i sit next to him.

“who volunteers to go first?” quinn asks, setting the bottle on the coffee table. luke raises his hand, pulling a loud cheer out of all of us as quinn passes him the shot glass.

“ok, moosey,” trevor begins, thinking of something to ask him.

“ask him about the magazine!” i yell out and everyone barks out a loud laugh- except for luke. he sits there with a flushed and embarrassed expression, dreading the question.

“moosey, that one summer when y/n bought that magazine with the hot brunette in the bikini,” trevor pauses, hyping us up, “did you or did you not steal the magazine to help you perform certain activities?”

“oh, fuck you!” luke throws his hands up, a big smile is spread across his face in embarrassment.

we all erupt in laughs and yells waiting for luke to answer. i look over to jack, who is laughing hysterically. he catches me staring and winks, putting his arm around me. my face turns basically maroon at the small gesture. i try to relax under his hold, but i can barely considering how close he is to me.

“answer the question!” jack yells, converting everyone’s eyes over to us. as they examine our current position, all their eyebrows furrow, but it’s short lived considering we all want luke to answer us.

“fine,” luke begins, pulling everyone’s focus back over to him, “i did steal it, but-”

he’s cut off by all of us yelling ‘we knew it!’ and ‘that’s disgusting!’. being pressed against jack’s chest, i feels vibrations from his laughter, causing my laughs to come to a small halt- only being able to focus on jack.

“but!” luke yells over our laughs, pulling me back into reality. “she was fine as fuck. don’t blame me!”

“i do blame you because i really wanted the swim suit she was wearing!” i say, in both disgust and laughter.

luke rolls his eyes, passing the shot over to me, indicating it’s my turn.

“y/n’s turn!” quinn yells, still on an adrenaline high as the room dies down. i roll my eyes, accepting the drink from luke’s hands, awaiting my question.

“my turn to ask the questions.” luke smiles deviously. “remember our friend, tommy?”

i nod, wondering where this question is going.

“did you or did you not have a crush on him?”

all the boys, once again, erupt with screams and laughs. however, when i turn back slightly to look at jack. his posture is now tense, instead of relaxed, and his eyes are filled with jealousy. nonetheless, he still lets out a fake laugh, fooling everyone else, but me.

to be completely honest, their friend tommy, was really hot. i wasn’t completely infatuated with him, but i definitely had a little crush on him. however, noticing how tense and jealous jack got from that question alone, makes me not want to answer it at all.

without another thought, i reach for the tiny glass, tossing it back. as the alcohol burns down my throat i make a face in disgust.

“booooooo!” trevor starts and luke and quinn begin to join in.

“sorry, but i am not answering that.” i shrug.

jack doesn’t say anything, he only continues to tense behind me.

uh oh.

“c’mon, admit it,” trevor says, “you definitely had a little something for him.” he moves his shoulders suggestively and i only roll my eyes in return.

“it’s not surprising if she didn’t.” quinn mumbles, turning everyone’s attention to him. i furrow my brows, what is he getting on with? he seems to notice us staring and raises his eye brows, “don’t try to act like you don’t know what i mean.”

“will you stop with this cryptic and mysterious shit?” jack finally speaks up. everyone nods their heads in agreement, waiting for quinn to further explain.

“yeah, why wouldn’t y/n not like tommy?” luke chimes in.

“because she’s totally whipped over jack!” he finally blurts out. my eyes go wide and my mouth drops.

the whole room goes quiet and all eyes are on jack and i. however, his hold around me does not change.

“wha-” i try to get out, looking back at jack who wears a proud smirk. “i’m not- well i don’t-”

“y/n,” trevor interrupts, “just kiss him already, this is tiring.”

i can’t even react before jack turns me around, his lips landing on mine.

wow.

#hearts4hughes #nhl imagine #jack hughes #hockey blurb #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes x reader #nora's writings 💐

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dancingtotuyo · 3 days

Text

11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth, spoilers for TLOU 2 (we’re entering the timeline that starts to burrow things for part 2 of the game)

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief.

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open.

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders.

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.”

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?”

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles.

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement.

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace.

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it.

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up.

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours.

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.”

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it.

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared.

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.”

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.”

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before.

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops.

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy.

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests.

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you.

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back.

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.”

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult.

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.”

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom.

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain.

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later.

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs.

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back?

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it.

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality?

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you.

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived.

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes.

“What?”

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!”

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind.

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway.

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders.

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time.

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house.

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much.

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!”

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?”

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living.

“I couldn’t lose her!”

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!”

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.”

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there.

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going.

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol.

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you.

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another.

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth.

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him.

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him?

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows.

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open.

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out.

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.”

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says.

“She?”

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water.

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs.

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin.

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly.

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred.

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away.

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose.

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.”

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers.

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name.

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled.

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

“Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.”

“You want to meet her?” you ask.

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you.

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks.

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa.

“You can get closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.”

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does.

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks.

“Willa,” you reply.

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly.

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal.

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her.

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?”

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice.

“Do you like the butterflies?”

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still.

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer.

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent.

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile.

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you.

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair.

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her.

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one.

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.”

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead.

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#woman (joel miller)#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #ppcu fanfiction #em's fics

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leportraitducadavre · 1 year

Text

“Sarada is the first Uchiha that awoke her MS out of a sense of pure love, unlike the rest of them that were rooted in hatred –she’s the first one to break the “Hatred Cycle” of the clan.”

*sighs* Listen, there’s nothing I’d like more than to leave Boruto and all of its byproducts behind for good, yet over and over again the rabid anti-Sasuke fandom comes back to trash on the original characters of the show for the sole purpose of chanting “old Uchiha bad, new Uchiha good” around a barely lit pit fire.

Allow me to quickly break this notion, as it doesn’t need much more inspection than a faint passing of our eyes through the original series to debunk it.

After hearing Naruto is sealed away alongside Hinata and everyone blames Boruto, Sarada starts crying and, in desperation, asks her dad to “help Boruto”, awakening her Mangekyou Sharingan.

[Contrary to what I initially believed as I thought she might be asking for help as she couldn’t move, she’s not injured, she appears to be (at most) in shock due to everything that Boruto has to face, so, in case you’re one of those Naruto fans that are used to have pretty plot-relevant, emotional moments after the initial awakening of an Uchiha’s MS, let me tell you: That’s not happening, at all.]

Regardless of the minuscule and for real, for real, not sarcastic at all, very-well thought and constructed attempt to empower a character whose relevance to the main plot lies in the fact that she is the only daughter of Boruto's mentor, many stans of the child saw this opportunity to trash on Sasuke’s power as an Uchiha (you know, the reincarnation of Indra itself), and to justify such an awakening of one of the most powerful forms of the Sharingan under the premise that “it’s a different type of awakening because it’s linked to love, not hatred.”

So, in order to fact-check such affirmation, let’s see how other characters achieved the Mangekyou:

Sasuke:

Sasuke awakes his MS originally from learning the truth behind his family’s genocide; before this (and I mean, chapters before this, as his MS is dedicated a total of three chapters) Obito explained that the Uchiha were planning a coup and that Itachi, to protect Konoha and his brother, committed the annihilation of his entire kin following the government’s orders. We see him crying before a new resolution is reached: destroy Konoha. His MS awakes due to his pain which turns to complete anger.

However, you wouldn’t believe how Sasuke has conscious access to both Mangekyou:

That’s right folks, he has conscious access over his right MS by thinking of those he wants to protect, Team Taka and Team 7. So this “hatred” cycle that powers up his Sharingan is fuelled by one thing and one thing only: love.

Furthermore,

Sasuke got conscious access over his left MS technique when trying to save Karin, as she’s a very dear comrade of his. Something similar happened when he awakened his Sharingan versus when he got conscious access to it when trying to save Naruto.

[Sasuke awoke the Sharingan when he was eight years old, so the idea that “haha, Sarada awoke her MS when she was younger than him so she’s better!” is stupid as he awoke it when he was at least four years younger when facing the genocide of his people, unlike her that got it from daddy issues. In fact, awakening MS or the Sharingan before or after has nothing to do with the person's capacity as a ninja as it solely depends on the traumatic events that said person experiences. It's safer to say that her emotional threshold is significantly lower than her father's given the "peaceful" times in which she grew up than to claim a "superiority" based upon the age they both experienced traumatically enough events to influence their chakra and develop or evolve their doujutsu.]

Obito:

Obito, somewhat similar to Sasuke (and this is due to their feelings, as they’re heartbroken and such pain triggers their raw hate), awakes his MS when he sees the girl he loves get killed by the boy he started to consider a friend when he was twelve/thirteen years old. His feelings are so strongly connected to his Sharingan that they also evolve the doujutsu that Kakashi possesses.

However, there’s a striking difference between how Obito awakened his Sharingan (basic form) and how Sasuke or even Sarada did as he achieved such power when trying to save his comrades.

[Sasuke awoke the Sharingan due to the pain he felt when seeing his parents get killed by his brother, which turned into hatred when Itachi "explained" his reasons. Meanwhile, Sarada got her Sharingans due to the pain she felt when her father didn't recognize her, which turned into fear when he threatened to kill her.]

Obito’s Sharingan was completely awakened by a sense of protectiveness over those dear to him, in other words, love.

Every single Sharingan or evolution of the same doujutsu is driven by the same emotion. From there, it either derivates to different states (pain, hate, grief, and so on), or it doesn’t, but no Uchiha can access either form without feeling a strong positive connection with someone or something they are trying to protect.

P.S: Unrelated, but look how pretty Kishimoto's art is compared to Ikemoto's (who also sexualizes minors constantly, as this is the cover of the newest volume), Sasuke looks so ugly and Sarada's MS is the most awful thing I've ever seen. No wonder the manga is flopping. Yikes.

Edit to add: It’s devastatingly hilarious how the whole point of Sarada’s Mangekyou wasn’t even about her; nor her power, nor the relevance of her bonds, it was about making a powerful enough moment for Sasuke to believe her and help Boruto! Everything becomes, yet again, about Sasuke.

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swimmingismywholelife · 5 months

Text

Noel (No Faith)

Summary: You wanted more from John and he couldn't care less. So why then was he at your door on Christmas Eve?

Warnings: fwb-to-lovers!John, angst, SMUT, arguments, soft domJohn, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, fingering, pussy licking, playing with nipples, missionary, honestly it's all very soft sex, HAPPY ENDING

WC: 3.8K

A/N: 🎶On the second day of Ficmas my writer gave to me, some angst and smut with dear old Johnny🎶 Hi my name is Janelle and I'm ashamed to say I love John Stones 🫣. The song that inspired this fic is "Noel (No Faith)" by 7 Minutes in Heaven! This is one of, if not, my favorite Christmas song bc it's just so good and I really think you should give it a listen. And this is I think my longest fic to date so I hope you all enjoy!

Link to the Song: Noel (No Faith)

"Noel, Noel, I wish that you would come home for Christmas (for Christmas)

Don't make me wait another year

Noel, Noel, I can't be left alone

You can unwrap the truth, my dear

You're all I want for Christmas this year."

~~~

You sighed with content as you finished putting up the last of the lights on the Christmas tree. You took a step back and smiled, proud of your work. You'd spent the weekend decorating your house, trying to cope with the homesickness of your first Christmas in Manchester away from your family. The star was centered perfectly on the top of the tree, stockings hung on your fireplace (mostly for decoration), and even though it was already Christmas Eve, you were happy to see everything come together. Now you truly felt ready for Christmas.

Well, almost.

Christmas was usually your favorite time of year. But this would be the first year you would be spending it alone. And the first year spending it along with a broken heart. You still replayed the scene in your head every night since it happened. Since the night John Stones left your heart in pieces.

"I don't know why you're mad," John scoffed, rolling out of your bed. "We had an agreement."

"I mean, yeah we did," you said quietly, sitting up.

"So then what's the problem?" he asked, beginning to redress himself.

"The problem, John, is that you treat me more than this agreement was originally supposed to be!" you said exasperated. "You act jealous when I'm around other guys, you basically live with me at this point, you call me even if nothing special is going on just because you wanna hear my voice. What am I supposed to think about that?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose huffing. "Listen, things were outlined pretty clearly when we first started this. You didn't seem to have an issue then, nor last night when you were screaming my name."

"You're full of shit, John, you know that?" you said as tears began forming in the corners of your eyes. "Things can change and feelings can change. And I'm sorry I fell in love with you. I didn't intend to! It just happened and I'm being honest. You've known how I felt and you did nothing but treat me like you wanted it to!"

John sharply turned to face you. "I've been clear from the beginning that I wasn't looking to commit. I wanted some fun and that's what we got and that's all it's gonna be."

"So all of our little outings alone? All of the nights where we poured our hearts out to each other? Inviting me to all your games so I could proudly wear you jersey? That all meant nothing you to you?" you asked.

"Look, if you wanna stop just say so and be done with it," he said.

A tear fell from your eyes.

"I guess that's it then," you said quietly.

Despite the fact that this happened months ago, you couldn't find it in you to move on. John made you feel so special, so different. You knew what the boundaries were when you agreed to be friends with benefits, but you couldn't help but fall in love with him. Every day that went by, you only missed John more.

Still, John didn't have to be such a dick about the whole thing. He was the one you led you on and left that night, not once looking back. It wasn't like you ended with solely unrequited love and he let you down gently. He made you feel like shit for catching feelings, like you didn't matter to him. You felt used and it felt disgusting.

So why did you find yourself missing him more than ever? Why were you holding out hope for him? Why were you still keeping your faith in him when he had no faith in you?

"Please come home," you whispered, looking at the star on top of your tree illuminating the room. You knew your wish was futile, but maybe this year would be your year for a Christmas miracle.

As you turned back upstairs, a knocking on the door stopped you in your tracks. You cocked your head in confusion. It was Christmas Eve and everyone you knew was spending Christmas with their families. You weren't expecting anyone to come visit. You were even more confused when you opened the door to find the very man you'd been wanting to see.

"John?" you said puzzled.

"I know it's Christmas Eve and we haven't spoken in weeks, but I just really needed to talk to you. Is that okay?" he asked, the words rapidly leaving his mouth as his body shook from the cold.

"I-" You hesitated. "I'm not really sure if that's a good idea."

"Please? I just need you to know and if after that you never wanna see me again, then I'll leave you alone," he replied desperately.

Letting the spirit of Christmas overpower your overwhelming urge to kick him in the face and leave him in the cold, you opened your door wider to let him in. John quickly stepped into the warmth of your home, rubbing his hands together.

"Let me start up the kettle for some tea. You wait on the couch and I'll grab you a blanket too," you said, gesturing to the living room he was more than familiar with.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said gratefully.

You took a deep breath as you made your way into the kitchen. "Dude, I know I said I wanted a Christmas miracle, but I wasn't emotionally prepared for this," you muttered to yourself as you filled the kettle with water. Once the stove was on, you grabbed a blanket from your closet for the man sitting in your living room.

"Here," you said, handing it to him.

"You remembered," he said quietly. You almost asked what he was talking about when you saw the familiar checkered pattern on the blanket. You grabbed the first one you saw, not realizing you'd instinctually grabbed John's favorite blanket.

"Truthfully, that was an accident," you said, trying to lighten up the mood. It didn't really work as the air grew awkward and thick, neither of you really knowing what to say.

"Um, I'll be right back and get your tea," you said awkwardly, quickly getting up.

You took your time, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the conversation. Why was he here? What did he want? Why Christmas Eve? So many questions rolled into your mind as you made his tea just the way he liked.

You came back and handed him the mug, John muttering a thanks before sipping on the tea.

"John, why are you here?" you asked exasperated, finally breaking the silence.

"I…" John sighed. "I wanted to talk."

You crossed your arms. "Well, you're here now. So talk."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs, setting the mug on the table. "I know that I fucked up, really fucked up. And I left you hanging after leading you on for so long." He turned to look at you. "And I just wanted to say I'm sorry for ever treating you so horribly. You've never deserved it and you were right, you can't help how you feel about someone."

"Thank you," you said.

"I thought I'd be fine after walking out that day," he continued. "To me, it really was just a thing that we did and nothing more. But days turned into weeks turned into months and something was wrong. It didn't matter who I tried to get with. I just couldn't do it. Every single girl just reminded me of you. At first, I didn't really I was comparing everyone to you until one day when it hit me. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and how you make me feel."

"And how do I make you feel, John?" you asked, curling your legs underneath you.

"Alive. You give me that drive and passion to do what I love, to be a better man. I miss the way you pretended to be asleep just so I would kiss you awake. I miss the way you play with my hair after a long day at practice or a late night game. I miss the way you felt in my arms. I miss the way your eyes light up at the sight of the stupid festive cups at coffee shops. I miss how I didn't have to fear who I was or who I wanted to be because you always brought out the best in me. God, I just miss you so much and I can't believe how stupid I was for not seeing it until you were long gone," he said on the verge of tears.

Neither of you said anything for a while after his confession. The tension only grew thicker as John anticipated your reaction, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

"You still hurt me, John," you replied after a while. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you did that day. How you left me feeling used and stupid and dumb. I thought you and I were on the same page and I couldn't have been further from the truth."

John gently took both of your hands in his. You allowed him to gently lace his fingers through yours, shivers running down your spine as he thumbs stroked your hand.

"I know," he said. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm sorry I didn't appreciate you while I had you. But if you give me a chance, I swear to you I'll make it up to you and show you how much you mean to me."

"John…." you trailed off. "I don’t know. I don't know how I can trust you again after what you did."

He tightened his grip on your hand. "You don't have to give me an answer today. You don't even have to give me an answer for the rest of the year. I'll wait as long as you need. Even if you decide no, I'll still be waiting here for you."

"Johnny, I don't want you to be waiting for me," you said softly. "That wouldn't be fair on you."

He shook his head. "No, Y/N, I'm the one who hasn't been fair to you at all. Waiting is the least I can do for you."

A silence fell, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. John was wondering if he'd been too late to fix things, if his chance was gone. Meanwhile, you were thinking if he even deserved another chance. It had taken you months to even fathom getting over him. Was this a test to see if you truly belonged together? Or was this a red flag that was being blatantly waved in front of you?

All the while, you never thought to release your hand from John's. It felt right for your hand to be there. While your head was in turmoil, it was also the calmest it had been since the day he left.

"Why did you come here tonight?" you asked, breaking the silence. "Why tonight specifically? Why didn't you come earlier or later in the year?"

"Because I know how much Christmas means to you," he replied. "I knew I was risking ruining your holiday, but I wanted to show you that I'm serious about this, more serious than anything I've ever done in my life."

"Will you stay?" you asked him with hopeful eyes, still being unsure of your feelings but not quite wanting him to leave.

"Baby, I'll stay as long as you want me here," John said, looking into your eyes. His hands moved from yours to cup your cheeks. "Would you like me to stay?"

You nodded. "You can stay in the guest room for the night so we can have some space. I'll grab you more blankets."

Too quickly for your liking, you pulled away, his hands lingering on your face just a little bit longer. While you wanted him next to you, it probably wasn't the best idea all things considered. You grabbed some spare blankets, alongside some spare clothes of his you couldn't bare to part with, handing them to him.

"I'm really surprised you still have these," John said.

You shrugged. "I still have everything you gave me quite frankly."

John's heart stopped for a moment. Maybe there was still a chance for you to have faith in him again.

"If you need me, just knock on my door, okay?" you said, leaning against the doorframe.

"I will. Good night, Y/N," he answered.

"Good night, John," you said softly.

You quickly got ready for bed, turning the light off in your room. You made yourself comfortable underneath the warmth of the blankets, but you still felt cold. How could you sleep properly knowing John was next door? Knowing that he wanted you back? You tossed and turned for a few hours, but you knew you wouldn't be getting any sleep that night, especially because you just wanted to be in the comfort of his arms.

You got out of bed to get some water, wanting to walk a bit to clear your head. You opened your door to come face to face with John, whose hand was raised indicating that he was about to knock on your door. You nearly screamed before you realized who he was.

"Jesus Christ, John! You scared the shit out of me," you said panting, putting your hand on your chest.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"That's okay, I only just lost a few years off my life," you joked. "But is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just couldn't really sleep," he answered, "and honestly I just really wanted to see you."

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, not really knowing what to say. You got lost in his eyes, that feeling you've always had with him returning.

Acting purely on instinct, both of you reached for each other, lips smashing desperately against each other. You felt like you could breathe again despite how hard the two of you were kissing. It just felt right that he was there with you. It felt right how his body was perfectly molded to yours.

John closed to door behind you, gently pushing you against it. His kisses were passionate yet still soft and gently, almost like he was afraid to hurt you. His hands were firmly around your waist as yours were around his neck, your fingers running through his hair.

"Jump," he whispered against you.

You obliged, wrapping your legs around him. He walked you to your bed, gently placing you on it as he climbed on top, your lips not parting once. He pulled away only to remove both of your shirts before returning to kiss you. His hands moved to your tits, gently squeezing them. You let out a breathy moan of his name.

"I missed his so much," he said just as breathlessly. "I missed your pretty little moans, baby." He squeezed a little harder, making your moans grow louder. "That's it, Let me hear you, Y/N."

His kisses started trailing down your jaw to your neck, his teeth nipping the skin. Little red marks were left in his wake until his mouth hovered over your nipple. He gently blew on it before taking it into his mouth, making a loud moan leave your body.

"You like that, baby?" John asked.

"Yes, John," you answered, your body squirming underneath him. "I love it so much."

John switched sides, your hands guiding his head there. He sucked harder, causing your hips to roll against his, groaning when your clothed cunt made contact with the bulge under his pants. His lips trailed down once again until he hit the band of the sweatpants you were wearing, noting that technically, they were his.

"Can I take this off, Y/N?" he asked, looking up at you.

You nodded your head frantically. "Yes, please take them off, please."

His hands grabbed the band and pulled down, moaning when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear.

"No underwear, baby? Are you trying to kill me?" he growled.

"It's comfortable, okay?" you squeaked out. "You know I've always preferred it that way."

John licked his lips as he laid his eyes on your pussy, the folds glistening with your wetness.

"Can I-" he started, but you cut him off.

"Yes, yes please!" you said desperately. "I need to feel your mouth on my pussy, John!"

He chuckled before licking your pussy, making you moan, your hands flying to grab his curls. John took his time licking from the bottom all the way to your clit. He repeated this motion several times, loving the way you tugged on him in desperation.

"Fuck!" you screamed when his lips sucked on your clit, your hips bucking into his face. "Fuck just like that!"

He sucked harder as one of his fingers teased your entrance. Your chest was up and down rapidly as your heartbeat quickened. You moaned loudly when his finger entered you, immediately hitting your g spot. He wasn't moving fast, but he was pressing deep into your pussy, making everything more intense.

"That feels so good," you said, "please don't stop. So good."

You hadn't slept with anyone since John. You couldn't possible bring yourself to. The only pleasure you'd gotten was from yourself, meaning your body more sensitive than usual. You felt your release coming fast.

"John, I think I'm gonna cum," you moaned out. In response, John picked up the pace, adding another finger. "I'm right there, baby, I just need a little bit more." John shook his head back and forth as he finger fucked you hard and fast. You screamed out, pulling his head further into your pussy as your release hit you. Your back arched against the bed, John taking one of the hands from behind his head to lace them together. You squeezed his hand as a wave of cum flooded his mouth, John happily licking all of it up.

You brought his face back up to your lips, needing to feel them against yours once again. You moaned slightly at the taste of yourself, John's hand gently cupping your cheek to kiss you deeper. He quickly took his bottoms off guiding his cock to your entrance. He tapped the head against your clit and your hips rolled.

"Is this okay?" John asked. "Are you sure you want this?"

You nodded desperately. "Please John, I need to feel you. Please."

He ran his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in, his body leaning over yours. You almost screamed at the way he was stretching your pussy.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," he hissed out. "When's the last time this pussy was touched by someone other than yourself?"

"Not since the day you left," you answered meekly. John's dick got even harder inside you.

"Yeah? This pussy is mine right baby?" he asked, bottoming out and stilling his hips.

"Mhm, all yours," you whined out, your body unable to stay still as he filled you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking deep into your eyes. "Do you need a minute?"

"Mhm," you answered. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm more than okay, baby," he answered as he stroked your hair lightly, making your heart swell.

"John?" you asked.

"Yeah?"

"Give it to me please," you whispered. "I need it please!"

"I got you, baby," he said, kissing your forehead.

John moved his hips keeping a slow but deep pace. Your legs wrapped around him, needing to feel him pressed against you as you kissed him. John normally had you screaming at the top of your lungs, but this was different. This felt different. Nothing more was needed but breathy moans into each other's mouths, John really only picking up the pace slightly.

"It feels so good, Johnny," you moaned breathlessly. "So fucking good."

"Yeah? Feels good baby, doesn't it?" he asked. You nodded, eyes rolling back. "This pussy was made for me."

"Mhm. So big," you babbled. "Fucks me so good."

"You're taking it so well," he praised softly. "You look so fucking beautiful when you take my cock like this. Like you were meant to be here with me."

Tears started to form in your eyes, making John still.

"Baby, don't cry," he said worriedly. He wiped away the tears that were falling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'll stop if you want me to."

You shook your head. "No, don't stop. I've just wanted you to say those words to me. Please keep going."

"Are you sure? We don't have to keep going if you wanna stop," he said unsure.

"Johnny, please," you begged. "I want this. I want you. I don't want anything but you."

"Me too, baby," John replied as he moved his hips, keeping the same deep pace as before. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it." He brought his hands to yours, pressing you into the bed as your fingers intertwined. "Do you hear me? I love you, Y/N. So. Fucking. Much," he said, thrusting as hard as he could to emphasize his words. "And I'm never fucking letting you go again."

"I love you too," you moaned. "I really do."

"I'm close," he said, rubbing your clit.

"Fuck, me too," you said.

"Cum with me, baby. That's it. Cum for me."

You back arched as you had the most intense orgasm of your life, squeezing John's hands as you let out a loud moan. John groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release. He came deep inside you, gently thrusting to get every last bit of his cum in you.

You both laid there panting for a moment staring into each others eyes, foreheads resting against one another.

"I think that's the hardest I ever came," he chuckled. "I don't think I've ever cum that much before."

"It felt really good," you admitted, "to be filled up like that."

"I love you, Y/N," he said again.

"I love you too, John."

John rolled off of you, getting up to grab a towel to clean you up. He gently ran it over your body, not wanting to hurt you. He cleaned himself before tossing the towel into the laundry and climbing back into bed.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered to himself in awe of you.

"Will you stay?" you asked.

"Always," he replied.

John looked over at the clock to see it was past midnight.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he said. "Thank you for being the best present I could've ever had."

"Merry Christmas, Johnny. Thank you for coming home," you said, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else but with you."

John held you tight that night and every night after that. And you were glad you kept your faith in him. For John Stones was your Christmas miracle and that was all you needed.

Taglist: @thoseboysinblue @neverinadream @chilwellspulisic @lizzypotter14 @pulisicsgirl @lovelynikol16 @notsoattractivearenti @nyctophilic0vitnir @shadowscorch

#john stones #john stones imagine #john stones fic #john stones x reader #john stones one shot #swimmingismywholelife #john stones au #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #footballer one shot #footballer au

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blossom-works · 8 months

Text

Home for My Heart: At His Happiest

Almost a whole year of Kylian getting to experience one of the happiest times of his life with the woman he loves the most.

Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage, descriptions of vaginal birth, vomiting

---

With a big smile, you watch your husband do a celebratory dance. He still has your pregnancy test in hand, and Kylian’s dimples are on full display. With two big steps, he goes back to the white box and silently squeals at the crochet cleats and ball. While you cannot entirely see his face, only the side of it, you know that Kylian is thinking about the child that will one day be here. He places one of the cleats into the palm of his hand, and you watch as Kylian marvels at its size. It barely fills the length of his palm. Kylian puts everything back in the box and magically appears in front of you. His hands cup your cheeks and he plants one of the biggest kisses he can on your lips. Kylian’s passionate kiss is a bit too passionate for your liking. He is starting to hurt your cheeks with how hard he is pushing against them.

You pull his hands off your face and your face away from his. “I’ll take it that you’re happy.”

“Chérie, c'est la meilleure nouvelle que j'ai jamais entendue ! Nous allons être parents ! Nous devons le dire à nos familles !“ You have to flinch at how loud Kylian has gotten. Honey, that's the best news I've ever heard! We are going to be parents! We need to tell our families!

Now it is your turn to cup his cheeks. “I know you’re excited, but I want us to hold off on telling people.”

“Huh? But why?” Just what in the world is holding you back? This is probably the best thing that has happened to you two. Why not celebrate it with your friends and families?

Putting on your serious face, you say “Look, I’m just as excited as you are, but the first trimester is the most crucial. I don’t want to freak you out or make you worried, but about eighty percent of miscarriages happen during the first trimester. I don’t want to get everyone excited only to-” you say the last part in a whisper. “Lose the baby.”

Your talk of reality brings Kylian down from his high. Hearing what you have to say, Kylian nods his head and kisses your forehead. Hugging you, Kylian tells you that you two have nothing to worry about and that he cannot wait to tell everyone that you will be parents. The box of goodies sits on the table while you and Kylian fantasize about life as parents.

“What do you think it’ll be?”

“I would have to say boy since your family has a lot of boys.”

“But your family has a lot of girls.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who gives the last chromosome. X or Y.”

Kylian shrugs his shoulders to your truth. His hand has not left your stomach. If anything, that one spot is getting a bit sweaty. You tried to move his hand, but Kylian swiped your hand away.

“What about names?” You ask.

“Mmmm...Kylian Jr.?”

You lift your head at him and raise a brow. “I refuse to let my child be named Jr.”

“What? Why not? Kylian is a great name.”

“No, you’re just fueling your own ego. Besides, I will refuse to have sex with you if your child has the same name as you.”

Kylian looks at you like you just grew two heads, but the more he thinks about it, the more your outrageous statement makes sense. He grimaces at the thought and agrees that Kylian Jr. is off the table.

“What about football? Would you want our kids to pursue a career in it? Especially if we have a son.”

Your husband hums. “I would like them to at least love the sport, but if they have a passion for it like I did, then I would want them to go after their passion.”

“And what if they don’t like football?”

“It would break my heart.” He tells honestly. “But I can’t force it on them. Especially when they get older.”

You and Kylian talk more and more about your future with kids. Going over all the “what ifs” your heads can think of. The more you guys talk about the baby forming in your womb, the more excited Kylian is. He has always been good with children and has always wanted kids of his own, but he chose to focus on his career. When Kylian got older, the urge to settle down and have kids grew. He is lucky that you wanted kids just as bad as he did because if he had to wait any longer, Kylian may just end up going crazy. When you were just dating, Kylian saw how you treated your nieces and nephews. You loved and doted on them as much as you could, but you would also scold them if they got into trouble. Kylian just knew you would make a great mother, and he only hopes that he can be a greater father.

A Couple Weeks Later:

(Bold dialogue in quotations in this section means that someone is speaking in Spanish)

You let out a loud sigh as you close the lid of your water bottle. When you made the appointment to visit the clinic, the woman on the phone told you that you have to drink at least thirty-two ounces of water an hour before you get to your appointment. You thought that it would be easy since your water bottle is thirty-two ounces but drinking it in a limited time is a lot to ask. Especially when you cannot use the bathroom until after the appointment ends. You hear your husband laugh at how annoyed you are.

“Vous vous amusez la bas?“ You glare at how much fun Kylian is having at your expense. Having fun there?

“Shut up. I can feel my bladder expanding with water alone.” You say as you fix your posture to make yourself as comfortable as you can. “If I pee on myself, I’m gonna send the the bill from the cleaners to the clinic.”

“Ha ha ha! We’re almost there. I’m sure your bladder can wait a couple more moments.”

The more you grovel in your water misery, the slower Kylian is driving. After wishing and wishing for traffic to move faster, your wish is granted. Kylian reverse parks the Mercedes. Thanks to his reputation, the owner of the clinic agreed to do all of your appointments before they open to the public. Of course, it came with a higher bill, but it was worth it in Kylian’s eyes. He does not want the media to get a hold of your pregnancy just yet. Since front window tinting is illegal in the country of Spain, Kylian has to be extra careful on the road to avoid unwanted attention. He calls the front desk to tell them that you guys are here, and when the receptionist sees his Mercedes, she hurriedly unlocks the door.

“Welcome! Let me show you to the room. Your OB should be there shortly.”

A fact that you forgot in your agony of water, is that the OB clinic you are at is part of the hospital you work at. It is at a different location, but under the same board or management. It is the reason why you and Kylian were able to make this request so easily. You also know how the entire establishment works so trust is a big player.

Kylian thanks the woman as she leads you down a hallway. She stops at the third door on the right and motions for you two to enter. She tells you to sit at the exam table and reminds you both that the OB will be here shortly.

“Did you finish drinking you thirty-two ounces of water?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Alright. I’m just going to take down some basic information and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Once the lady finished jotting down said information, she closes the door to leave you and Kylian alone. Being the nosy person you are, you get down from the exam table and snoop around the cabinets and drawers.

“What are you doing?” Kylian asks you in disbelief. If you remember correctly, this is the first time Kylian has been in a clinic room with you, so he does not know that you like to prowl the room before the doctor comes in.

“I’m a curious person.” You shrug like it is no big deal. Most if not all the clinics you have been to have the same materials in it, but there may be that one time where something weird is discovered. Kylians shakes his head at your antics, but lets you continue. A knock on the thick door interrupts your snooping and you hurriedly sit back down on the exam table. Sending Kylian into a laughing fit.

“Come in.”

The OB closes the door around her and greets Kylian and you.

“Hello! I’m Alejandra Sanchez and I’ll be your OB for the rest of your pregnancy. Now before I start the exam, have you had any symptoms? Pregnancy related or not?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“And you have no known allergies, correct?”

“Uh-huh.”

Once the OB has everything she needs, Alejandra asks you to lay down on the table and to lift your shirt to your chest. The clinic had asked you to wear loose fitting clothes so the water-based gel does not ruin your clothing. She also asked you to wear a sports bra in case the underwire interferes with the sonogram. Alejandra uses a clean towel to roll down the waist band of your pants enough to expose your entire torso. The waistband is now where your pubic bone is.

Alejandra warns you that the gel is cold before applying it. Kylian scoots his chair so he can sit right next to you, but out of the OB’s way. She places the transducer on the gelled area and starts searching for the peanut of a baby. You see Kylian pulling out his phone to record the upcoming moment. Alejandra starts pointing out the different organs the machine is picking up. She puts a bit more pressure where your uterus is. She moves the transducer left, right, up, and down and there it is. Your baby.

“Here we go.” Alejandra says as she points to the white shaped peanut. With her free hand she explains that the black bubble your baby is in is the placenta. She then uses her free hand to check the baby’s growth, and that is when she plays the most beautiful sound a person can play.

The rhythmic beat of such a small heart is truly a blessing to hear. Unknowingly, you and Kylian’s grip on the other’s hand has loosened. Too in awe at the sight and sound of your child. Your first child. Kylian’s camera perfectly captures the screen, but it does not do the scan justice.

“Your baby is growing just fine, and their heartbeat is regular. It looks like your baby is about six weeks old. Meaning-” Alejandra does some quick math. “Your baby should be due sometime in August of next year. Would you like me to send a recording of the heartbeat to your email?”

Kylian immediately agrees and gives her the appropriate information. Alejandra thanks your husband and leaves you two to enjoy the moment with each other. Neither of you say anything. Not that anything needs to be said. You two could look at the scan for ages and never get bored of it. The sight may be insignificant for some, but that is just because they do not understand the wonders of it. Knowing that this baby is to grow inside of you makes you selfish. A big part of you does not want to give birth to this child and have them all to yourself.

Neither of you realize that about ten minutes have gone by just staring and listening. Alejandra’s knocking brings you both back to reality.

“Excuse me, I’ve sent the recording to your email Mr. Mbappe. We also have about twenty minutes before we open to the public.”

Alejandra then wipes the gel off your stomach and hands you a copy of today’s scans. She tells you when your next appointment is and that they will open their doors a little earlier for you. Your OB thanks you and Kylian for your time and congratulates you. She informs you that the lady who lets you in (her name is Fernanda), will be the one to check you out.

Once you get yourself ready to leave, Kylian turns you around by your waist and hugs you to his chest. When you look up to him, he has a gentle smile on his lips, but eyes are the window to the soul. Through Kylian’s eyes you can see how happy he is. Happier than when he wins the World Cup, happier than when he scores a goal, and happier than when he married you. You can see how much he is looking forward to holding his child in his arms for the first time. You can see how much he is imagining his life as a father. You know that he cannot wait for the near future.

Two and a Half Months Later (Approximately 15 Weeks Pregnant):

Moaning in agony you flush the toilet a third time in a row today. It was the beginning of the month when you started to feel the hormonal changes happening within your body. You started feeling nauseous around certain foods and you catch yourself going into emotional fits (after they are done). Most importantly, your body is rejecting almost everything you put in it. You have been heavily reliant on the prenatal vitamins you have, but those can only do so much. The only foods you can keep down are rice, cucumbers, and eggs (that have to be cooked a certain way or else you throw up).

There was an instance where Kylian was cooking lunch for you two and you threw up due to the smell. It was not even appalling to the normal human nose, but your hormonal body said “no”. So anything Kylian wants to cook something for himself, you have to lock yourself in the bedroom and wait for the main floor to be aired out. This part of your pregnancy, not being able to have a meal with your husband, sucks the most. To try and normalize your change of behavior, you have opted to FaceTime whenever Kylian eats his meals.

“Chérie, j'ai laissé ta bouteille d'eau sur ta table de chevet. Je vais préparer un dîner. Voulez-vous votre habitude?” Kylian calls out, semi-worried. He has sort of adjusted to your pregnancy symptoms, but he still worries about your overall health. Especially when you can only eat three types of foods. He just hopes that your symptoms will die down soon. Honey, I left your water bottle on your nightstand. I'm going to cook dinner. Want your usual?

You groan out a yes before you hurl into the toilet bowl for the nth time today. Who knew that a baby, who is the size of an apple as of right now, can make you barf your guts out so much. After one more round, you feel as if your body has nothing left for you to throw up. Ripping some toilet paper off its roll, you wipe your mouth and flush it down the toilet with the contents of your stomach. You spit into the sink before vigorously brushing your teeth. For good measure, you use extra-minty mouthwash. Satisfied with your clean and minty mouth, you gulp down some water, wincing when the water intensifies your fresh mouth. Knocking on the door, Kylian comes in with your meal in hand. He hands it to you while littering your forehead with kisses.

“Comment vous sentez-vous?“ Kylian asks as he sets the bowl of food on a nearby surface to pull you in a hug. Since you have been sick, you have been losing some weight and that worries Kylian. He asked your OBGYN if they can do anything about your nausea, but they told Kylian that he will just have to wait for it to pass. The prenatal prescribed to you should help alleviate the sickness, but every pregnancy is different. If the clinic upped your prenatal dosages, it may end up causing harm to the baby and you. How do you feel?

Exasperatedly you say, “Like a demon wants to crawl out of me.”

Kylian laughs and plants a kiss on the top of your head before kneeling down to your stomach.

“You’re not even born yet and you’re already causing your mom trouble.” Your husband lightly flicks a random spot on your abdomen. Punishing his child for their wrongdoings. “I’m gonna eat and clean up, okay?”

Not a beat later are you rushing back to the bathroom for another round of hurling.

Three Months Later (Approximately 29 Weeks Pregnant):

You and Kylian knew that you pregnancy can be hidden for so long. Especially when you are shopping for your baby’s arrival. Online shopping is wonderful but when it comes to the big supplies like cribs, strollers, bouncers, and highchairs to name a few, it is best to shop in person. So, Kylian pulled out his celebrity card and called a few shops a week before to ask if they could close their store for a certain time frame. He also hired a bigger than usual security team for the day.

When you and Kylian arrived at the local mall, you were greeted by a group of journalists, photographers, and fans (word gets out quick). To keep face, Kylian smiles at his fans and waves at the reporters. All of which you sort of ignore as your husband told you to do. It takes you two about ten minutes to get to the first store. Not because it is deep inside the mall, but because you had to fight through the crowd. As soon as you entered the store with three security guards, the rest stood in front of the store entrance.

“Regarde ça! Seuls deux de mes doigts peuvent rentrer dedans! Allons s'en approprier!“ Kylian calls out to you while showing you his amazement. Look at this! Only two of my fingers can fit in! Let’s get it!

You take the adorably tiny shoes and look at the tag. “Kylian, these are meant for newborns to four months old. The baby won’t even be able to walk, let alone crawl at that age.”

“Mais bébé ~” Kylian whines. Sternly, you tell your husband “no” and drag him over before he can sneak it to one of the employees. But babe ~

“You still have the list of what we need to buy, right?”

Kylian hums as he pulls out his phone and clicks on the “notes” app. Out of the corner of your eyes you spot something that you just absolutely need to buy. Your pregnant self pushes your husband out of your way as you run towards the item.

“Babe! Look what I found!”

You pull the item off the shelf and proudly show it to your husband (and everyone who is watching from the display windows) with a big grin.

“Oh, come on.” Kylian laughs.

In your hands is a fluffy rug in the shape of a sea turtle. The head is stuffed while the rest of its body is nothing but soft fabric. “It matches the theme of the nursery! We have to get it!”

“But don’t we already have a rug in the nursery?”

“So? The rug can have a rug. You can never have too many rugs.”

“You’re just saying that cause you put rugs in every room you build in the Sims.”

“Yeah so?”

Kylian touches the rug and holds it up in front of him. “It is a cute rug.”

With doe eyes you say, “I know! And we can always use it in the living room for tummy time. It’s multi-purposeful!”

“Tummy time?” Kylian asks confused. He is still learning about baby terminology so something like “tummy time” is still foreign to him.

“Yes. You know, when you put the baby on their stomach for a while.”

“Oh ouais. Pourquoi les gens font-ils ça de toute façon ?” Oh, yeah. Why do people do that anyway?

“It’s to help the baby build their neck muscles. Et si un bébé reste trop longtemps sur le dos, sa tête prendra une forme irrégulière.” You show Kylian a comparitive picture of a baby’s head. One side is a baby that was allowed to have tummy time, and the other shows a baby that was always on their back. And if a baby stays on their back too long, their head will take on an irregular shape.

After Kylian hands the rug to an employee, together you look for a suitable playpen and a portable crib with an attachable changing table. The more you look at the different options for a pen, the more you two agree that you will wait to get one. It will be a while before the baby even starts to crawl. On top of that, where will you put the playpen, and how much will you have to buy?

“We’ll just change them on the ground or the couch. We should get a bouncer instead and have a corner or something for baby supplies.”

The two of you spend a total of four hours at the mall. All of the bigger items that Kylian bought he asked the employees to send them to your home. Smaller items like clothes (and the shoes Kylian dearly wanted) were in the shopping bags in his hand. When you two get home, there is a package on your doorstep. Since your home is privately gated, anytime someone needs to make a delivery, the driver must call either you or Kylian to get the gate open. Happily, you take the box and barge into your own home and run to the dining room table.

Squealing, you take out the cushioning and throw it onto the floor to reveal the handcrafted item. When you hold it up by the top look, you look at the craft in awe. On Etsy you ordered a sea turtle themed mobile. Your heart clenches at the thought of it one day, being the first thing your child sees when they wake up.

“Look Kyky! It’s adorable!”

Your husband smiles as he puts the shopping bags on the table. Kylian stands behind you and holds you close by your waist. Slowly, he starts to say your bodies.

“It’s perfect babe. You did a good job picking it out.”

The mobile has three turtles per your request. Two big sea turtles and one baby right in the middle. The baby turtle is on its back while the parents surround their child. Different shades of blue, felt balls are attached to the top of the strings to make it look like the family of turtles are swimming in the open sea. Kelp and coral hangs from the bottom from various heights. If you look closely, one of the turtles has lashes on it. The mommy turtle: you.

“Le bébé va adorer.” Kylian says. He gently turns your head to the side and softly kisses your lips. Peck after peck he kisses you. Each lasting a second longer than the last. Kylian does not know what was going through your head during today’s shopping trip, but in his, the reality that he is going to be a father is getting closer. Waking up in the random hours of the night is horrible, but getting to hear his baby’s laugh outweighs the con. Becoming the world’s best football player has always been Kylian’s goal in life, but being a father came close. Now, both goals in life are about to come true. The baby will love it.

One Month Later (Approximately 34 Weeks Pregnant):

Humming, you have a finger on your chin thinking about where objects should go. Everything has to be perfect or else you will not be able to sleep. Meanwhile, as you are taking your marry time, your poor husband is standing next to the crib. Awaiting your orders. Kylian is shaking his right leg while he tries to regulate his breathing. He knows how meticulous you are with objects and their assigned places, but damn. Can you please make up your mind? First you wanted the dresser next to the crib but then it seemed cramped. Then you did not want the crib directly in front of any windows cause you are scared the sun might blind your baby. Then Kylian had to keep scootching the rocking chair a little bit further from the corner so when you rock, the back does not hit the wall.

“I think it’ll be easier to put the crib there and the dresser across it. The cubbies can go over here. What do you think Kyky?”

“I think this’ll be the last time I’m moving anything.” Kylian grumbles as he swipes the sweat off his forehead with his shirt.

Feeling bad, you cup his cheeks and kiss him. Giving him a couple of pecks in hopes that it will completely erase his annoyance. “I’m sorry. I just want everything to be perfect when the baby comes.”

Kylian sighs and this time, kisses you. His bigger and slightly sweaty hands caress your belly from under your (his) shirt. Your baby has been an active one and definitely takes after their father. Every time the baby kicks your uterus, you want to slap Kylian each time for passing on his genes. The first time Kylian felt the baby’s kick, he would not stop touching your belly in hopes of feeling the baby kick again. Unfortunately for you, whenever the baby kicks, it feels like you have to pee. First you spent all your time in the bathroom throwing up, and now you spend all your time to pee, and sometimes you do not even pee!

“Je sais bébé, mais peux-tu s'il te plait finaliser là où tu veux tout ? Tu me tues ici.” Your husband begs. You happily nod and tell him where to put the furniture, promising him that this is the last time. Taking your word for it, Kylian puts the dresser on the opposite wall of the dresser and the cubbies underneath the window. He makes sure that the rug is nice and centered. You hand him a leveler, and everything is nice and even. Kylian insisted on putting the furniture himself and not hiring people to do it for him. You were a bit iffy since Kylian is not the best with tools, but you did chaperone him. Your dad taught you all about tools when you were growing up, so you are more than experienced in this department. You have to hand it to Kylian, he did a good job once he knew what tool was what. You do have to dock some points because Kylian refused to read the manuals and even wanted to open every pack of screws and bolts at the same time. I know baby, but can you please finalize where you want it all? You are killing me here.

Happily, you thank Kylian with a big kiss on his lips and tell him that you will get him some water. He thanks you and watches you waddle into the hallway to go downstairs. Finally having the time to relax, Kylian sits down on the rocking chair and leans back into it. The more he sits in silence, the more real this room feels. This room is for his baby. His baby that is currently growing in your womb. During the first few months the baby will be sleeping in your shared room, but after that, they will be getting their own room. This room. The one that Kylian had to rearrange four times. He looks at the cart where most of the baby essentials and your breast pump are at. Just two weeks ago you two traveled to America and had your baby shower.

Baby showers are not as popular in Europe as they are in America, and it would be easier for your family if you had the party there. It was a joyous time and with how high strong your hormones were, you did cry a couple of times. While your baby has yet to be born, they are surrounded by love throughout the world (and the internet. Kylian’s fans have been guessing what the name and sex of the baby is). Feeling reality hit him, Kylian wipes his hand over his face as he looks at the crib he struggled to build. His baby will one day sleep there and he or you will have to make your way into this room in the middle of the night for feedings and diaper changes. The dresser will double as a changing table and the cubbies are for the books you were gifted at the baby shower, and for the different knickknacks you two bought.

“You okay?” Your voice and the way you caress his shoulder knocks Kylian out of his daydream. He takes the water and chugs it down before telling you he is fine, kissing the hand on his shoulder.

“Je vais bien. J'ai juste hâte que le bébé arrive.” I'm doing well. I just can't wait for the baby to come.

“Me too.” You whisper. “Now help me get these pictures up, and we’ve gotta set the mobile up. Oh, and help me fold the baby’s clothes. They just finished drying.” You list more to-do’s after another in what Kylian believes is a never ending list.

...Shit...

One Month Later (Approximately 38 Weeks Pregnant):

About a month ago you started your maternity leave. It was great in the beginning since you got to sleep in and do whatever you want, but it got boring soon after since you would be home alone. That only lasted a week though. When you two found out your due date, Kylian had a long meeting with the club’s management department about taking leave for a few months towards the end of your pregnancy. Luckily, they ended up agreeing but it would mean that Kylian’s contract would be extended for a few months to make up for his absence since your baby will arrive during the season.

Kylian bought the large property not just for its privacy, but the yard space it offered. When you two were in a long-distance relationship and things were getting serious, you frequently talked about wanting a large backyard space for your future kids to run around in, and maybe a dog or two. When you two were house hunting, Kylian kept that wish in mind. He even requested the retail agent to only show them houses with a large yard. You two had fun viewing multiple houses and had even more fun re-designing your home. European fridges are small and while you got used to them, you wanted your big, American fridge back. While you mainly focused on the inside of the home, Kylian focused on the outside. The yard space was big enough to have a fully sized football field installed, a pool and a patio with a built-in grill, a bon-fire pit, and more than enough empty space for little kids to run around in. This is truly where Kylian and you will raise your family. If you had to one day move, Kylian may have a hard time selling this place.

While doing the dishes you felt a bit more uncomfortable than usual but brushed it off and focused on getting this pain in the ass food off this plate. Honestly, you feel like SpongeBob that one time he could not get that gunk off the plate at the Krusty Krab. Where could you find a laser and tank without alarming the feds? After you successfully cleaned the plate, you took off the silicone gloves and cleaned off the counter and sink. You then took it upon yourself to sweep the floors and vacuum the rugs and wipe down any dirty surface. You then went into one of the storage closets to get your cleaning bucket to clean the bathrooms. This house has about seven full bathrooms with two half sized bathrooms. Now, you do not plan on cleaning all of them, just the ones that are frequently occupied and inspecting the ones that are not.

When you are satisfied with your handiwork, you check on the laundry that you put in the dryer before you started cleaning. You fold yours and Kylian’s clothes and put them where they belong and go to the bathroom to collect your skincare, shampoo, and conditioner. You place the products in a small bag before mentally checking to see if you need to do anything else before leaving. Your double and even triple check but nothing comes into mind. Bag in hand you go downstairs where Kylian is playing on his PS5 with Hakimi.

“Honey!”

Kylian’s eyes are focused on the screen in front of him while his fingers are busy pressing different buttons in a sequence. “Huh?” he yells out.

“We gotta go.”

Confused, Kylian tells his friend to hold on and takes off his headset. “Go? Where are we going?”

“The hospital, I’m in labor.”

From your perspective, it looks like Kylian’s mind is buffering. Like you can physically see the wheel spinning. The Frenchman quickly throws his headset off and rushes past you to get the car keys.

“C’mon cherie!”

Instead of walking out the open door, you sit on the couch where Kylian was occupied not long ago and put the headset on.

“Hakimi? Hey, it’s nice to talk to you too. Listen, Kylian will have to leave the game because he has to go. The hospital. No, everything’s fine, I’m just in labor. Yeah, it is exciting. I’m a little scared. Thank you! Yeah, I’ll tell him to Facetime you when the baby comes. See ya soon!”

You exit the game and turn the gaming station off and put the controllers and headset away. Getting off the couch was a bit of a struggle since your center of gravity is off, but you managed to do so.

“What are you doing? We need to get to the hospital!” Kylian is absolutely confused at why you have not left the house yet. You are about to have his baby for crying out loud!

“Hold on, Ky. I gotta put the dishes up.”

“What!” Kylian chases after you and tries to coax you to get into the car. “Why are you drying dishes?”

“I can’t come back to a dirty home. What will the baby think?” You justify it like it is the most obvious thing in this world.

“The baby won’t even be able to see!”

“Alright, well I still don’t wanna come back to a dirty home.” You say as you grab a clean rag and dry off the semi-wet dishes while putting them into the cabinets and drawers of the kitchen. “Some women put on their makeup before going to the hospital. This is my equivalent. Now if you want, you can help me out so we can get to the hospital sooner.”

Completely dumbfounded, Kylian shoves the keys into his pocket and grabs a rag. He takes dish after dish off the rack faster than Speedy Gonzales and tosses them wherever they belong.

“Careful! I don’t wanna have to sweep the floor again.”

Huffing, Kylian is a tad bit careful when putting the dishes away while still maintaining his speed. Thanks to his help, the dishes are dried and put away. Kylian tosses the rag on the counter and pulls the keys out of his pants.

“Can we - What are you doing now?”

“Relax hysteria. I’m just putting the rags away so they can dry properly.” As soon as you put the wet rags on the oven handle, Kylian drags you out of the kitchen and towards the car. “Wait! I need to check to make sure nothing else needs to be done!”

Kylian unlocks the door and practically shoves you into the passenger seat and snatches the bag of bathroom products out of your hand and chucks it into the backseat. “Chérie, je me fiche que la maison brûle. Vous êtes en travail. Je t'emmène à l'hôpital.” Honey, I don't care if the house is burning. You are in labor. I'm taking you to the hospital.

You pout while putting your seatbelt on while Kylian does the same. “I don’t get why not. I entered labor while doing the dishes.” You mumble.

“Quoi!“ Kylian shouts.

“Yeah, I felt some contractions while doing the dishes.”

“You finished the dishes like two hours ago!” Kylian swears that his brain is about to explode from how nonchalant you are acting. You mean to tell him that you have been in labor for two hours and did not tell him!

“I know.” You shrug. “I was just following the 411 rule. I had to make sure that the contractions were about four minutes apart, last for a minute, and for the duration for an hour.”

Kylian cannot believe what he is hearing. An “error” sign might as well pop out from behind him. Instead of continuing this argument, Kylian ignites the engine and drives off.

“Wait!” You yell at him. Kylian stomps on the breaks and asks what is wrong, panicking, thinking that the baby is already trying to come out of you right now.

“Did you lock the door?”

Dear God, you are lucky that Kylian loves you or else you would be walking to the hospital.

At the Hospital:

When you two were admitted to the hospital, you were given a private room and a hospital gown to change into. After you got hooked up to different machines and stuck with needles, Kylian left the room to get the duffle bag and the skincare you packed from the car. A couple of days ago you packed one of Kylian’s duffle bags with clothes for you, him, and the baby along with some essentials. When Kylian got to the car, he made sure the car seat was stable before going back to your room. Since you got to the hospital, your contractions got a bit more uncomfortable but not painful. You described it as having to take a solid poop. Your words, not his.

Six Hours Since Arrival:

You ended up getting an epidural when the contractions got worse. Originally, you wanted an as natural birth as possible, but the pain was just too unbearable. You even cried from how bad the pain was. Kylian has never felt worse than he did. He could not do much but just watch and let the nurses do their job. Kylian tried to put on some smoothing music to help you relax but it just annoyed you. All you wanted to do was lay on the hospital in silence. You did not even want to be touched by anyone. When you got the epidural and slept for about half an hour, you felt a lot better and apologized to Kylian.

“It’s fine, babe. You’re about to give birth to our baby. You can practically get away with anything.”

“Then~ Does that mean I can slap you and blame it on labor?” You joke.

Kylian laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. Besides, you’re numb from your waist below so you can’t blame the labor pains.” He kisses you on the lips.

You ask him if he has eaten anything, and he said that he ordered some food from a local restaurant. He ordered it under a pseudonym and asked the staff to watch out for it. Kylian did not want the media to get a whiff of what was happening. The nurse understood and asked her co-worker who is at the front desk to call her when the food arrives. You are a little jealous that your husband gets to eat but you are stuck with crappy jello cups. The doctors said that the clear foods and drinks should minimize complications but all you heard was that bread and rice is off the table.

Echoing in the room is a heartbeat, your baby’s. Your baby is doing fine but you were warned that it will take at least twelve hours for the baby to arrive. Since this is your first birth, it is going to take your body a while to get the hang of things. Currently, you are only four centimeters dilated.

Kylian lays his head on your chest, just at the top of your stomach and caresses the engorged abdomen. Heartstrings tugged; you caress Kylian’s head as you two listens to the beat of your child’s heart. A sound so soothing that both of you fall asleep to it.

Sixteen Hours Since Arrival:

Your legs are propped on stirrups and people are crowded around you. Kylian is by your side to offer his support. Your anesthetic dosage was lessened so you know when to push. You are supposed to push during contractions since it will be easier for the baby to travel down the birth canal. You can only know when to push if you can feel your vagina being ripped in half. When it comes to actually pushing the baby out, you were told to use your core. A popular misconception is that when giving birth, you push like you would when pooping. The truth is that you use the same muscles when giving birth, but the right way to push is by tightening the muscles in your abdomen.

“Está haciendo un gran trabajo, Sra. Mabppe. Puedo ver la cabeza de tu bebé.” You're doing a great job, Mrs. Mabppe. I can see your baby's head.

During your baby shower, your sisters told you to refuse the opportunity to be medically induced. With their experience and the words of their friends, it only makes birthing harder since the body is not naturally ready to deliver the baby. And it should take fewer pushes to deliver the baby.

The doctor wiggles his hands between your vaginal walls and the baby’s head, lightly pulling the baby out. You tighten your core again and the baby’s bloody head is slowly coming out. The doctor encourages you to keep pushing and keeps gently pulling on the baby.

“Tu vas bien, mon amour. Encore quelques essais et nous aurons notre bébé.” Kylian whispers to you as he squeezes your hand. The feeling of excitement and anxiety while playing during the final game of the the World Cup does not compare to the excitement and anxiety Kylian is feeling in this very hospital room. He does not realize it, but his entire body is shaking, and his eyes are dilated from how focused he is on you. You are doing well my love. A few more tries and we'll have our baby.

With his gloved hands, the doctor reaches further inside to turn the baby, so their shoulders are parallel to your vaginal opening. With a good grip and a last push from you, the doctor catches the slippery baby. The doctor turns the baby on their stomach to smack their back to get rid of any remaining amniotic fluids. With a couple of hits, the baby shows the room just how powerful their lungs are.

“¡Él está aquí! ¡Diste a luz a un niño sano!“ The doctor congratulates you as hands your baby to one of the nurses to be cleaned off and examined after Kylian cuts the umbilical cord. A wave of relief washes over you and Kylian when you hear your baby’s cries. This is it. You two are parents. Your baby is born. You take deep breaths as two pairs of eyes are looking at the corner of the room. He is here! You gave birth to a healthy child!

“Aún no hemos terminado.” We’re not done yet.

“¿Eh?“

One Hour Since Birth:

Your baby boy has been laying on your bare chest for about an hour now. An hour full of bliss as you get to finally hold your son after nine long months of waiting. One thing you have learned so far is that your son is a wiggler. He cannot stop moving his body until he deems himself comfortable. He loves to attempt to lift his head, but since he has not built up the necessary muscles, his head falls back onto your chest. It took him a while to stop crying when the nurse laid him down on you. Looking down at his head of black hair, you fall deeper in love with him.

Matthew Mbappe Lottin. Born August XX, XXXX at 6:42 am. A weight of 3.7 kilograms at birth and forty-three centimeters long (about eight pounds and 16-17 inches long).

When you and Kylian were deciding on what to name your son, you agreed to give him an English first name. Matthew has a Spanish and French version of it: Mateo and Mathieu. When your son gets older and is able to absorb more complex concepts, you and Kylian will teach Matthew his alternate names and how to spell them.

Kylian has non-stop been taking pictures and videos of you and Matthew. For some unknown reason, you two have been whispering. The nurses and doctor told you that it would be better to talk in your full voice so the baby can get used to your voices, but you just cannot help yourself. Matthew is just so small and delicate that whispering is a go-to. Kylian sent a picture of Matthew to your families and close friends, letting them know of the joyous day. Ethan was the first to respond since he is usually up around this time. He has been spamming the group chat, demanding Kylian to Facetime him so he can meet his nephew. Your family lives on the east coast so it would be around midnight for them. It will be a while until they start demanding you to Facetime them.

Being the big brother he is, Kylian completely ignores his younger brother’s request and puts his phone on “Do Not Disturb”. Your OBGYN told you that you can give Matthew to Kylian after the first feed. Every ten minutes or so she will pop in to see if your baby is ready to eat. A cue that most babies do when hungry is when they purse their lips.

With your index finger, you repeat the same coos you have been telling your son while caressing his fuzzy and chubby cheeks. “Hey there little fellow. You like to sleep a lot, huh? Just like your dad.” You rub his slightly wrinkly back under the blanket that was placed on you two. One of Kylian’s hand is cupping the back of Matthew’s head while his thumb rubs it.

“He’s so small.”

You jokingly scoff. “You try saying that after pushing him out of your vagina. I felt like I just birth a freaking watermelon.” Kylian laughs at your joke (you were not really joking though. Seriously, your cervix had to open wide enough to birth a damn watermelon).

“Thank God I don’t have a vagina then.” He jokes back.

The nurse peeks her head back in to check on you and the baby. During the birthing process, you lost more blood than the doctor would have liked so they have been keeping an extra eye on you. She peeks over your shoulder and her eyes light up.

“Parece que están listos para alimentarse.” She takes Matthew and asks you to sit up, Kylian aiding you. When you get situated, Matthew is placed in your arms as the nurse starts to massage your breast to stimulate it, preparing it for lactation. She tells you that after this feed, she will show you how to use a breast pump. Bottle-feeding Matthew will show how much he is actually eating. It seems that they are ready to feed. It seems that they are ready to feed.

After feeding and burping Matthew, you asked Kylian if he is ready to hold his son for the first time. Excited, he quickly takes off his shirt and holds his arms out. Laughing, you show him how to hold Matthew, making sure Kylian holds his tiny head up. Kylian awes as he shifts his arms in a more comfortable position. Your husband sits on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes on his newborn son. This time, you are the one who is taking pictures and videos of Kylian and Matthew.

Kylian holds Matthew close, the baby’s chubby cheek being squished against his father’s chest. You hand the new father a swaddle blanket so Matthew will not get cold. Like second nature, Kylian shifts Matthew, so he is laying vertically on his chest and then drapes the blanket over. In Kylian’s mind, no World Cup is a better prize than holding his child.

Three Months Since Birth:

It has been an absolute blessing to witness Kylian being a father. From the poop explosions to spit ups, Kylian has been there for all of them. He only has a week left before he starts being an active athlete again. So, Kylian is savoring the time he has with you and Matthew. Speaking of Matthew:

“Awe~ You’re just having the best time of your life, huh?” You coo while recording your son.

Contrary to your words, Matthew is not having the time of his life. In fact, he hates this. Tummy time absolutely sucks to him. He wants to be held by his momma and pappa, not laid on his stomach on some green and gray surface. It does feel nice on Matthew’s supple skin though but come on! He wants to be held! Matthew cries and yells while pumping his limbs in the air like a starfish, begging for you to pick him up. You record Matthew for a little longer, before you put your phone away and give the boy what he wants.

You hold him up by his armpits and stand him up on your lap. Happy that he is being held, Matthew bends his legs in an attempt to jump or hop. He shoves his little fingers in his mouth and sucks the life out of them. While singing some nursery rhyme, you lift your son up in the air while making him dance a little.

When Matthew first came home, Kylian took a picture of his little toes and posted it on his Instagram. So many fans and Kylian’s friends congratulated you two on becoming a family. Many of Kylian’s fans have been begging him for more baby content, and sometimes Kylian will indulge them. To keep your family’s privacy, Kylian has not and will not post a picture of Matthew’s face nor will he release the name of his son for a while longer. When Kylian introduced Matthew to the world, he wrote how happy he is to be a father and how well you did and are doing. Kylian never fails to brag about how awesome of a mother and a wife you are.

You yell out to Kylian and ask if he can hand you a burping cloth so you can wipe away Matthew’s drool. Honestly, this kid drools more than a hungry mastiff. Instead of handing you the rag, Kylian picks up Matthew.

“Babeas demasiado, ¿sabes? ¡Mancharás toda tu ropa y no te quedará nada!“ Your husband jokes. Matthew takes his hand out of his mouth and starts to shake them in the air, flicking his drool onto Kylian. You two laugh and while Kylian is cleaning your son up, you get a swaddle blanket ready. It is almost Matthew’s naptime, and he needs to eat beforehand. Kylian loves putting Matthew to sleep. He can see his little boy drift off to dreamland, safe in his arms. The only thing is that Kylian sucks at swaddling Matthew. He swears that it is easier to do a hat-trick than wrapping his baby in a blanket. You drool too much, you know? You will stain all your clothes and you will have nothing left!

You warm up the bottle and when you hand it to Kylian, Matthew immediately reaches for it. He loves holding his bottle, but Matthew does not have the fine motor skills to keep it upright, so you and Kylian have to assist him. As Kylian focuses on feeding Matthew, you focus on watching Kylian. At the beginning of your pregnancy, Kylian wondered if he would be a good father. With his busy schedule and all. You kept reassuring him that he will be a wonderful father to your child, and that he is worrying over nothing. You told him that while it might be hard for Kylian to balance work and family life, you know Kylian will do his best to be the father your child needs him to be. Besides, Kylian has you with him. You will fill in for when Kylian falls short just like how Kylian will fill in for you when you fall short.

In a soft voice you can hear Kylian telling Matthew how much he will miss his son when he goes back to training. Sure, he will only be gone for only a few hours a day, but for those few hours Kylian will be away from his little family. Kylian tells Matthew that during games, he will dedicate two goals to Matthew. Each of the two people Matthew has brought great love to. The rocking motion puts Matthew to sleep. A habit of his that both you and Kylian love is that whenever Matthew sleeps, he likes to pout his lips. Lifting his son up, Kylian gently kisses his son’s pouted lips before putting him down in the bassinet set up in the living room.

Relaxing in the quietness of your home, you and Kylian cuddle on the couch. A good thumb of rule is to try to nap whenever your baby naps. Peck after peck two pairs of lips lightly smack together. After a final kiss from Kylian’s lips, you both try to fall asleep. Like Matthew, you go to sleep knowing that you are safe in Kylian’s arms. Matthew may look like an example of CTRL-C, but you both share the love of feeling protected in Kylian’s embrace.

#kylian mbappe #mbappe x reader #fanfiction #x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #football #mbappé #pure fluff

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