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nouvxllev · 4 months

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closed-door policy || p2

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were more than friends but less than lovers. Where does that put the both of you in the spectrum? You were friends-with-benefits, sure, you guys are anyway, but a part of you wanted something real.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: light smut

a/n: so sorry for very late update! i got caught up in work and school. its kicking my ass. but anyway, here it is.

part 3 || masterlist.

Love.

Oh, how Wednesday loved to hate it.

A meaning that only rang true to those who were foolish enough to commit to another's heart. To those who were foolish enough to cling to the elusive hope of happy endings, to those who were foolish enough to believe in the existence of soulmates, and to those who depend their happiness on someone's mercurial heart.

It was odd. How she hated love. She grew from a family destined to fall in love with their other half or they'd simply perish from a broken heart and their own woe, the people who showed their love to another in such unique ways others can't even fathom. However, she does have the characteristics.

Loyal? She'd forever be clung to a typewriter than a phone in the 21st century. Committed? She'd stop her heart if she ever needed to elaborate on it for her novel. Devoted? She spares at least an hour or two every day for her literature. Loving? Maybe not so. She'd rather drink a gallon of caramel drizzled with honey and sweet chocolate out of someone's eyesockets before having a committed relationship with someone.

Wednesday closed off everyone from her life, built walls hard to tear down even if she met another version of herself, and kept everything locked in a safe where no one knew the code. Her heart will forever be closed, and her soul will forever be overgrown with thorns with curses and cries from those desperate enough to fall for her.

But then you came along.

Ever since then, she hated love even more.

But most importantly, she hated you.

The way you entered her life in more ways than one, the way you smiled everytime you looked at her knowing you'd just receive a glare back, the way you were considered as that one girl who always got into trouble because you just couldn't accept losing, the way you run your hands through your hair, the way it just falls back gracefully down to your shoulders, the way your nose scrunches up when you find something funny, the way your eyes shimmer in the sun, the way your face looks in the moonlight, the way you laugh, the way everytime Wednesday looks at you she's reminded that she has a beating fucking heart that she knew she closed off.

Wednesday hated all of it.

She often pitied those who willingly fell in love with her more than those who pleaded for mercy.

She often pitied those who fell in love in general.

So, why did she feel pity for herself when she met you?

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"We're friends."

No, you couldn't say that. You'd be lying to yourself.

Friends don't look into their friend's eyes as if they created a whole galaxy for them in their hands. Friends don't kiss each other behind closed doors, friends don't have this weird feeling to outright propose to them, and friends definitely don't dream of absolutely ravaging the fuck out of another.

But lovers don't wake up the morning after pretending that nothing happened either.

So, what were you to Wednesday?

You were more than friends but less than lovers. Where does that put the both of you in the spectrum? You were friends-with-benefits, sure, you guys are anyway, but a part of you wanted something real.

A tired sigh escaped your lips. The cold breeze and the familiar setting of being awake at 5:00 finally hits you. You didn't even notice you were sitting up, the creak of the bed echoing in the silent room alongside your breath. The headboard pressed against your back and that stupid pain in your chest that never seemed to go away no matter how much you yelled at your body to just stop. Or maybe that wasn't much of a treatment.

As you looked towards your left, you found yourself sighing yet again, but out of relief. Wednesday.

A calming sight, you'd think. You always found it endearing when you first saw Wednesday sleep with her arms crossed around her chest as if she's inside a coffin. Okay, maybe at first, you were creeped out and you were debating if you should wake her up. But now, it felt like even if you took a hundred photos of her, it still wouldn't be enough to capture her at peace.

After a few minutes, you found yourself in the bathroom. The sound of water running filled the closed room as you splashed your face, trying to wake yourself up.

Leaning against the sink, the cold material seeping against your skin, you stared at your reflection. Your hands going up to cup your face, your fingers tracing the marks and the scars you carried.

You were always known for being that one girl who got into trouble, it didn't matter whether it may be from your actions or the actions that were caused by others, who thought it'd be funny to put the blame on you and the explanation would be your reputation. But it didn't matter, you think, atleast you were known for something.

You loved Wednesday. But you truly couldn't.

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The room felt smaller. Smaller than it ever did.

"I just can't fucking deal with your bullshit anymore." They spat out, you yourself standing across from them with eyes that cried for nights. "It's like you expect me to bear it with you, why can't you just stop putting me in your own damn mistakes!?"

Your eyes mirrored hurt, but your body reflected with anger, replacing it as a shield for the shouts that were shooting to kill. "I'm—I'm not expecting you to bear anything," you stuttered, "I just need you to understand, to be there for me I—"

They let out a bitter laugh, "Understand what, y/n? Who would want to be burdened by your constant need to be loved?" They got closer to you, backing you into a wall, "You're unlovable, y/n. I can't keep fucking pretending that I can fix you or some shit. Why can't you get the simplest things through your head?"

"I thought we loved eachother."

"We didn't!" They shouted, "we never loved eachother, I never loved you, no one fucking did."

"But I loved you."

They stepped back to you, going over to their own place to pack up. "But I didn't alright? I never did, and I never will."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, just please don't leave me—" You reached out, desperation in your touch before they pushed you away.

"I can't give you what you deserve, y/n. You don't even deserve half of it."

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Each time your gaze hovered over a mirror, the memory played over and over again, to the point you couldn't even tell what was real in that scene or not. You warped it into something you fear, into something you'd use as an excuse if you ever found yourself getting attached to another.

It came back to haunt you, it always did, but now, it didn't fear you as much as it did.

Maybe you were numb to it at this point, you'd think, but a part of you wanted to think that it was because of Wednesday. That she was the one, the one that would never be a relapse of the memory. The one that would erase it.

You let out a sigh—probably the 100th one all week—with the immense tiredness you were having overthinking. But it was fine, you'd say to yourself, you loved her.

"Y/n."

"Y/n!"

You didn't realize you were daydreaming a daydream until someone shouted your name across the sea of people, your body slumped over a wall holding whatever your friends poured you into a plastic cup, the bass-boosted music meeting your ears.

"Y/n! You okay?" You looked up, almost wanting it to be Wednesday calling out for you, but why would Wednesday be at a party in the first place? You'd have better luck escaping this party unscathed.

Your mind snapped back, took a while, and you managed a weak smile. "Yeah—" you hic, "Yeah, I'm fine." You wiped your mouth with the side of your hand, squinting your eyes to figure out who was talking to you with a fucked up brain.

She offered you a smile—actually, you didn't know at this point. You were too zoned out. "So sorry, who are you again?" you slurred, your free hand roaming around your pockets to make sure your phone was still intact.

The girl laughed, a sound that your thoughts didn't pick up at something familiar. Or Wednesday. "I'm Kary. I'm in your class; biology." She offered you a handshake, which she voluntarily lowered when you offered to toast instead.

The two of you were never close, not even spending two years together couldn't be enough for a friendship to start. You always seemed to notice that Kary was quiet in class, never really speaking to anybody. Even the teachers don't pick her even if she sits in front of the board; you on the other hand was always called to recite, leading you to believe you were the opposite of a teacher's pet.

Ever since transferring to Nevermore, you were always the number one attendee at parties, even if you admitted they were not your style. You always told her how they're "filled with hormones", "a competition to see who gets knocked out passed out on the cold floor first," or just "simply for teenagers to drink their troubles away."

Despite your critiques on the matter, you were always there.

The night went on, and your mind was starting to feel hazy. More cloudy than it should be with the alcohol you're drinking. Kary's touched lingered longer on your arm, her body getting closer to yours, and she looks at you with half-lidded eyes.

She leaned in close to you, her lips almost going to yours if you hadn't slightly backed away. "Where's Wednesday? I thought she'd be here after that whole thing happened."

The mention of Wednesday definitely caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat while the empty drink in your hands kept fumbling in your grip as you stuttered over your words. "Wednesday—She's… She isn't really that fond of parties. You know the gist." You laughed, awkwardly, your hands trying to push her away from undoing your belt.

"Kary, I don't—" was all you could say before you were interrupted, "Don't what, Y/n? It's a party, enjoy it a little—"

"Kary, please, I said I don't—"

"I must say, y/n would rather be entertained by pigsty doing acrobatics to save their souls." A sharp voice cutting through the haze you were so desperately pleading your body to get rid of it.

Kary's hands withdrew from your belt almost immediately, her eyes widening in surprise. You turned to see Wednesday there, arms crossed as her gaze pierced through yours. But more on Karys. The party lights illuminating her presence.

"Wednesday! Why—Why are you here?"

"You've left me a string of incoherent messages that I would not like to decipher if not for Thing becoming a translator." She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone that had a dozen of text messages—most if not all of it from your contact—flooding her homescreen begging for her to come to the party.

"I assume you needed my company."

"I didn't expect you'd, you know, come." You fumbled, your hand almost crushing the cup that was offered to you.

Before you could even respond, Kary interjected, "We were just having some fun, Addams." She spoke, for you. "Y/n was getting plenty of company."

"I assure you, having at least a dozen men falling under your belt should be much company for you. Not if you keep it hidden, I suppose," Wednesday stated, her tone cool and composed, but her fists were clenched under her arms and her jaw was locked.

You didn't know Wednesday was even calling your name out for the last 40 seconds, the alcohol finally taking a toll on your body as you just looked at the both of them.

Before anyone could say another word, Wednesday took your arm, her grip firm, tugging on you as if to call you back. "We're leaving. Now."

You stumbled alongside her, wondering where the hell did she even get all that strength to push you around. You shot a glance back at Kary, looking at you with crossed arms. You could almost feel sorry for the girl, you feel sorry for anyone who Wednesday decided to darken their footsteps. But you couldn't think of anything. Not when Wednesday had the most tight grip on your heart at the very moment.

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You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Wednesday pushed your back firmly against the door, her cold hands lingering on your chest, the click echoing through the room. Her eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense.

You couldn't hear a thing, every sound that entered your ear was distorted and meshed. "Did you even see the way she looked at you?" Wednesday's voice was low, a hint of possessiveness in her tone, her hands going to your throat.

Your breath hitched, your mind wandering through places as your hands sought freedom in her hips, your fingers gently sliding into her waistband. "I never pegged you to be the jealous type, Wednesday." You teased. A smile appeared across your lips, your eyes taunting Wednesday's serious ones, blinking. A falter in her gaze, you noticed.

Wednesday's grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a shiver down your spine, your mouth opening to let air out as she let her hands roam up to your face, her thumb grazing your lips. "Because I never am," she whispered, you whimpered.

Your smile turned into a foolish smirk, slightly laughing, "Then is there another reason why you're tearing my shirt apart?" you asked, your gaze drifting down to where Wednesday's free hand was frantically unbuttoning the blouse you had.

Her eyes followed yours, a faint red tint painting her cheeks as she huffed a puff of air, stopping her actions. "...That would never change my desire to slit her throat in half."

"Oh, aren't you a romantic?"

"Some would call it demented, I'd say effective."

She grabbed you by your collar, feeling your lifeless body obediently following her every move, staggering as you do so.

Soon enough, Wednesday let go of your collar and pressed you against the bed, your body fell and she followed suit. You feel dizzy, zoned out even, your hands going up to cup her face as she looms over you.

"You know, romantic or demented, it doesn't matter," you breathed, your voice rasped as you brought her face closer to yours as you allowed her fingers to unbutton your blouse, "it still won't help the fact I want you to fuck me."

Wednesday pulled back, a raise in her eyebrows, you couldn't see it if not for her messy fringe and hot breath on yours.

Her fingers, now paused onto the last button of your clothing, she traced a tantalizing trail on the edges without continuing, waiting for something.

You almost rolled your eyes, if not for the pleasure building inside you.

"God—fuck, please, Wednesday." You whimpered, pleaded out of desperation, running out of patience.

"Wasn't hard, was it?" She pulled you into a kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth. Fuck, how she was so addictive. Her fingers roam freely around your chest of your body, letting your blouse fall open, while your hands wander down her back, caressing her curves as she perfectly arches her body against yours.

Every touch brought you to ecstasy, every silent whimper Wednesday gave brought you to heaven, everything about Wednesday made you feel as if you weren't alive.

You break the kiss, letting your lips fall to her neck. You let out a moan as you feel her body shudder against you, your chest rising and falling against hers while your hand slid through her hair, your fingers wrapping against her messy strands.

"I never thought you were into this." You look up to her, smirking.

"And I never thought you'd be attracted to someone like her." She fumed as if her name was taboo.

You sit up, an eyebrow arched in amusement. "You're still onto that?"

"I'll take it to my grave."

"Jealousy fits you, baby." You teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you pulled up your thigh, tracing lines against her clothed clit.

"It's—It's horrid." she stammered, her breath hitching as she shut her eyes and shuddered at the endearment, her jaw clenched to prevent anything from coming out of her.

You couldn't retort back, a sly comment was about to escape your lips until Wednesday took both of your wrists and pinned them together, her body adjusting and going up to your chest.

"Behave."

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a/n: damn i realized i do not know how to write atleast a tiny bit of smut to save my life. also probably going in more about how Wednesday feels about their rs next chap!

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x female reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

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a-b-riddle · 1 month

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A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter Two: Numbness & Pain

Daisy

I always used to think it was an exaggeration of how pregnancy is a constant state of exhaustion. But it was a lot of work growing a tiny human. Add in the fact that I'm still working 40 + hours a week and, of course, something is always causing some sort of discomfort or pain.

Swollen feet, back pain, nausea; I can't even find any solace in sleep. The 32 week mark felt so close, yet still so far. Another eight or so weeks of this seems like a drop in the bucket compared to how far along I am, but still. That still another two months. So far away when you want to be done, but still too short compared to everything I still have yet to do.

Another two months to set up a crib and wash her new clothes. Another two months to figure out a name and make decisions that I always envisioned making with a partner. Another two months of struggling to do things like picking up shit off the floor or staying on my feet long enough to make a decent meal.

But right now, I wasn't worried about the two months ahead of me and all the things I still have to do. Right now, I was looking forward to a three day undisturbed weekend. The pain in my feet and sciatica was becoming so bad, I had taken Friday off to see a doctor and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing, but sitting in my modest little house and watching mind rotting television. I might even indulge in some spicy reading. Heaven knows its been too long.

Or at least, it hasn't been since them. That day in the office, but... that really didn't count. I often wrestled with myself about it. That one time erased any feelings I had for any of them. But I felt a bit pathetic how it now tainted every good memory I had with them. Kyle bringing me something to snack on when he realized I hadn't gone to the mess hall. Price always having a cup of earl grey tea cooling for me first thing in the morning. Two packs of zero calorie sweetner and a bit of honey.

Sweet like you.

I couldn't stand the smell of it now. I blamed it on the hormones. A lot of things made me queasy, but something about the smell of the bergamot, made me sick in a completely different way. A feeling not of nausea, but of... fear. Like the same way a pentagram could summon demons, earl grey could summon mine. As if John Price was somehow there any time the scent lingered in the air.

But he wasn't. None of them were. Fuck. Why did my thoughts always go back to them at some point? No. This was going to be a relaxing weekend god dammit. Fuck them.

Almost angrily, I hit the garage key fob, shutting the door and engulfing me into darkness; a thin line of light leaking through the bottom of the garage door. When I had opened my door, I could at least see a path to my mudroom. I grabbed my purse, ready to go in, when I felt it.

Hundreds of needles. Stabbing and digging into my feet. Not just the soles, but the entire fucking foot the moment I bared any weight on them. I pulled off my flats and it was then I noticed how angry they looked. Red and swollen and all but screaming at me to sit my fat ass back down. I wiggled my toes, trying to get some blood flow. Fuck. Why didn't they hurt while I was driving?

I manage to get onto my feet, using the car door as support. Steading myself until I was ready to take the first step. By the time I had managed to all but crawl inside, ten minutes had passed since my initial arrival time. I got off at 5:00, but usually didn't log off until almost 6:00. Granted, I work from home, but I had run out of a few essentials. Essentials now that were in the boot of my car.

Fuck.

10 minutes won't hurt. Not like there is any thing frozen. Speaking of which, I forgot my ice cream... dammit. I really need to start keeping a list on the fridge. It's hard to remember when pregnancy brain (or stomach) takes over and I slam a container in a single sitting.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, I went to the kitchen. Which considering the town house, or terraced housing I suppose now, was perfect for a single and expecting Omega it was cozy. Not like the base where going from the common area to the chow hall was about a three minute stroll.

I get down and lay on my back. Carefully maneuvering so my ass rests against the cabinets before I hook the back of my heels unto the counter top so I could rest my feet a bit. Not the most sanitary, but it wasn't like I had guests. It was just me. For now.

It took a few moments to adjust. My back ached against the hardwood, but I could already feel the relief from my feet and legs. It wasn't all that shocking that I was having a hard time with them. I had gained a considerable amount of weight during my pregnancy. When I had brought it up to the OBGYN about possibly cutting back on food, her suggestion was to simply not weigh myself at home. Now when I went in for a visit they made me turn around before taking my weight.

It was hard. I've always had a problem with how I looked and now adding pregnancy then taking away the option to diet and exercise didn't exactly help.

I pulled out my phone and was preparing to open my kindle app when I saw a tiny red bar in the top right corner of my phone. Of course. I get nice and settled and my phone is on 2 fucking percent. Whatever. I tell Alexa to set an a timer for fifteen minutes and take a little nap. Maybe meditate.

A knock on the door quickly brings any possibility of relaxation to a pause. Margaret next door was dropping off Winnie off early to go to her book club. Margaret was a widow and a recent empty nester. She had spent her life as a mother and a homemaker. When I got custody of Winnie two months ago, she had quickly stepped up in helping me with everything from child rearing to managing my pregnancy.

"Hello, Maggie!" I greeted from the floor. "Hello, Winnie Darling." Winnie had the same sand colored hair as me and bright green eyes. Her face was a shade of red and I could smell her from the entryway. Someone would need a bath today. Fantastic.

"Oh, Dear!" Maggie fussed, setting Winnie down on her feet before coming over to me. "Are you alright?" Winnie didn't bother stopping to hug me like she normally would before making a beeline toward the potty. She usually was a creature of habit, but nature calls I suppose.

"Feet are a bit swollen." I waved off. "Just resting them a bit."

"I don't have to go tonight." She set her bag down. A deep green corduroy shoulder bag that always had just what you needed in it. A wet wipe, hand sanitizer, a spare tissue and even a stain pen when a spill happened at the most inconvenient time. "I'll stay and-"

"Maggie." I said, trying my best to sound at firm, but it was hard with her. No one told Maggie 'no'. "It's alright. Just a bit of water retention. Nothing to fret over." And it wasn't. I could already feel the pain from earlier subside.

"Really, it's no bother." She argued, bending over to unstrap one of her shoes. "It's a bloody stupid book anyway. I just go for the gossip really."

"Maggie." I tried again. "Really." "It's getting close to the due date and I don't want to burn out on me just yet." It was a lie. Even with her greying hair, a deepened laugh line, Maggie didn't burn out. She was one of the few Omegas I had met in my life and she could run circles around any of them, myself included.

The sound of flushing sounded from the bathroom followed by the faucet. She huffed before slipping her shoe back on. "If you insist."

"I do." I encouraged. As much as I loved having Maggie's help, I hated feeling like a burden. She had raised her children. It was time for her to do things for herself. "Besides, we'll see you tomorrow after my appointment tomorrow." The bathroom door clicked open, revealing my little Win with the front of her smock covered in water. Fantastic.

"Hi, Mommy." Winnie finally greeted. Her freshly washed hands dripping water droplets onto the hardwood. "What are you doing?"

"My feet hurt so I'm just letting them rest." I explained, looking up at her. Winnie was rambunctious as most four-year-olds without a sense of self preservation are, but when I explained to her how careful she had to be now that I had her sister in my belly, her nature had become more gentle.

It worried me as much as it warmed my heart.

"Why don't you sit on the couch?" She asked. Her head tilting to the side, face etched as if she were trying to figure out my reasoning.

"Because it helps when you lift your feet up high in the sky, Winnie Pooh." Maggie explained before looking back at me. "Well if you're sure-"

"I am. Go." I urged. "We'll see you tomorrow. Lunch around noon?" Spending time with Maggie didn't make me feel like such a parasite when I knew she enjoyed the company. Her children had all moved away, only one staying in the UK. She wasn't so alone, but neither was I.

"Wouldn't miss it." She gave a soft smile. The laugh lines around her face deepening. "See you tomorrow, Dearies." She said, retreating back outside. The soft sound of the door clicking behind her.

Winnie had laid down beside me. Yep. Definitely going to need a bath tonight. "How was school today?" Winnie went to a pre-school that was luckily covered under my insurance. Perks of being an Omega. I'll take it where and when I can.

She talked about going to the playground and painting. All the usual bits. Who she played with and new things she learned. Then came the question. A question she had asked before in passing. A subject I changed with ease before. 'Have you brushed your teeth? How about another episode of Bluey? Put on your trainers (because we can't just say tennis shoes anymore) and we'll go for a walk to the park. I had skirted around the question with ease.

"Why don't you have a mate if you have a baby?" Winnie was too young to get the answers to a lot of life's difficult questions. Why did Tiffany not like us? Why didn't she get to see her daddy anymore? Why did that man look at you weird on the train, mommy? I wish she would just stay this little. That she never needed or want to know the harsh truths about me, us.

"I..." I wracked my brain for an answer and just came up short. I couldn't think of a way to sugarcoat it. We almost had a mate. Mates. We almost had a pack that would have walked you to school on the mornings my feet were too sore or I was already running late. They would have loved you. "It... it's complicated, Darling." Is what I chose instead. The other worrisome fact is that Winnie was too young to understand the concept about mates. I had never broached the subject which only means she probably heard it from some little shithead at school.

Wonderful.

"I'll explain it when you're older." I promise, closing my eyes and letting her snuggle into the crook of my arm. "Do you wanna rest your eyes with me?"

"Like when I'm five?" She asks putting one of her hands underneath my shirt onto my belly. It had become a thing she had started since I told her about the baby.

"Maybe six." I said, looking down at her. She gave a yawn before closing her eyes.

"I think five is better."

"Okay, Win." I said. "When you're five we'll talk about it." It was a promise I hoped she would forget. But I didn't want to negotiate with a four-year-old about something future me could deal with. I wanted just 15 minutes of this. I order Alexa to set a timer to make sure we haven't dozed too far off. Winnie still needed to shower and eat. I still needed to get the groceries out of the car. But I could spare another 15 minutes.

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lecl3rcw · 11 months

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MAGIC IN YOUR VEINS

pairings: Charles Leclerc x sister!reader

summary: Charles comforts his favorite sibling.

warnings: badly translated French, sibling fights, Arthur being a lil mean, just a little tho.

author’s note: this is a lil disappointing, also Thankyou guys so much for 50 followers💗

song recs: none:(

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She didn’t know how a small comment of hers escalated to a full blown argument between her and Arthur.

“Arthur you know I didn’t mean it like that!” She tries to defend herself, “Oh cut the bullshit Y/N, you know how I feel when anyone compares me to Charles, you off all people should know” he yells really upset with his sister’s comment.

“I was just joking! I didn’t Intentionally compare you to him” she sighs out, putting her hand on her face, a little distressed. “No you always have to bring this up, and it’s funny because you’re probably the biggest failure out of all 4 of us, Enzo is starting his own business, Charles is a F1 driver, I’m an F2 driver, meanwhile you can’t even pass a grade 11 exam” he says, finally finishing his rant getting the anger and frustration of his stressful week out.

Her mouth was wide open as tears were visible in his eyes, sure her and Arthur exchanged insults but never had they fought this seriously. “Why are you crying? Cant handle it when it’s directed at you?” He says, “I’m sorry Arthur” she whispered before running to her room and locking the door.

She felt guilty, she wasn’t upset at him because he gave her a taste of her own medicine but it did sting, hearing someone she genuinely looked up to call her a failure was a statement she could never shake off. Although it hurt, it also made her realize that he was right. Once Arthur was cooled down, he did apologize to the girl and she did as well, but despite saying sorry, his words rang in her head. She vowed to herself that she was going to pass this test without anyone’s help no matter what.

“Do you guys know what’s been up with your sister?” Pascale asks placing food on the table, “What do you mean Maman?” Charles asks looking up from his phone, his next race was 3 weeks away so he was happy to spend time with his family, “I don’t know, she seems really distant” their mutters, “I heard she has a big test tomorrow , maybe she’s stressed out?” Lorenzo said, “yeah perhaps, but I would appreciate if you guys could talk to her and make her feel better” she says, the two sibling nodded their heads.

Charles was walking up to his bedroom but he noticed soft music coming from his sister’s room, curiously, he walked in only to find his sister’s head resting on the desk, the dim light of the lamp was the only thing lighting her room up, her papers scattered across her desk. He softly smiled at her, he placed a sweet kiss on her head before turning the light off and letting his sister sleep.

The next morning the girl jerked up in panic, she wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, she was supposed to be preparing for her test. “I’m so fucked” she says her hands on her head. She checks the time and she quickly gets ready to go to school.

“Hey Chérie” Pascale says, “Goodmorning maman” she says rubbing her eyes tiredly, “you alright?” Pascale asks the girl in concern, “I’m good ma, I was supposed to study but I fell asleep” she says, “Oh you’ll do great my love” she says as she goes to give her daughter a tight hug, being in her mother’s arms bright the younger girl a lot of comfort, “I love you Maman, I should be leaving” she says breaking the hug, she gave her a smile before heading out the door.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, after giving her test she actually felt confident, the smile that the past few weeks stole from her made its way back on her face, now all she had to do was wait till 5:00 pm for her results. Charles texted her saying that he could pick her up to which she happily responded.

“Hi Chérie! How was your day” Charles asks, “it was alright” she responds, the siblings talked about irrelevant things the rest of the way, jamming to music, Charles even bought Y/N some food as the two shared the meal. She felt really happy that Charles wanted to spend time with her as he was such a busy man. Unfortunately for her tho, her interactions with Arthur had died down since he was never home, either with his friends or with Carla, which made her really sad.

It was 5:03 when the siblings made it home, “I’m gonna go check my score Charles, I’ll be right back!” She says, “wait! Bring your laptop here, we will check it together” Charles says wanting to be as supportive as ever to which she was more than thankful for.

“Ok…so what did you get” He asks her, the minute she looks her heart drops to her stomach, she felt nauseous, the exhaustion of so many weeks of not sleeping and eating properly catching up to her, she was upset beyond repair, and Arthur’s voice calling her a failure started echoing In her mind.

“I’m a failure” she says mindlessly, before burrying her face in her hands. “What? No you’re not” He says grabbing the laptop. “Oh my god. I’m a screwup” she says as sobs start racking her body, Charles immediately wraps his arms around the girl tightly, her face still in her hands. “I’m so dumb, I studied for nothing” she says as places her head against his shoulder.

“Y/N you’re not a failure, who told you that” Charles says caressing her hair, “It dosent matter Charles, the test results tell me everything I need to know” she says tears still running down her face, “why can’t I be more like you, or Arthur, or Enzo” she wails out, “You’re not a failure Y/N, everyone has ups and downs, you can’t base your worth on test scores, or people’s opinions” he says tightening his hold on her, she stayed quiet wanting him to continue. “You can’t be perfect all the time Chérie, and whoever told you that you’re a failure is probably a failure themselves” Charles says getting a little mad that someone (Arthur) called his sister a failure.

“But-” “no buts, You tried Y/N and that’s what matters, you didn’t give up, everyone has bad days, but you can’t let a test score hold this much power over you” he finishes, she sniffles wiping her nose, “you’re right, I’m sorry, maybe this was a bit of an overreaction” she says, feeling a bit embarrassed, “No never apologize for showing emotions, you were disappointed and that’s ok, use this disappointment as motivation, you’re going to kick that next test’s ass” he says shaking her shoulders as she lets out a laugh. “ I love you Charlie” she mumbled giving him a final hug that he reciprocated, “I love you more” he says. “Now tell me, who said you were a failure? I’ll give them a piece of my mind, I’ll get Arthur on them too” he says confidently,

“………”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x sister!reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x female reader

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spontaneousmusicalnumber · 5 months

Text

The issue: I have little energy for housework after I get home from work.

Observation the first: When I have a coffee around 9am, I crash hard and want to fall asleep around 2pm.

Observation the second: Before I crash hard, I am miraculously productive and energetic.

Observation the third: Most of my caffeine intake is in the very dilute form of Diet Pepsi (~3 mg/oz). I very rarely drink coffee (average 12 mg/oz) and never take more than a few sips of an energy drink (avg 10-20 mg/oz).

Hypothesis: Drinking coffee upon getting home from work (usually between 4:30 and 5 pm) will give me energy to do household tasks I normally cannot, and allow me to fall asleep by my normal bedtime of 11:00.

Methodology: I shotgunned one 8-oz can of room temperature Twix flavored coffee drink (between 60-80 mg caffiene) at roughly 5:30 pm after impulse buying a 12-pack at Sam's Club.

Observations until time of posting:

I portioned and froze everything else I bought in bulk immediately after dinner. Usually after dinner, I sit on the couch and scroll social media.

As scheduled, I hosted the usual weekly anime club. This week, while watching the show, I made significant progress on a weaving project. This is not necessarily out of the ordinary, as I had begun it the evening previously and had been excited to continue.

The first yawn has been recorded around 10:30 pm.

Potential complications:

If this caffeine crash does not happen as predicted, an important day at work tomorrow will fucking suck.

I have a tendency to get migraines if I do not have enough caffeine. In the long term, heightening my caffeine dependency may prove detrimental in the side effects of its absence.

Current course of action: it is now nearing 11 pm and I will attempt to go to sleep.

I will return for more observations in the morning.

#my posts #behold how im using my science degree #to justify my new best friend 5pm cofy

560 notes · View notes

moonsaver · 3 months

Text

Sumeru roses, House of Daena, Sticky notes.

-------

Being an asisstant for the scribe isn't so bad. Just ignore the persistent overtimes, the scent of your perfume everywhere, and the new ink bottles that keep running out on his desk. You didn't anticipate red being his favorite ink to work with.

A/n: more than 2.5k words. I didnt bother counting. I hsed google translate for arabic whoops sorry not sorry <3 also its been a while since i wrote.

Warnings/tags: reader is g/n, yandere Alhaitham, Alhaitham x reader, stalking, paranoia, obsessive themes, very very subtle mentions of blood (if you squint), kind of drawn out? Horrible arabic google translate quote. Probably OOC but you can ignore that

------

You admit, being an asisstant isn't so bad.

Of course, at first when you broke the announcement to your parents you wanted to further your studies at the Akademiya, your parents werent approving. They wanted you to get a cushy job and earn as soon as possible; you don't blame them. Having that life sounds peaceful, however, you think delaying it a bit won't hurt. You haven't had the proper chance to really scour the library at your own leisure, at least, not as a student.

So, while job-hunting, (which was wonderfully disrupted by the huge Archon-Overthrow-play-god plan for a good few weeks,) you got an offer as the Asisstant of the Grand Sage; which was suspicious from how good of a title it was. The Akademiya was desperate to get back on it's feet, and who were you to deny the offer?

Of course, it didn't quite occur to you until the first day of your job you'd be working alongside Alhaitham, the scribe of the Akademiya (and perhaps his infamous title as the one who curated a plan to foil Azar's shenanigans).

Which was fine. He was generally alright,if not great to work with. Straightforward, clear, brief, analytical and most of all – he wasn't pushy. Which was a relief, of course. You managed to make small talk from time to time (if you could really call it that,) and came to a consensus with him on many things, mostly that both of you were not pleased with overtime. The moment the clock hit 5:00 PM, both of you were out of your offices and posts. You were mutually respectful, and generally tolerated each other well.

Of course, things at your job got shaken up when your schedule was thrown off balance. Your favorite drink always ran out, your mornings were crowded and somehow you started showing up later than usual, which meant you went home later aswell (much to your dismay).

Another strange series of events started taking place, if you could even call it that. You swear you haven't been watering the plants in front of your home, and the soil is dry enough, so how are they so.. vibrant? And recently, you swear one of the plants is growing a little too much, basically covering one of the windows, threatening to break it. Sticky notes scattered around the front of your house which you originally thought of as littering from those raucous kids your neighbours can't keep in control – you only realised they were for you when you caught a glimpse of your name on it, and you can only agree with the suspicious look on your friends’ faces when you show them the notes – bright Canary yellow and the striking red colour across the notes (although, you've only shown them the more milder ones. You can't imagine the panic you'll be forced to acknowledge if they see some of the other.. strange ones.)

And you suppose your paranoia has caught up to you. Your sleep-deprived mind swears that new red coloured bottle of ink on Alhaitham's desk wasn't there. You swear he never used that bright Canary Yellow colour of post-its. Did he really like that drink he always seemed to get for both of you? It conveniently ran out when you wanted it, and even more so, he conveniently just brought an extra since it was on discount? Of course it all just seems like a coincidence. You're a fool to even think otherwise.

And well, you're fine. Your life has always been a long series of fine, even with the occasional weird mishaps. That's how it's always been, and you don't intend to change it; rather, you really do find change almost repulsive (save for the panic you felt deep down in your stomach at all the things you couldn't control). And that “fine” comes to a halt when you find your door absolutely mauled with sticky notes. There's a bouquet of Sumeru Roses at the bottom, as if to try and apologise sheepishly for the terrifying collage on your door. The terrifying numbness in your fingers, face, your brows furrowed as you can't decide just how to react, the elevated heartbeat – you swear you can feel the blood threaten to burst through your chest.

You opted to stay with a friend that night. You don't know what you were expecting when you came back in the morning, and all of those notes were gone, except a singular one in the middle, “الهوس والحب مترادفان، لكنهما لا يقارنان بارتباط روحي بروحك” (which you had to reread almost 30 times with your broken arabic, checked with someone from the Haravatat Darshan, to really confirm – obsession and love are synonyms, but they are nothing compared to the connection of my soul to yours – is what it said, and it's echoed in your head for weeks). You can't remember the last time you wore your rose perfume after that.

Scouring in the House Of Daena didn't seem to alleviate your troubles that well, either. The books you read one day, and opted to continue the next – vanished. Someone else always had the upper hand. And when they returned, they were scribbled and annotated with many pockets of information. Sometimes they overshadow the information on the page itself. And on the rare occasion you put your head on the books as a makeshift pillow for a power nap, you jolted up from just a sniff. Sumeru roses hit your nose.

And of course, when you find notes with all different handwritings on your desk in the office, you think someone's playing a cruel prank on you. But your office was locked. No one saw anyone enter your office. You did your usual check up before you locked it last night, and assorted everything in place. None of these notes were here. And of course, your only clue is the fact they're all Canary Yellow post-its, and that striking scarlet red ink on it. Hasn't the bottle on Alhaitham's desk been running out? He mentioned it off-handedly. You remember saying blue ink was cheaper. He didn't respond.

–

overtime was disdainful, for the lack of a better word. However, that implies only to the masses – it is no problem for him to come up with better synonyms to describe the situation at hand. “Distasteful”, “loathsome”, “detestable”, and so on. However, complaining will not solve the stacks of files on his desk that he wishes to do away with as soon as possible.

If anything pleases him more than his usual combination of abstruse books, isolation from the general public, and extreme individuality, it is that as the Grand Sage's assistant – you are expected to stay back for the extended hours as much as he is, if not more. For once, working overtime (or being forced to) has brought him progress. Will a few more hours of scribbling away and reviewing files change anything huge? He will return to his post again tomorrow as he has today, and the work will continue. Although, this time, it is you who stays working overtime. So for once, if it manages to quiet down the poking and prodding of other nosy scholars, reprimanding him for never working even a minute after the allocated time, he does so for the exchange of working with you.

And he doesn't intend to burden you, but he knows the desperation you work with, trying your best to cram in any minute, second into trying to get ahold of those books at the House Of Daena. So, if at least to make you stay for longer, he assigns you the more dragged out, tedious work. And to make it better – you just got locked out of your office. He has an extra pair, which he diligently uses for his own interest. As for you; perhaps being so frantic and scrambling to gather all books you might have read the day before may have caused you to drop your keys somewhere along the way. Would he know? Of course – he's diligently collected and added it to his inventory. Would he tell you? It would be like stepping on his own tail. The lack of certainty in a schedule makes for more freedom – he thinks. It's for your own good; he almost says. And to have you work in the same proximity as him? It's a bonus.

Many consider him to be talented and extraordinarily intelligent, so just take his advice as literally as you can. Or maybe he just needs to tell you directly while making small talk between you two more frequent. To his dismay (and your absolute horror), the sticky notes seem to be working counterproductively. Perhaps he should just show up at your house with a bouquet of Sumeru roses and a small journal filled with his advice? He jests, it's only an entertaining idea. The bewildered look on your face makes him adore you – even if only imaginative.

The lift stops at the top floor. He sees your figure standing beside his desk, an expanse of books behind you. The sharp yellow lights contrast your figure to the dim blue light sphere in the middle. He feels the corners of his mouth perk up into a smile,and stops himself.

Another overtime shift for the both of you.

—

Overtime was not easy. You wouldn't have minded it – the job pays you well, and its quite comfortably tucked into the Akademiya, where no one bothers you, and you can easily access the House of Daena. However, the stress and paranoia has absolutely drained you.

You've visited the matra recently. Frantically scraping together whatever evidence you can, everytime your “admirer” decided to gift you something new, leaving almost no time in your schedule. Daily visits to the library turned into constant visits to the matra, detailing your issues. You would have opted to stay silent, brushing it off as someone who was.. weirdly shy. But shy people don't stalk you, shy people don't leave obsessive notes for you, shy people don't visit your house at unholy hours of the night. And who knows what else this stalker of yours has been up to recently?

Revenge bedtime procrastination turned into sleepless nights, flinching at every sound, hiding under the covers until there was no oxygen and your entire face was covered in sweat. Workload seemed to increase, from how often you kept messing up, many things clouding your mind. Alhaitham's prickly eyes took notice, and he suggested drinking another beverage aside from coffee in the morning, and offered to get you something else – which you generously refused and turned down. (the last thing you would want to be is in someone else's debt at this time. Even if it's just a drink, who knows what else it could add up to in the future?)

So, here you were; irritated, on edge and in the dimly lit office which was viciously devoid of any natural light. You wonder why someone would want such a stuffy office, with books probably growing mold inside. Sure, it's spacious, but it's utter lack of life in it repulses you. It has the comfort level of a hospital waiting room, and it's just enough to add onto the little things that bother you, on top of everything else.

If that wasn't any better – Alhaitham seemed particularly chatty this evening. Perhaps his parasitic roommate (whom he has lovingly mentioned, multiple times,) has been ignoring him as of late? Maybe a commission in the desert, or a commission that requires a huge amount of unnecessary labour? And the (Acting) Grand Scribe has mentioned several times how the blonde architect works himself almost half to death just to get a smile out of his customers. You painstakingly understand him in silence, and don't comment on it.

The rest of the night continues – the benignity of it isn't lost on you. Occasionally perking up from your own scribbling upon Alhaitham's call, searching for a specific book on the vast (dusty, if you may add) shelves, and commenting on a few meeting topics and research projects he grazes, assigning you a few. He doesn't miss the comical dragging of your feet as you walk back over to your desk, befuddled with more work. He wants to tease you, he wants you to ask him for help, for an extra bottle of ink, for an extra post it note, whatever way in which you ask for his help.

He theorises you don't remember much of your and his student days.

—

“shit, I forgot them.”

You searched the familiar pockets and zips of your bag, scrunched eyebrows in frustration.

“Seriously? I'm not lending you any of mine~”

Your friend laughed. You sigh.

“I let you hog all my lunch and this is what I get as a thank you?”

“Too bad. You don't like the blue coloured ones anyway.”

“I'm desperate for a sticky note. Does it look like I'm in a state to be picky?”

Your friend laughs again, and throws their little compact stack of post-its on your book.

“Fine. But you've already annotated so much, what are you gonna write about?”

“Hmm? Wouldn't you like to know?”

You playfully ignore them, as they chitter behind you; carefully sticking it into your textbook and scribbling down the information before you forget. You sigh and look up. You make eye contact.

Right. It's him.

The grey-haired Haravatat boy that rarely showed up. Everyone knew him for his quiet attitude, and his tendency to make your professor's blood boil due to his absence in every lecture. Your friends had a few inside jokes about him. You would dare say this is your first encounter, or really the only one, with him. A stoic look and a judgmental one at the same time, behind curiously multicoloured eyes.

Nearing the end of the semester – usually the smart ones would avoid the house of Daena, as it would overflow with study groups of caffeine-run seniors and freshman alike. Some of the other clever ones chose spots that weren't easy to find in the first place, and some chose to simply come early.

The thing is, you didn't come early. You were here from midnight. The librarian and all the security checks probably missed you, since you were neatly tucked away into the corner, taking a well-needed nap on one of your reference materials. You only woke up when one of your friends, and that boy poked and prodded you. Your friend laughed until they were out of breath when you looked up – drool slipping down past your chin, eyes swollen from the lack of sleep (and the incessant crying of an academic student), handwriting illegible from just how drowsy you were. The boy only stood quietly, probably judging your.. mannerisms. You weren't sure how, or why, he sat down at the same table as you and your friend.

—-

Every once in a while - Alhaitham does use the sticky notes.

He didn't buy them. He wanted to borrow them for a short second, but in your hurry, you gave him the compact stack and left, never looking back. After that, you never got them back. Neither of you had the time, and your fate simply intertwined for a brief moment. Things like these happen.

But you keep appearing in the crowd.

He sees you in a flurry of students, or alone at a desolate desk. On a high-up ladder reaching an impossibly reachable book, crouching down to pick up the several you dropped in the process. Passing by the dull lecture halls as he slipped into the library, following the reference materials his father recommended, picked out neatly from private journals and books. The yellow sticky notes never served him much purpose after a single use. He debated simply keeping them on your desk the next time he saw you, but never quite worked up the courage. He swore the sumeru rose scent gave him a headache.

So, when he heard you were continuing your studies at the Akademiya, he was pleased. Working as a Scribe was a simple job, and his chances of seeing you just increased. And he may have been too ambitious, but it worked greatly in his favour – as he opened up another Assistant role for you.

He hums, content with his decision to keep the sticky notes. Now - how would he utilise them? He wonders if you remember that friend's handwriting. Simple notes turned into obsessive confessions.

Once in a while turned into almost everyday, the more he observed you.

His obsession alone could become the subject of his own studies – but for now you are his sole interest.

And the next overtime, his first after returning to his post as the Scribe – he decides to finally close the chapter.

Has your perfume always been this sweet? That headache's been catching up to you. All that worrying and panic.. when was the last time you slept?

He opens the door to his office. You stand under the warm light, horrified. Piles of sticky notes crowd your feet. The wall barely peeks through behind you from the sticky notes. He closes the door, and a flurry of them fall from the movement. Both of you stare at each other.

“Alhaitham?”

You remember looking at the collection of sticky notes you'd received over a period of time. Is the red ink turning brown? You swore the color changed. Is it supposed to smell? You don't think you want to know.

“Congratulations. You've made it this far. Ive been waiting to talk to you in private."

Your arms go limp, dropping the stack of files onto the floor. The clock ticks silently. You should have gone home. Your bad habit of staying past closing time and evading the security seemed to have not worked in your favour this time.

----

#al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #al haithem #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n

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foreingersgod · 27 days

Note

Can I request a Caitlin Clark x taller Fem Hockey Player Reader who dresses masculine (Reader is extremely clumsy/looks like she has fawn legs when Reader is on normal ground, but when the reader is on the ice she is a force to be reckoned with)

(And the reader has a short and curly ‘burly touching her shoulders’ artist bob hairstyle)

Plot:

-Reader clumsily ran into Caitlin and managed to spill Caitlin’s coffee/hot tea drink on the reader

Reader is embarrassed and just sorta starts rambling out apologizes (I imagine Robin Buckley style rambling) completely ignoring the hot drink that was spilled on her (the readers used to getting injured by her own fawn legs at this point so it doesn’t even faze her)

Reader offers to buy Caitlin a new drink and Caitlin offers to get the taller girl a new shirt

(After that they began dating)

The reader is extremely vocal in her support of Caitlin and the Basketball team when it’s basketball season

So when it’s time for the readers hockey season to begin Caitlin and the team surprise the reader at game in support of reader — but the team is so used to the readers clumsiness that they are shock at how amazing the reader plays on the ice almost like reader is Jack Frost

Maybe at the end Caitlin tells the reader she loves the taller readers clumsiness and finds It endearing how reader is hard core hockey player on the ice and a clumsy goofball on regular ground but no matter either or the reader is always the softness person for her/caitlin

(Sorry This is long I’m kinda sleepy and I can’t find the energy to simplify this 🫤🫠😭😞🥱🥱😪)

— LadyBatSuperKing 🏳️‍🌈🦇🦸‍♂️👑

She’s a force to be reckoned with . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: *refer to request

NOT PROOF READ !!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

the alarm clock on your bedside table wailed throughout your bedroom. waking up for practice at 5:30 in the morning should be a crime. you were in no mood to lace up your skates and throw on your gear at all today, especially this early. despite your body pleading to stay in bed for 5 more minutes, you forced yourself to get up and get ready for the day.

you fumbled around your bathroom, trying to quickly tame your hair and brush your teeth, knocking down numerous toiletries in the process. you whispered a few curses under your breathe as you knocked over your bottle of hair product, half of its contents emptying into the sink.

eventually, and certainly not without clumsily cluttering half of your apartment, you managed to make your way out of the door and on your way to practice.

you tried to enjoy the early hours of the morning as you meandered down the street, dipping into your favorite coffee shop to wash away the 6:00 am drowsiness. it wasn’t busy like it normally was. only a few business men with their eyes glued to their phones and a completely exhausted college student stood around the shop.

glancing at your phone, you realized that you were going to be late if you didn’t hurry up and order so you made haste to order your drink and leave. grabbing your cup from the barista, you swiftly turned around and headed for the door. before you could even wrap your fingers around the handle, a woman, surprisingly just as tall as you were, pushed the door open. the door pushed right into you, the girl running straight into your chest and spilling your coffee all over the front of your clothes.

“fuck” you cursed, feeling the steaming drink seep through your shirt and onto your skin.

“holy shit, i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you there at all i swear to god!” the girl said, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. she ran over to the counter and returned with several napkins, trying to dab up the coffee that was still dripping onto the floor.

“no no you’re…you’re fine it’s not a biggie” you tried to say, not wanting to make a big deal of it all. you could tell she felt horrible about it and you didn’t want to make her feel any worse, even if she did just destroy one of the only shirts that actually fit your tall figure. “this happens all the time! like don’t even-don’t even worry about it it’s totally cool! i should be sorry, i was totally in your way, completely my fault really!”

“what? no! of course it’s a big deal, i just destroyed your shirt dude” completely unfazed by your rambling. her gaze finally met yours and you could now get a clear look of her face. and damn was she smoking hot. not to mention she was tall enough that she didn’t have to strain her neck to see you like everyone else did. “is there…is there anything i can do? i feel like shit, i shouldn’t have rushed through the door like that without paying attention.”

“you’re really fine, don’t worry about it” you gave her a genuine smile.

“can i at least buy you a new shirt? a new drink?” it came out more like a beg than an offer.

“well,” you shrugged “since this was one of my only shirts that fit, i think a replacement would be very generous, thank you”

“definitely, yea no problem” she stuttered out “um, i’m caitlin, sorry we had to meet in such a shitty situation”

you both laughed “i’m YN, nice to meet you caitlin”

and the rest was history, she bought you a new shirt, you bought you both two cups of coffee, and she offered to walk with you the rest of the way to your practice. before parting ways, you exchanged contacts and made plans to hangout later that night. scorching hot coffee spilling on your shirt was probably the best thing that had happened to you in a long time.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

it had been several months since you met cait at the coffee shop, and now you both were happily dating. you originally thought she wanted to be just friends, aware that your clumsiness and tall figure wasn’t typically something that someone looked for in a woman. but she was very adamant that she loved you for you, finding the beauty and originality in your clumsy nature and being incredibly grateful to have a girlfriend that understands what it’s like to have to duck to fit through some doors. to her, you were funny and original and you both had so much in common, she couldn’t fathom a world in which you stayed friends.

your relationship so far has been absolute bliss. hockey season eventually ended as you started getting to know each other, so there was a lot of night spent watching her practice and even more evenings watching her play. you’ll admit, basketball was never your thing, the rink was the only place you were comfortable, but falling in love with caitlin really made you fall in love with the sport too. you were like her ‘personal cheerleader’ she told you, always shouting her name and repping a #22 jersey. the team became your family at this point and you loved nothing more than supporting them from the stadium seats.

the basketball season eventually came to an end and it was truly a privilege to watch your girlfriend blow everyone away. watching her and her team win, take home titles and awards made you explode with joy. but you were even more excited to share the coming hockey season for the first time with caitlin and the rest of the team.

they all knew you to be the klutz in your relationship, so you were anticipating the looks on their faces when they saw you on the ice.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“alright, baby, we’ll be watching” caitlin said, rubbing your arm through your jersey and padding. she had met you in the hallway, outside the locker room, to wish you luck one more time before your game started.

“i love so much, thanks for being here” you pulled her in for a kiss.

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world”

she made her way back out to where the team was sitting, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before she left. you could see them laugh and smile with each other and it made you so happy that they were all here to support you.

your coach hollered for you from inside the locker room not long after and you quickly hustled back to lace up. after you were completely geared up, stretched, and given a sturdy team pep talk by coach, you were ready to head out onto the rink.

the announcers called out everyone’s names, including yours, and you could practically feel caitlin’s smile from down there. then before you knew it, the whistle was blown and the game started.

it was going incredibly well. you had your stick poised and ready to to move effortlessly across the ice. every one of your movements was deliberate and precise, you felt as though you were gliding on air. when the puck was hurtled toward you, you reacted with lightning reflexes, intercepting it with a graceful flick of your stick.

this was your moment, you thought, time for everyone to see that you weren’t as clumsy on the ice.

you skated down the rink, charging forward to drive the puck into the opponents goal. you were up against girls almost twice your size. and yet, when everyone was sure that you would slip up when the girls came at you, you slid around them with unwavering speed and focus. you were past them in mere seconds, shocking the crowd. finally, you reached the goal and you took your shot, sending it flying right into the net of the goal.

the crowd erupted with applause, hollering your number and screaming for your team. but you were only focused on finding caitlin and the girls. you spotted her almost immediately, locking eyes, and laughing under your breathe when you saw the looks on all of their faces. their eyes were wide and their mouths hanging open with shock, totally dumbfounded by your change in coordination.

after your astounding goal that put your team ahead of your opponents, the game felt like it was over in seconds. your team was incredibly happy that you had won your first game of the season. you all made your way off the rink and into the locker room again, signing posters and shirts as you walked down the tunnel. everyone was changing into their post-game clothes, congratulating one another, and hugging everyone goodbye until tomorrow’s practice.

you hurriedly pulled your gear off and put on your team hoodie and watching sweats, trying to make it out to see caitlin and girls as fast as you could. sure enough, the second you stepped out those doors, they all stood with posters and flowers, excited to shower you and praise and congratulate you on the game.

“you guys are so sweet, thanks for coming!” you beamed, hugging everyone one by one.

“oh of course!” kate smiled at you.

“wouldn’t miss it,” hannah followed “we wouldn’t want to miss those killer moves! who knew you could move like that you klutz” she nudged your shoulder, playfully.

you all laughed with her, making jokes about how your long legs made you almost invincible out on the rink and how they were all worried you’d slip and fall. but you loved that they all cared about you and were proud of what you accomplished tonight.

after the team was finished catching up with you, they retired for the night and headed their separate ways. of course caitlin stayed behind, ready to walk you to her car and head back to her place to further “celebrate”

“you know i love you, and i think you were fantastic tonight, right?” she said from the drivers side of her car.

“of course, why? is everything ok?”

“yea no, no, everything’s fine” she smiled, glancing between you and the road. “i know me and you and the team…we’ll all joke about your clumsiness sometimes, but…i don’t know i just wanted to make sure you knew that i genuinely love that about you”

“cait” you blushed

“seriously, i love everything about you, from your clumsiness and your rambling, to your precision in your games…i love that you’re just as tall as me, if not more, even if you feel insecure about it. i love that your goofy when it’s just me and you. i’m seriously so in love with everything about you, it’s crazy”

“you’re so sweet to me, caitlin, i love you so much” you reached over the console to hold her hand “more than you know” all she did was smile back at you, rubbing her thumb over yours as you sped down the road to her apartment.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: again, i’m sorry if there are an inaccuracies with the hockey terminology, but i hope you love it nonetheless! i loved this request, thanks so much anon, enjoy! <3

#caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark #wcbb x reader #wcbb

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inf3ct3dd · 9 months

Text

HOT TO GO!

warnings: gay ppl (ewwww omg 🙄🙄)

authors note: im a sucker for a barista au, what can i say 😕 also im obsessed w this song rn

5,6,5-6-7-8!

you started prepping the coffee beans, pouring them into a large class container while you moved your head back and forth, music blasting through your headphones.

you loved working the opening shift. most people definitely would not, but giving that you had an insane sleep schedule and were already awake at 4am, you decided to take it.

your favorite part? you worked by yourself.

you had always loved doing weird shit in your room. acting out fake scenarios, having fake concerts, dancing around to music, girly shit!!! but having a roommate, a very reserved quiet girl named amy who went to sleep at 9pm every night (weirdoooo…) you didn’t have very much…freedom.

but the opening shift? you could be as weird as you wanted to. it was basically like your room, if your room was a coffee shop.

you walked into the supply room, still dancing around to your music. you were grabbing random milks and flavorings to bring back to the front, when you started singing into one of the milk containers as you walked back.

you set it down in its proper place, now spinning yourself around and checking that everything was in its place. you bounced on your feet, music still blaring in your ears.

“H-O-T-T-O-G-O U CAN TAKE ME HOT TO GO!”

you suddenly had a background in cheer, singing along to the chant in the song and shaping your arms into the letters, adding in your own random choreography you made up.

you look at the clock, reading [4:45 AM], indicating you’ll be opening soon.

most people didn’t show up til at least 5:30, so you knew you had nothing to worry about, deciding to make yourself a drink.

well, what you cant see cant hurt you, right?

a girl approached the glass entrance of the coffee shop, stopping to read the hours.

you were still lost in your own world, mixing your chai latte while dancing and singing behind the counter. you were very into it, committing to the fake choreo you made yourself for the chorus. you mixed your chai and oat milk together, shaking them in the mixing cup while moving your hips back and forth and switching sides with the cup you were shaking.

the girl quickly noticed you, and a smile crept onto her face as she watched you move around. you didn’t notice her at all, still lost in your musical barista-ing.

you effortlessly scooped some ice into your cup, pouring the latte over it and putting a cap on. you’re moving in an almost perfect rhythm, your movements matching the beats of the song. a cheesy smile is plastered as you finish, drawing a smiley-face on your cup before taking a sip.

you look up to the clock, seeing its now 5:00, and you have to move the “open” sign. you take a sip of your drink first, closing your eyes in contentment as you taste it.

“perfect!”

the girl is still looking at you through the glass, enamored by how happy you are at 5 in the morning. you completely contrasted her. your bright sweater under your overalls, curls pulled up into a high ponytail, and glasses now sitting low on your nose seemed to fit your personality (or her rough impression of it from staring at you for five minutes) perfectly. she almost wishes you don’t notice her, you seem so in your element.

her wishes are not obeyed, as you look over at the door and lock eyes with her almost immediately, slightly jumping at her sudden presence and the fact that she was most definitely staring at you.

how long has she been there….

you lower your headphones onto your neck, music still leaking through.

you look at the girl for a second, taking in her features (or what you can see from across the cafe), and the main note you got was gay.

and kinda hot.

she had redish-brown hair, cut into a mullet stopping at the bottom of her neck. her jade-green eyes were staring right at you, and they perfectly complimented the brown freckles adorning her face. she had layered a dark grey long sleeve with a black band tee, with a pair of greyish-blue jeans and some seriously fucked up converse.

you quickly snap out of your daze, setting your drink down and walking over to the door. you flip the open sign over so it reveals the “open” side to the people entering, and unlock the door for the girl.

“sorry for the uh…wait? i dunno how long you were out there.”

she lightly giggles before walking into the store.

“yeah, you seemed like you were having a good time.”

you offer a laugh in response, walking behind the order counter.

she definitely saw me.

“you know what you want?”

you slightly wince at your words, feeling not very customer-service-y. your nerves were getting the best of you.

“hm…i dunno, whats that?”

ellie gestures towards your drink.

“my favorite! its just a chai latte, but i put oat milk and brown sugar syrup!”

you smile, content with your reply. it clearly rubs off on the brunette, as she smiles back at you.

“does it come with a performance?”

you roll your eyes at her response, laughing slightly.

“nah, gotta pay extra for that.”

you type her order into the cashier, still smiling.

“how much?” she jokingly asks, making the both of you giggle.

you look down at her hands on the counter , fingers slightly tapping it, the sound of her silver rings hitting it quietly repeating.

those are some homosexual hands.

“can i get that hot though? my professors classroom’s fuckin freezing.”

you laugh again, giving her a nod and changing the order in the system.

“is that it, window stalker?”

she chuckles at you.

“should be, twinkle toes.”

you roll your eyes at her, grabbing a cup and your pen.

“you got a real name, or should i just put that?”

“ellie. do you have a real name?”

you give her your name, writing hers down on the cup, along with a heart and some sparkles.

she repeats your name, nodding before paying and leaning on the counter of the pickup area.

you make her drink, still moving around a bit as you make it. you cant help it!!! you’re happyyyy :))

ellies really taking the stalker thing to heart, trying her hardest not to stare. but she CANT, you just look too perfect to not admire. shes never seen someone this giddy at work.

you decide to make a simple heart design with the milk, expertly pouring it into a perfect shape.

you proudly walk over to the pickup area, setting the drink down in front of you.

“here.”

you slide the drink in front of her, a proud smile plastered on your face.

she stares at the drink, face practically lighting up.

“wow, all this for me?”

she says, fake shocked.

a heart? is this how baristas flirt?

“cute drink for a cute girl.”

you look back at her, and see her features overcome by a slight red tint.

she smiles back at you, taking the cup into her hands and turning it over to see her name on the side, adorned with hearts and sparkles. adorable.

without a second thought you walk over to your cashier station. ellies shocked by your sudden disappearance, and slightly disappointed. but she cheers up when she sees you’re writing something down.

you walk back over to her, number in hand, and a cheesy grin on your face.

“here. so you don’t have to sit outside and stare at me anymore.”

she graciously accepts the paper, putting it in her pocket.

“who said this is gonna stop me? i enjoyed the show.”

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #gay ppl #barista #fluff :))#sierra being sappy #oneshot #ellie williams fanfic

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

Text

With You part 5

<-prev next-> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Jake tries to fall asleep beside you, Steven is there to adore you in the morning and Marc is still struggling. What happens when Jake breaks his lifelong silence?

Pairings: Jake Lockley x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings/notables: Fluff, longing, complicated relationship stuff. Angst. References to past abuse. Struggles with addiction/alcoholism and its effects. Probably inaccurate description of addiction. self-worth probs. Violence is mentioned. kissing and touching, implied sex but no smut, nothing explicit or gender-specific. Let me know if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd we die like arthur harrow in the back of jake's car

Dividers by saradika

PREVIOUSLY, on “With You”...

Oh, he liked the idea of getting under your skin. He liked it a lot.

“Really?” He teased. “You mean you don’t scare the shit out them in the middle of the night? Follow them around? Drive them crazy...wearing that?” He threw your words back at you.

What a little shit.

“No,” you steadily answered him, your gaze open and honest. “I guess I’m just here to drive you crazy.”

With little convincing, Jake got ready for bed, so he could join you in finally getting some rest. Your 3am alarm went off as he was washing up, so you silenced the one for 4:00.

Conveniently it was your day off, so no other alarm was set. Steven did have one class mid-day, but otherwise, also had the day off.

As Jake slid under the covers, you reached to turn off the bedside lamp. Then you were left in the same position you found yourself in that first night.

The night he held your hand.

Remembering what you'd whispered to him in the dark that night, you softly uttered, "I'm glad you came back to me, Jake."

"I'll always come back to you," he swiftly replied, his voice the softest you'd ever heard it.

Slowly, you reached for him, resting your hand over his. He immediately slid his fingers through yours, just like the first night, and whispered goodnight.

Jake always came home while you were asleep, and he didn't even front every day. Usually he was only there when Khonshu bid him take to the nighttime alleyways and rooftops, or when Marc and Steven were in an exorbitant amount of danger...

...which was unfortunately more often than either of them (or you) were aware. Marc had a long and colorful past, in which he'd made many enemies - some of them, through no fault of his.

Abused, with an undiagnosed disorder, there were sections of his life missing, and problems he just couldn't control. That, combined with blackouts from drinking and a mighty temper, when provoked, had left a trail of...unfortunate mishaps. And pissed off former associates and enemies.

Time eased many grievances, and Marc had handled several problems on his own, years ago. But even after Jake himself had dispensed with Arthur Harrow, there still lingered fingers of his network. And those weren't the only problems.

Just last week, Jake had disposed of a man who had followed you home from work two nights in a row. He simply watched the first night, choosing restraint, but after he saw the mysterious man following you a little too closely the second night, well - that man did not live to see a third.

At first, Jake wondered how Marc could be so naive. He expected that more from Steven. Well, not naivety, exactly, but a general "chin up" outlook on life that the he radiated.

Steven, although far more direct, outspoken and cautious than most people gave him credit for, was an overall ray of sunshine. In protecting the system, Jake wasn't just protecting his own body, or Marc, who he had known since his youth, he was protecting Steven - the one Marc simply could not do without.

And Jake supposed that's what it all came down to. Marc had settled into a beautiful domesticity with both you and Steven. And maybe that was why Marc couldn't perceive the danger you were all in.

Jake was happy to keep it that way. If Marc was not only safe, but thriving, if Steven was growing and learning, putting his beautiful mind to work, and the two of them had someone they loved? Then Jake had done his job. As long he stayed on top of things, it could all work out.

But the drinking relapse was a problem. And he hadn't counted on you meeting him.

Jake had often wondered how Marc and Steven - for lack of a better word - shared you. He wondered if they ever got jealous. Or if you ever showed any preference for one over the other. That's why he thought it best to stay out of it. Not only did he hope to keep his head down and do his job, he was concerned that getting mixed up with you would only confuse him.

That all went right to hell when he carelessly barreled into your bedroom the other night, having forgotten to have Marc or Steven check in with you earlier, or go to bed beside you. He was equally panicked and wonderfully elated for this mishap.

And now, as your soft breathing slowed, he tried to pretend this night was like every other time he'd slipped through the window to find you asleep.

But it wasn't and he couldn't.

He wished you were still awake. He wished he had more time to hear your voice, to watch the flurry of you around the room, picking up his things, worrying after him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he remembered the press of your body against his - the soft satin hugging your shape.

Shit. He could use a cigarette. Or maybe he could beat the hell out of someone.

It was difficult to blow off steam when Marc - a.k.a. their body - couldn't drink and with Marc and Steven engaged to you. Jake tried to respect that. He had the right to his own life, sure, but he just couldn't bring himself to "blow off steam" in that way since you got engaged. You weren't his, but he was faithful to you anyway.

As if sensing his irritation in your sleep, you rolled over, burying your face into his shoulder, snuggling up to him comfortably.

Jake was walking a very fine line between soothed and riled up. If your leg made its way across his thigh, he was going to lose his shit.

Only a few hours later, as the sun struggled to climb into a gray sky, you woke up, tangled in someone. Wondering who might greet you each morning always brought the tiniest smile to your face, but on this morning, just for a moment, you wondered if it was Jake.

Your body stiffened. Did you sleep like this for the past few hours? Did it bother him? You hadn't ever thought of what you might do in the night when Jake got home from his escapades.

As the man beside you continued to breathe evenly, in and out, you decided that three hours of sleep was definitely not enough.

Hours later, you awoke to the domestic sounds of the kitchen. You smelled cooked food and heard the sink's water running, along with the clang of a pot or saucepan.

The sun had made its way through the morning fog, and a sliver of it poured through the crack between the drawn drapes and the window.

After stretching like a very satisfied cat, you freshened up in the bathroom and headed back to your closet to decide what to wear for your day off.

Steven was waiting for you on your bed, perched on the edge.

"Morning, my love," he hummed cheerily, his eyes raking down your body appreciatively. "See you've got on those nice satin pajamas I gave you."

Glancing down at yourself, you softly smiled. "Indeed."

"You're so bloody lovely," he breathed, eyes darkening as he reached out his hand to beckon you back to bed.

Feeling absolutely adored and a little frisky, you skittered over, ready to pounce, when he held up two hands to stop you.

"Careful, darling, I've made you breakfast. Or brunch, rather. It's eleven o'clock," he laughed, nodding toward the tray sitting in the middle of the bed.

Eyes wide, you beamed - but it didn't stop you from climbing onto his lap, just...carefully.

"You are an angel." Locking your arms behind his neck, you dragged your hips forward until you were flush against his body. Rubbing your nose against his, you giggled as he chased after your lips.

"Feeling cheeky this morning, are we?" he tutted after trying and failing to kiss you a few times. "Come here, you." Gently gripping your face in one hand, he opened his mouth hotly over yours. Sucking your lips one at a time, he teased you right back, easing one strong arm around your back. His forearm flexed, holding you firmly as he thrust up against you.

"Steven," you gasped, shifting in his lap to feel him just where you wanted him. Licking into his mouth, you pushed your fingers into his curls, tugging just hard enough for him to jerk deliciously against you again.

The two of you went on that way until he laid back on the bed, pulling you on top of him.

"Steven, Steven, wait--"

Too late. The tray carrying your breakfast spilled all over the bed, some of the jam-covered toast landing on Steven's adorably oversized sleeve.

"Shit, I'm so sorry." Scurrying off the bed, you rapidly gathered up the mess, hands bumping into Steven's as he struggled to help you.

"Thank goodness I've left the tea on the table then, yeah?"

You burst out laughing.

You and Steven cleaned up the bed, finished breakfast (at the table) and dressed in cozy clothes for a day off together. Steven decided missing one class wouldn't hurt anything, since he had high marks in every course.

"Thank you for taking care of me this morning, my love," you sighed contentedly, draping your legs across his lap as you relaxed on the couch. "I noticed you pulled the drapes closed so I could sleep in."

"Oh...must've been Marc, I s'ppose," he mused, rubbing up and down your leg. "Wasn't me."

"Oh, okay. But it was you that cleaned up the broken bottle the other morning, right? Before I woke up and made breakfast for Marc?"

Steven's head whipped around so fast. "Sorry, what? Marc broke a bottle? Darling--"

"It wasn't like that, I promise. It was an accident," you soothed. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it gently, forgetting, in that moment, who could have cleaned up the bottle.

"Everything's a bit odd lately, innit?" He spoke up after a few moments. "Khonshu scaring the life out of Marc like that, deceivin' us both. Bloody stupid pigeon."

"I'm sorry, baby." You felt a shade guilty having talked to Jake twice when Marc and Steven had yet to even meet him.

"Not your fault, love. The old bird's the one to blame. Him and this other mysterious bloke I've got up here." He tapped one finger to his forehead.

"Jake, you mean." You eyed him cautiously. Feeling like you hadn't seen Steven as much for the past few days, you felt the need to confess - catch him up. "I talked to him again last night. Did Marc tell you we'd met?"

Dark eyes cut over to yours - unreadable - a rarity in your warm and open Steven. "Didn't have to. Spoke to him myself."

You gasped a little dramatically. "Y-you talked to Jake? He talked to you?"

"A bit, yeah," Steven sighed. "A bit. Might have told us we were still entangled with Khonshu so Marc didn't have to wake up in an alley like that. It's no bloody wonder he's had a rough go of it."

Gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, you inched a little closer to him on the couch. "So...you're angry with him then. With Jake."

Shaking his head, Steven's gaze dropped. "He's got his own life I s'ppose. Rather used to the way things are with Marc, is all."

"Must be hard, sweetheart," you sweetly sympathized, wishing you could fix any and everything for these men you loved.

"Not your fault," he softly repeated, reaching up to caress your cheek. "He does seem a bit taken with you, though."

Oh god.

"R-really," you squeaked. "Jake said that?"

"Not exactly, but...I gathered," Steven mused, his fingers trailing down over your throat to rest along your collarbone, which he traced carefully. "Made me wonder if you'd worn that lovely satin for him, if I'm honest."

You gulped. "Well...not for him, exactly. I did want to talk to him in a little more than Marc's t-shirt. I want answers too."

The corner of his mouth turned slightly upward, reminding you of Jake. "You're a vision in anything, darling - bare legs and t-shirt, or black satin. I certainly understand why he fancies you."

You skin heated up as you tried to decide how to respond.

And just like Jake the previous night, Steven seemed to enjoy you flustered like this. Giving you a devilish smile, he trailed his fingers down your arm.

"Steven...you're my fiancé," you finally managed, a little breathless. "Jake and I have only spoken twice. It will take a little more than crawling in the window at night to get to know one another."

Nodding, Steven asked, "But you would...like to get to know him?"

"Of course I would," you instantly answered, as if it were obvious. "Of course I want to know someone in our lives like this - part of you and Marc, and...honestly, someone who has you all out at night doing god knows what."

Reaching for your fiancé, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Besides, I doubt Jake said he fancies me," you chuckled. "Doesn't really sound like him."

"Ohhh, it doesn't, does it?" Steven laughed out. Studying you closely, he added, "Would you like to know what he really said? 'Bout you?"

Spellbound, you nodded as Steven leaned in close. "I'm not going to tell you. That's between you two. But I will tell you what I think, if you care to know."

Climbing across his lap, you touched your forehead to his. "As long as it's something good, baby."

"Oh it is," he breathed against your mouth.

He never told you. But you did finish what you'd started in the bedroom.

After all the recent late night activities, plus a vigorous couple of rounds in bed with Steven, your sated bodies drifted off to sleep...

...which inevitably led to you waking up from your nap, wondering who would be greeting you. The flat was quiet and you were alone.

Feeling a little more relaxed and rested than you had felt in days, you found the clothes Steven had yanked off your body just a couple hours before. You didn't want to waste one more second of your shared day off by sleeping.

After checking the bathroom and the living room, you finally found a note in the kitchen from Marc.

On the roof. - M

Finding some shoes and Marc's tan hoodie, you grabbed your phone, realizing Marc had sent you the same message via text, just in case.

A few minutes later, you made your way out to enjoy the chilly but decently sunny day. A rare treat indeed.

"Hey there," you sweetly greeted, walking up beside Marc, purposely bumping your shoulder against his. "Where's your jacket? It's cold."

He glanced over at you, smirking. "You're wearing the one I like. Looks better on you anyway."

Even though Marc was a little taller than you were, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders as if it might warm him up.

"What are you doing?" He chuckled, already a bit cheered up by your presence.

"I'm protecting you. Like I said, it's cold."

Glancing down at you, he shook his head, amused, while his heart flared with adoration. You were always taking care of him in one way or another. He could never deserve you.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling you into his arms, folding you close. "There, now I'm warm."

"Good," you returned, nuzzling into his neck.

He held you in silence for a few minutes, rubbing up and down your back lovingly.

From what little you knew of Jake, you were fairly certain that Marc was the quietest of his alters. It was nice sometimes, to just be together in contented stillness.

But unlike Jake, there was no one in the world you knew better than Marc. And he was neither content, nor prone to remain still for much longer. Itching to prod about what troubled him, you waited longer still. You had learned to wait him out and he had learned to trust you...confide in you.

"I, uh..." he cleared his throat, breaking the silence after a while. "I came up here because I was thinking about...having a drink."

Oh.

Releasing you, as you knew he would after an admission like that, he folded his well defined arms over his chest. "Sorry." He stared out over the city, wondering what you would think of him - of how he kept letting you down.

Matching his pose, you gave him just enough space to confess, while keeping close enough to ground him.

"Sorry for what?"

Huffing out an irritable sigh, he frowned. "You know what. Sorry for wanting to. For...fucking everything up, for letting you down."

"I see," you softly returned. "Is that all?"

Turning his head, he started at you. "Is that not enough? You need a longer list?"

"No," you shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed on the cityscape. "Just asking if there's anything else you're trying to punish yourself for today."

"There's a never-ending, extremely long fucking list," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "Where do I even begin?"

Turning your body to face him, you waited a moment for him to calm down. "How about we start with what brought you up here today? Did something happen? Did you talk to Steven? Or Jake? Or maybe Addiction is just being the annoying bitch that Addiction is?"

You could see that he was already relieved to have you facing him, engaging with him. Marc could fight with the empty, thin air if he wanted to, because the person he fought hardest with was himself.

"I did...talk to Jake," he finally confessed, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "He, uh...he actually apologized...for what happened in the alley, with Khonshu."

"Okay," you slowly nodded, your heart rate doubling at the thought of Marc and Jake interacting. "And how did that make you feel?"

"Like an idiot," he huffed, pushing a hand through his hair. "I should have known that Khonshu would never leave us alone." His hands landed on his hips - a trademark Marc-is-annoyed stance. "I should have known it wasn't safe, especially for you."

"What does that mean?" you hesitantly questioned. Surely he didn't mean he was unsafe for you, or Jake was... You started to worry for just a moment, that he would try to do one of those stupid 'you're safer without me' speeches that superheroes were always doing in films.

Like hell. Khonshu could shove his bony beak right up his bony ass. He was not fucking with your engagement, or your life.

Seeing your distress, Marc reached for your shoulders. "Jake saved your life last week," he explained. "Someone was following you home from work."

"He...what?" You gasped. "Who? Jake told you this?"

"Don't know who," Marc replied, his jaw clenching in fury at the thought of anyone even noticing you, let alone trying to stalk you. And to think he had no idea - no inkling that you were in danger... it was unbearable. "Doesn't matter. He's gone now. I just can't believe I let that happen to you and I didn't even realize..."

Releasing you, he paced a few steps away, and back again. Back and forth, punishing himself. For not perceiving that danger still followed him around - followed you. For not being the one to save you. For not recognizing someone else was in his mind, in their body. For being the absolute most useless and pointless of his alters. For all these things compiling and making him want to drown it all at the bottom of a bottle. For being a worthless alcoholic. For being like her...

Marc was the walking embodiment of the phrase, 'that escalated quickly...'

You knew it was bad once he stopped pacing and dug the heels of his hands into his forehead. Steven would probably be joining you momentarily. Or maybe Jake.

"Marc?" You softly called, gently reaching for his wrists to stop him hitting himself in the head. You didn't pull or try to halt his motion, you simply allowed your fingers to circle his wrists. As soon as he realized that his banging motion was jerking your arms too, he stopped, allowing you to hold onto his wrists, rubbing your thumbs carefully over his skin.

"There you are," you soothed, granting him the most gentle smile and pulling his hands down to his chest. "I think you kept this conversation going without me. Probably started telling yourself a whole lot of bullshit...does that sound about right?"

Sometimes you would undercut the most dramatic of his meltdowns with deceptively gentle sarcasm. It always seemed to disarm Marc - your comments showed him your tenderheartedness rather than your slight teasing feeling like mockery. You truly had a gift for it.

You didn't wait for his verbal answer. His silence was compliance. You kept hold of his wrists, there against his chest, and tried to fill in the blanks.

"I'm guessing you're blaming yourself for not knowing everything that's ever going to happen, for not predicting the future, for not knowing every corner of your mind, and for being afflicted with an addiction. Am I close?"

His jaw clenched, this time in anguish, rather than fury.

"You don't...you don't have to do this," he choked, avoiding your gaze. "You shouldn't have to do this."

"Like I hell I shouldn't," you shot back. "I marrying you in 52 days. And on that day, I'm going to vow to love you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health - you know the rest. This is exactly what I should be doing."

"I'm sorry," he brokenly whispered. "I'm sorry I'm like this. I hate it. I hate..."

"What are you like, sweetheart? How is it that you think you should be?"

Marc shook his head, his eyebrows pinched with worry. "I-I don't even have a job or go to school, or always make you smile or feel better, like Steven. I can't even protect you, like Jake. I have nothing to give you. I can't think of one reason to even--"

"Don't you dare," you warned. "Don't you dare compare yourself to them - they are a part of you." Releasing a shaky sigh, you realized then how bad things must have gotten for Marc before he ever even picked up a bottle.

This was deeper than one encounter with Khonshu. He was calling his whole self-worth into question, comparing himself to Steven and now Jake. He hadn't failed you. Maybe you had failed him.

"Look, I don't claim to be any kind of an expert on addiction or DID or marriage," you explained to him. "I only know what I know. When Jake saved my life, you were there. You are a part of him. And-and Steven - his amazing mind is your mind too. This addiction you have - they all have it! I understand you are distinct people, and I respect that. And I don't pretend to know what you're going through or what it feels like to be you, but baby..."

Squeezing his hands, you peered up at him pleadingly. "You were my first love. I knew you first. I loved you first. You are the reason I'm here. And Steven. And Jake. We all love you, Marc and we need you. We're with you. Who else is going to help Steven remember to do his homework? Or make my coffee the way I like it? Or fix the sink every time it leaks?

"Who is going to make me feel like the most special person in the world, make me laugh, make me the best toast for breakfast--"

"Uh, that would be Steven," Marc admitted, his voice softening. "Steven does those things for you."

Thinking back through what you'd just said, you nodded. "True. He does make better toast than you but his coffee-making skills are shit."

Marc cracked a smile. Just a tiny one.

"And you do make me laugh. And make me feel special. Why do you think Steven is the only one who does that?"

"Because...I don't know, because he's so good at it," Marc shrugged, calming down a little more. Your candor was somehow soothing because he never had to wonder where he stood with you.

"Baby, where do you think he gets that from?" You stared at him pointedly, waiting for him to get it. "How many years did you try to protect him, to keep him safe?"

"Yeah, but I fucked that up too," he argued. "He was pissed when he found out about me, remember I told you that."

"Only a first," you reminded him. "But since then, you're literally his best friend. You keep him grounded. And I know it's true for Jake too. You're his moral center."

"Really," Marc scoffed, "then he's fucked."

You rolled your eyes. "You are. From what little I know of Jake, he doesn't seem all that bothered by violence... by doing whatever he feels he needs to do, for you or for Khonshu. Don't you see?"

Marc shook his head.

"When you have to use violence, you hate it, because it was used on you. You've agonized over the lives you've taken, because you value life. What is more morally centered than that?"

Finally releasing your hands, Marc rubbed his face with a long sigh. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this to you. That I was just going to go to a meeting and talk to you after. But...but I thought if I left to go to a meeting that I might stop by the store and there would be a drink, you know, just waiting..."

His hands found their way back to his hips. "What do I do?" He gazed at you as if everything in the world hanged on your answer.

"This," you said confidently. "You take a beat...take a breath, talk to me. Exactly this, baby. Everything you need to be doing, you are doing right now: admitting you're tempted to drink, stopping and thinking first, going to meetings..."

You counted his victories off on your fingers, "Using your support systems, being honest about your feelings, even the really fucking hard ones. This is exactly what you do, Marc. You are literally my hero."

Completely taken aback, his lip trembled. "W-what? No...I-I'm not."

Folding your arms over your chest, you narrowed your eyes, waiting a beat.

"You're not? Shit. I must have been thinking of someone else then." Cracking a grin, you inched toward him slowly. "You're so damn stubborn, Marc Spector, but you have met your match. Game fucking on."

Reaching for his wrists, still planted defiantly on his hips, you pulled his hands into yours. "Now, is there anything I can do to make you feel better today? I could walk you to your meeting? Or fix you some matzah ball soup? I've been practicinggg," you sang, a little playfully.

Sometimes acting like a dork really cheered up your grumpy fiancé. Maybe it would work.

"Please, god no," Marc laughed out, "it was more like matzah meal sludge. I think I could have built a sandcastle with it."

Giggling, you released his hands, sliding your arms around his torso. "Okay, fair enough. Maybe we'll do something else then."

"Yeah, like what?" He shot back, some of the tension finally draining out of his tense body as he wrapped his arms around your back.

"How about a massage?" You suggested. "You love it when I play with your hair. You could lie down on my lap, relax..."

"You're just trying to get my head between your legs, aren't you?" Marc chuckled, narrowing his eyes.

You smiled innocently up at him. "Always."

"Come on, it's freezing out here," he laughed, guiding you back toward the doorway with his arm around your shoulders.

"Still feel like a drink?" You asked, your candor never ceasing to amaze him.

"Only if you make me eat your matzah ball soup," he teased.

Just him joking was a good thing. And he probably would have you walk him to a meeting later in the day. One step at a time.

"You're really doing it, you know? I'm really proud of you," you sweetly affirmed as the two of you made your way back down to your flat.

"Thank you," Marc evenly answered, after a long silence. He hadn't really been sure how to reply until the two of you were back inside your living room. "For everything."

"One day at a time, my love. Today, you're doing it. You're doing everything right."

Wondering what he would ever do without you, Marc pulled you close, gently swaying with you in the silence of your flat. He had always felt so hard to love - his childhood had made sure of that. But you loved him hard.

@stormydaysxx laaundromat @kindlover @spxctorsslxt @deezisnotreal

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