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saekkas · 1 year

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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄… (𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬).

𝟎𝟎'𝟐: 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 missing them every second they're gone, spoiling them with affection and material things, constantly feeling wanted and reassured, and willing to burn the world down just for them.

summary: a collection of ways on how the blue lock boys silently say "i love you."

note: i love this man so much that my fingers slipped and whoop- here it is. 2.1k words of tooth-rotting fluff by yours truly.

it's eight am in the morning and the air smells like blueberry pancakes with bacon. the blinds are drawn, sunlight filtering through the glass windows of kaiser's penthouse. the atmosphere is calm, street-level noise muted, and there are no neighbors to interrupt your morning.

or more like, you're glad he doesn't have neighbors otherwise he'll interrupt their morning.

"babe." you laugh with an amused look on your face, looking at your boyfriend of six years. "what are you doing?"

you watch as michael kaiser, bastard munchen's ace, places himself at your feet. he's wearing his pink panther pajamas, glasses still on his face after watching a rerun of a match. another thing on his face is the cutest pair of puppy eyes you've ever seen. but you aren't telling him that unless you want to cancel your plans for the week.

"i'm not letting you leave," he huffs as he wraps his hands around one of your legs, leaning his full weight onto the limb. "i'm not letting you leave me. how dare you!"

he looks like a snuggly koala, and you'd drag him back into bed for cuddles if you weren't already late.

"but we've been through this," you say with a quirked eyebrow, feeling him wrap himself tighter around your leg. "it isn't like i haven't told you about my plans. hell, you were the one who bought the tickets for me!"

his only answer comes in the form of a glare and a pout.

"sometimes i think i have a seven-year-old child as a boyfriend," you chuckle, equal parts endeared and annoyed at his behavior.

to be perfectly honest, kaiser is the perfect boyfriend. suave, charming, handsome. he ticks off every box on the ideal men to have as your husband list. even his tantrums, like the one he's having right now, are endearing.

"well tell your stupid friends that the stupid road trip is over. i'm not letting you out of the door."

ah, there it is. the reason he's been whining and pouting all day. you're due to leave for hawaii today, in an all-expense paid road trip, as a reward for getting a promotion at work. you didn't even think of leaving the country, perfectly content in rewarding yourself with a mini shopping spree. but your boyfriend, the one who's groveling at your feet begging you to stay, insisted on buying you tickets and a reservation to the most luxurious resort hawaii could offer.

looks like he's regretting that decision today.

"i would," you hum at your boyfriend, looking at him with mirth in your eyes. "but my stupid friends are already at the airport waiting for me."

he lets out a grumble at that. "then they'll just have to leave without you."

shaking your head with a hint of a smile on your face, you lower yourself to a squat. intent on teasing him back, you push him off your leg, laughing when he stumbles back with a yelp.

"what happened to you?" he glares with no real heat in his eyes, a small smile threatening to break on his face. he's enjoying this as much as you are. "you were so nice and obedient last-"

"don't!" you squeak as you tackle him, sending you both rolling to the floor in a fit of giggles. "don't you dare bring that up again!"

"i won't if you don't leave for the trip," he offers with a victorious smile, as if he's already won.

"you know i can't do that." you shake your head, sitting on your bum as he moves to lay his head on your lap. placing your hand in his hair, you play with the strands. "you've already bought the tickets and booked the resort. i don't want all that money to go to waste."

he grumbles, his head so deep in your lap that the words are muffled.

"what did you say?"

"i said." he springs up, moving into a sitting position in front of you. "i don't care about the money. i just want to spend time with you before i have to go back."

your heart beats a little faster, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. "i'll only be gone for three days," you say with a soft smile, leaning in to press a hand to his cheek, which he nuzzles into. "besides, i'll be heading to germany with you. remember?"

"i know," he sighs at the touch, leaning into the warmth of your palm. "it's just- you know i'll be busy with games when we're back in germany. and i won't be able to spend much time with you..."

you feel your heart grow three sizes larger to fit in the amount of love you have for this man.

biting your lip at his pouty expression, you're quick to pull him into a sweet kiss. tilting your head to deepen it, you make sure to pour every ounce of your love into the one connection.

"how about.." you start-off, whispering against his lips. you giggle when he huffs and pulls you into another before climbing on to sit on his lap. "i go for two days and come back on the third so we can spend some quality time together?"

"how about you just stay right here, in my arms," he offers back with a mischievous grin as he leans in to press kisses on your neck. you sigh as he makes his way down your neck, nipping little love marks on your collarbone. "what do you say, mein liebling?"

"mikka.."

he stops at the sound of his favorite nickname. looking up at you with wide eyes and a hopeful expression that turns into a pout at the shake of your head. "how about i buy you that dog you've always wanted? what was it? the shiba inu?" he tries again with a cheeky smile. "i'll even buy you a panda!"

you raise an eyebrow at his words. "a panda? can you even buy a panda?"

"i'll have one imported from china," he says with an excited nod, the grin widening on his lips. "waddya say?"

"deal." you watch his face break into a trophy winning smile, his boyish charms swaying you just a little. "only if its a talking panda, though."

his smile drops and he glares as he pinches your bum with a finger.

laughing, you squeal at his little action before leaning down to press your forehead to his. "please?" you whisper as you nuzzle your noses together. "pretty please, for me?"

you see the hesitation in his eyes before he sighs, accepting defeat. "you better be home the second day, you hear me?" he says all through a ridiculous pout as he wraps his arms around your waist tightly.

"i'll pick you up from the airport." he nods to himself before groaning, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "you've got me weak, liebling. the things i do for you."

"thank you, mein kaiser," you say through a giggle as you tug at his hair, pulling his head back for a kiss. "ich liebe dich."

"i love it when you talk like that." his smirk is back on his face, his cheekiness shining its way through his small moment of despair. "makes you sound even hotter."

rolling your eyes, you get off his lap and tug him into a standing position. "seriously." you push him down onto the couch, pressing a searing kiss that has him groaning into your mouth. "you mean so much to me."

"you wouldn't be leaving if i meant that much to you," he says before laughing when you punch his shoulder with a glare. his expression is warm, love clear in his eyes when he pulls you down into one last hug. "break my heart. break it a thousand times if you'd like. it was only ever yours to break anyway."

"isn't that too much?" you laugh when he releases his grip on you, walking to the door where your suitcases are. you hum when he follows, his hand slipping into your back pocket as he stands by the door, ready to finally let you leave.

"i don't know what to do while you're gone," he says as he leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. you watch as he looks at you from top to bottom, the pout seemingly forever etched onto his lips. at least, until you come back into his waiting arms.

"what do you usually do?" you ask, mentally rechecking whether you've forgotten to pack any of your things.

"wait for you to come back." the pout is replaced with a cheeky smile before it's gone again, the flirtatious glint in his eyes dimming. "i'll miss you. i miss you already."

"i'm still here you big baby," you say with a roll of your eyes before leaning in to press one final kiss on his lips. "but i'll miss you too."

you're halfway to the elevator, texting your friends to apologize for the delay when he runs over, shouting your name down the corridor.

you're really glad he doesn't have neighbors.

"can i kiss you again? this is the last one, i promise," he says, his hand making its way on your wrist when you turn to look back at him. at the irritated quirk of your eyebrow, he giggles.

"now?" you press, glancing at the watch on your wrist. "now? i'm already late. and i mean late, late. late as in, i might just miss my flight." you have an inkling feeling that's what he's trying to achieve.

"now is preferable," he nods with a determined look on his face, squeezing your wrist in affection. "please," he adds with a pout when you hesitate for a brief second.

sighing, you take a few steps towards him, watching as he perks up. "you know i can't say no when you look at me like that," you say as you drop your luggage to wrap both hands around his shoulders.

"like what?" there's a shadow of a smirk on his lips as he pulls you in by the waist, pressing you into his chest. "with my handsome face and charming eyes?" his eyes soften when you let out a chuckle. "ever think that's why i look at you like that?"

"oh, i know. you sly devil." you say with a cheeky smile. you watch as he closes his eyes, leaning in to press a kiss that has your heart beating out of your chest. "i love you," you mumble as he leans back, his hands retreating back into his pockets, fingers playing with something under the fabric.

"i love you too," he nods with a lovesick grin, lifting a hand to push you towards the lift. "now go before you actually miss your flight."

his sweet smile and wave are the last thing you see before the elevator door closes, and you finally leave for hawaii.

bonus:

"hi, baby." your laugh fills the airport as kaiser lifts you into a hug, his eyes twinkling, and his hand tight around your waist. you hum, following his lead as he helps with your luggage. "did you miss me?"

"do you even have to ask?" he rolls his eyes at your teasing tone, nuzzling his nose against yours. "let's go home. i want you all to myself for the next few days."

"few days?" you raise an eyebrow, leaning your hand on his shoulder as he leads you out of the airport. "what about germany?"

"eh," he shrugs with a mischievous smile, taking your hand and pressing a kiss on it. "wanted to relax a bit more before heading back."

he eyes your other hand and the small bag in it, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek before asking, "what's in the bag?"

"oh right!" jostling, you take your hand from his and dig into the bag, pulling out its content. "i got you a panda!" you say with a grin, showing the black-and-white plush doll to his face.

"and the most important detail!" you tug at the label on the panda's hip, stretching it for him to read. "imported from china, babe."

the rest of the airport stares in confusion as kaiser laughs like a mad man.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser x reader #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #kaiser fluff

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spacerockfloater · 1 month

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Being a female viewer and hating Criston Cole is deranged.

I have to get this off my chest. The blind hatred that Criston is receiving from women is insane and I’m going to explain why.

For context, I am talking about Show Criston, not Book Criston. Comparing two standalone versions of a story is silly.

I cannot wrap my head around the fact that so many women, who are the primary victims of utilitarian relationships, would ever come together and shit on Criston for enduring such a situation.

I’m sorry, but how many of you have been used by men? How many of you have been reduced to one night stands, situationships and placeholder wives? How many of you have been deemed “not good enough” to be an exclusive partner? I log into tiktok and I see NOTHING but stories of broken women who are just used for sex, money, care and whatnot by men, and then they are tossed away like worthless trash while said men continue their pursuit of the ideal woman. Being used by men just for sex and being denied the status of girlfriend, let alone wife, is probably one of the worst plagues women are experiencing in the western world because the MOMENT we were emancipated, men understood that they don’t owe us shit anymore and instead of treating us with respect, they decided to grab whatever they can and give nothing back. Do not tell me that there are women out there that are fine with this arrangement because the multiple “GWM while I tell you about the guy that was with me for 12 years and then married someone else” tell a different story, one of multiple women’s dignities being trampled by hungry men. My heart breaks for every woman (EVERY woman, cis, trans, EVERY woman) who has been called by a man she loves just for sex, for every woman whose man never wanted to be seen in public with her, for every woman who had to hear that her man is not ready for a relationship only to witness him getting engaged to another woman 2 weeks after. I hope you overcome this and become stronger and I am glad that we are finally supporting one another.

How can we then, the women who are helping other female victims rise up and speak out against this kind of abuse, push Criston down and tell him to suck it up and accept being Rhaenyra’s plaything? Have we no mercy? Are we so hungry for revenge against men that we’d want them to endure the same humiliation that we did, as if one fictional man’s suffering would bring us justice? Are we so jealous that Criston didn’t sit down and just take it like the rest of us, but instead spoke up and removed himself from that situation? Or are we so gullible that we accept what the screenwriters shove down our throats and unknowingly support the patriarchic view that if you’re being used by someone you should just accept it?

I can hear some of you arguing that “Oh, this is different because Rhaenyra is royalty!” as if being used and tossed by a powerful person somehow makes the situation any better? Would it be okay if a rich person wanted to constantly use you for sex while he keeps looking for a better woman to be by his side, just because he values his wealth and status more? Rhaenyra straight up sneered at the idea of a simple life with him. She straight up told him that HE is not worth as much as her crown. OUCH. Even though I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of being told you are not enough by your loved one, it was Rhaenyra’s right to choose what her priorities are, but WHY would he have to accept being her sidepiece? “These were different times”: does this make it any less devastating for the victim? And he was a victim because Rhaenyra still used Criston and misled him by constantly complaining about how she HATES her duties for YEARS and then luring him to break his oath. Do you think he would have still slept with her if he was aware that moments ago, Rhaenyra was begging on her knees to be fucked by Daemon and only turned to Criston because her first option was no longer available? Like, the man was contemplating having sex with her and resisted her for a good fucking while, so imagine how quickly he would have turned around and walked out that door if he had that information beforehand. You know why? Because he loved her. He loved her to the point that he broke his oath for her, the oath of a station he FOUGHT FOR IN A WAR. He shed blood and sweat and risked his life for the mere opportunity to gain that position. This was ALL he had, he came from NOTHING and he was still willing to toss it all away for Rhaenyra not once, but twice. It wasn’t just sex he wanted because we never see him have sex again after that. He became vulnerable and gave up everything that he was to be with Rhaenyra. He was willing to abandon his whole identity for her sake. Is this not what the ideal partner is? Ready to abandon everything for your shake? Everything he fought for, tooth and nail? Was he unreasonable in thinking that Rhaenyra was willing to do the same for him? Was he crazy to think that because he was ready to put everything he FOUGHT for aside for her shake, Rhaenyra would also put aside a duty she was handed and actively seem to hate for him too? Fuck no! After hearing her constant talk about how she hates her father, her duties, her refusal to wed other men, how she is trapped as a princess, how people have no idea how much it SUCKS being her, why would he not assume that she’d be willing to give it all up for him, as he’d do for her We never see Rhaenyra even TRY to be a ruler, just complain about it. Of course it would be a fucking shock to him hearing her say “Lol dude, I actually do kinda want this”.

Criston was actually the only person in the series that wanted Rhaenyra for her, not her money or crown. I’m not saying she had to follow him, it was her right to refuse him, but his willingness to lead a simple life with just her has got to mean something. And don’t give me that “he only wanted to redeem his honour by marrying her” crap, because first of all Criston nutted up and admitted everything to Alicent and was ready to face death without EVER blaming Rhaenyra for anything, and second of all, oh no, how dare a human being have ethical values and desire to live with dignity in society’s broad light rather than move in the shadows as the princess’s secret boytoy! Bad, bad Criston for feeling you have to atone for your sins. Maybe we as people have become so corrupt that we envy those who wish to walk a virtuous path in life. Or maybe y’all have become so fond of the unhinged unapologetic character trope because it feels “original” (even if it’s ridiculously overused nowadays) that you’ve actually forgotten what characters with good morals are. Like, picking your fave war criminal and rolling with them because you enjoy good drama, especially in a show that’s meant to provide entertainment, is one thing, but passionately stating that Criston had to submit to that humiliation is something else entirely.

Finally, let’s ditch the Criston being a misogynist bullshit because he had NO issue obeying Rhaenyra before their affair or Alicent. And he is ALWAYS true to himself and his values, because even after everything he endured, he did not use Alicent’s anger as an excuse to take revenge on Rhaenyra and harm her children. Criston never betrayed her, Rhaenyra used him and he walked away and he went towards the only person who seemed to spare him some sympathy and understand him and not condemn him for his crimes even if he hated himself, which is typical victim mentality. And don’t get me started on the Joffrey incident because y’all tore Cole to SHREDS for it. Joffrey had it fucking coming. You don’t go up to people’s faces, especially ones you don’t know, threaten them by telling them you know their secret, a secret that SHAMES them and burdens them to the point they’re ready to commit suicide, and all but directly call them a whore. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? They’d shake hands? Piss off. Let this be a lesson to anyone that doesn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of other people’s business. Also, mocking his suicide attempt makes my stomach turn. Just take a moment to consider all the young women who just like him, reluctantly surrendered their virginities to men only to find out they were nothing but sex dolls in their eyes, all these girls whose trust led to their secret being spread and them getting ridiculed and slut shamed for it: how many girls have taken their own lives because they found living with such a burden unbearable?

For the love of everything you hold sacred, please wake up sisters. The narrative that you can be used by someone powerful and you have to accept it because that’s the way things are is a man’s construct. Do not let them fool you.

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

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HELLO! If you are taking requests can you do a Dazai Osamu! Reader with Alastor, Lucifer and Husk? Both romantic and platonic please. If you are uncomfy with it its perfectly fine!

Hehe! Okay. I actually haven’t gotten Lucifer or Husk yet and I like both of ‘em! I’ve written about this character before, Dazai Osamu but since it’s different, I’ll try it but i am sorry, I can’t manage over six over six-to-seven headcanons for the three boys in both platonic and romantic so just romantic it is! I hope that’s okay!

Alastor

Romantic

Alastor feels like he has to have you on a leash 24/7 and whilst it’s annoying, he wouldn’t mind being near you all the time. You’re a cunning and sophisticated person but you’re also quite suicidal and lazy at times so he has to have a eye on you all the time to ensure he won’t walk into you trying to make a joke, out of stabbing yourself

Alastor is quite protective. You’re a suicidal maniac and you even openly say to him you want to properly die with him, die with a handsome man and he is repulsed by this idea so he has to always cling you onto him to control your very bad habits and bad mannerisms. He will get you over them eventually, as your boyfriend, he cares about your health and he is thankful that you reciprocate

Alastor is glad when you’re more into your funny, caring state. When you’re more of an approachable and good person. Because then, it’s a golden opportunity to bond with you and not act as your damn suicide prevention police. He much prefers when you’re not fantasising and being picky about how you get erased then fail to complete these processes

Alastor’s quite impressed by your skills. You’re the strongest and youngest mafia leader back in your human life and your current sinner life so you have the passion you act you don’t and you’re more mature then you behave as. He is proud when he can watch you take charge and lead around the Hotel with your own knowledgeable being the main guide

Lucifer

Romantic

Lucifer is a goofy sweetheart so you bet your ass that he is very good at keeping you passive and giggling, away from your dark mind. You’re always smiling and joking around with the King of Hell since he can handle you very well. He is as caring but he treats you like you’re made of glass. Something he won’t stop doing until your obsession over suicide dies out

Lucifer likes how mysterious you can be. You’re not entirely open, which he understands whilst being immensely open himself. He will just have to win your trust and your ability to express yourself over time as your new partner. You’re dark and enigmatic, if not the opposite of Lucifer and it’s a wonder why he likes you so much and he could write a book about why he likes you

Lucifer loves how committed and willing you are. You’ll do even the most shady things for him and he always feels both extreme pride and the extreme desire to scoop you up in his mighty six wings to kiss your face off. You’re so loyal and you do so much for him, it’s not a surprise that he sticks to you like he’s glued onto your hip

Lucifer is actually quite protective to you. He doesn’t want you touching even the smallest weapon, even if you’re an adult as well but because of your mental issues and how suicide trigger-happy you are. At least, you do have a good sense of humour and have a fun-loving side through how much you tease people, it’s adorable! Lucifer does like them, it, for some reason, soothes him hearing you play around more genuinely

Husk

Romantic

Husk is a grumpy, quiet but yet patient and considerate man. He may be older but he is still caring and makes a wonderful partner. Especially for this carefree and relaxed soul, one who expresses their suicidal tendencies quite a lot. Husk knows about your suicidal desires and for that, he has such a sharp’s tiger eye on you

Husk(in reality, of these three boys) is the most healthy to date. He is gruff and emotionless on the outside but compassionate and gentle on the inside, he is a Tsundere at best and he doesn’t mind being stern with you when you’re falling down a rabbit hole or trying to harm yourself like it’s some comedy show. You’re life is beautiful and you need to see that

Husk relates to you a lot, on deep levels. You’re both lonely, you’re both lazy, you’re both basically done with everything but you have each other, you both hide your real selves and your genuine personality under a armour of behaviours, so Husk acts as the proper one for you two. He tries to encourage you to join him whenever-wherever and to try put your wits and intellect to good use. He’d feel so proud of you if you did

Husk always sticks around you. He never leaves you alone, he doesn’t want you hurt so he takes you to bed with him, he cuddles you to his side whenever you’re both walking, he even comes into the bathroom with you. He does it for many reasons, mainly because he feels so comfortable with you

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tacticaldiary · 19 days

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Revelations and Reverence Pt.2

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x Reader

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Torture, Drugs, S2 E15

SYNOPSIS: Season 2, Episode 15 where Tobias kidnaps Spencer, but this time she gets taken with him.

"I killed a man." She repeats, swallowing hard. Her hands are shaking, but Spencer's been left alone and that's all she wants. "He was a father. He had two daughters and a wife. I...I shot him two months ago. Killed him. I killed him."

PART 1

NOTE: I am NOT taking requests at the moment.

They say words are insignificant when one's body language is more expressive than a testimony of truth.

Spencer looks ragged. Through a blurry haze, that's all she can make out. The worry in his eyes that never seems to go away, laced with muted panic as his eyes flicker over her head to look at-

She breathes in a hiss of pain as her head is yanked back by her hair, and the pain is enough to bring her out of her medicated sludgy mind. "Shit..." She groans quietly, and the curse is met with a grunt and a shove to her head which lolls to the side as she tries to get her bearings back.

Whatever that fucker injected her with turned her bones into lead, but it seemed to be wearing off.

"You ready?" Tobias says, and his demeanour is so much different than the scared earnest one from before it'd be enough to give her whiplash in a more normal scenario.

"Ready for what?" Spencer says immediately, trying to get the attention off of her. It works, because Tobias turns to glare at him instead. Spencer tenses, sits a little straighter though his eyes never seem to stray away from her for long. Always flicking back and forth like the tail of a cat.

"My weakling son thinks God gave you both to us for a reason. Let's see if we're both right."

Spencer's chair makes a horrific scraping noise as he turns it around to face a couple of monitors and what she can now make out as a tripod and a camera.

"What are you doing?" She croaks, promptly ignored in favour of setting up the machines.

While his back is turned, Spencer turns to look at her, wide-eyed.

People say he's hard to read. She thinks they just don't hard enough. Spencer's an open book to her. Words aren't the only form of communication for the soul, and her boyfriend speaks fluent in body language. His hands gesturing quicker when he's excited, pressed against his eyes during a migrane. The slight quirk of his lips when she whispers something in his ear that's definitely not work appropriate in the middle of the office, the tips of his ears that redden whenever she's modeling a new outfit for him.

It's so...him. It's him. That's the only way to describe it. She could find him in the darkness of pitch black, could run her hands over his shoulders, and read the tension like it's written in braille.

He's terrified. There's a lot he's neglecting to say at the moment, but she gathers it all from a single glance. Spencer's eyes flicker up and down her body, lingering on her arm where the needle went in prior.

Guilt. He feels guilty and she can't wait to remind him that he's not. That she was glad it was her, that she wants him to stop trying to protect her because she's aware she's tough when it comes to herself, but might just break if Spencer were to get hurt.

She offers him a shaky smile, a small solace in the hell that caves in the walls around them.

He can't return it, can't bring himself to, merely presses his lips together, eyes softening.

And it's enough. She understands.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Far right screen."

Tobias rattles off the woman's name and address.

Something in Spencer shatters.

This wasn't...he wasn't...no, he was, wasn't he? He saved and doomed a life, he's been forced to play God for someone who believes they're someone affiliated.

He can't tear his eyes from the screen away as the woman on the far right shuts her laptop screen. Can't quite bring himself to say anything as Tobias announces his departure.

There's a buzzing in his ears, something eating away at the inside of his flesh. He feels like his heart is wrong, or twisting in a shape unrecognisable. It's not logical, it's scientifically impossible actually but it's the only metaphorical way to describe the sickness he feels.

At Tobias. At these bloodied cuffs that cut into his skin. At the weight that pressed down on his shoulders as each second ticks by.

At himself.

"Spencer?" Her voice floats somewhere around him. He's always loved her voice. A sweet melody, the lilt of it was fascinating. He'd die happy if it meant she was talking to him in his last moments. Maybe this was what that was? But he must be inherently selfish for being relieved to hear her voice because that means that she's still here with him, trapped just like him. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a second until the ringing stops, until her voice gets louder.

"He made you." She speaks steady. Steadier than he's felt in...how long has it been? Hours? Days? A week? His throat closes up at the thought, and then some more at the the notion of believing that he can't remember.

"Spencer!" He swallows, turns to finally look at her.

Urgency floods her eyes as she takes him in, the paleness of his skin, the confused, distraught look in his eyes.

Shaky breathing fills the silence from both parties for a moment.

"I think you're in shock." She says to him, eyes wide. "You-...you need to come back to me, okay? Spencer?"

His brows furrow, something cutting through the noise in his mind. "I...no, that's not..." He trails off for a second, "I'm not injured seriously enough, shock is often associated with heavy external or internal bleeding from a serious injury. I'm not...not in shock-"

"I can't do this without you." She blurts out, and suddenly Spencer couldn't give less of a shit about himself. His focus snaps to her, clear headed as can be.

"I'm not going anywhere, honey." He assures her, the gentleness she's used to hearing creeping back into his voice. "I'm not leaving. We're...we're going to be fine, they'll find us. Hotch will figure it out."

She nods along, only because considering the opposite is too daunting.

There's movement on the screen in front of them suddenly. Both of them watch as one of the women is brutally murdered, throat slit like a sacrificial lamb and left the gargle the remnants of her life out.

There's solace in the silence, knowing that both of them still have enough humanity to be horrified after working a job like this for so long. Neither of them comment, neither of them speak.

Spencer lets out a shaky breath when Gideon talks to him.

She knows he doesn't believe him

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Watching Spencer try to convince Tobias to let them go is something straight out of a horror movie. The semi-calm, soft, wavering voice, eyes flickering cautiously to the needle Tobias pulls out and fiddles with. It makes her heart twist as she watches.

A glance between them both and she's understood Spencer's plan to try and coax their location out, had let him take the lead.

But this was getting too close. The finger of the plunger, the drugs being sucked in.

"It's not worth fighting." Tobias sounds honest, which is the sickest part of the entire situation. Her mind is racing watching the needle. She can't let him inject Spencer with that, doesn't want him to suffer anymore than he has to.

"I want it!" She says suddenly, unable to stay quiet any longer.

Tobias pauses. And it's all she needs.

Spencer is alarmed, catching onto her intentions immediately. She knows better than to hesitate lest he snatch the reins away from her right now.

"My arms, they still hurt." She pleads. "Feels like they're broken. They were bleeding a moment ago, please Tobias." It's not hard to fake the break in her voice, not when she's begging a murderer who might slit their throats the next time he steps into this room.

"No-" Spencer says quickly,

"I always thought it wore off too quickly." Tobias nods slowly, leaving Spencer's side. The wave of relief that crashes into her is promptly replaced with dread when he turns the point of the needle on to her again. "I'll get another dose for him the next time I'm here."

"That sounds lovely." She plays along. "Thank you." The words are acrid on her tongue whist he rolls her tattered sleeve up.

All she can do is make eye contact with Spencer while it happens. The drug is fast acting, lucky for her, because one moment she's looking at Spencer's distraught expression and the next she's under, darkness replacing the meagre light trickling into the room from the cracks in the walls.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Do you think they'll notice if we show up late tomorrow?" She mumbles to him, head buried into the crook of his neck. He smells nice, pine and sandalwood, earthy and grounded.

"Considering we have to be in the air at 7, I think so." Spencer hums back, melting into the hand running through his hair. Dying light trickles into the room through sheer curtains neither of them can be bothered to get up and close.

"I hate this job." She groans, mellowing out when Spencer's arms come around her tighter with inkling of a laugh.

"We both know that isn't true."

"It should be. God forbid I get a good night's sleep with you for once."

"We're here now, aren't we?"

She leans up, props her chin on his chest to meet his eyes. Soft and gentle, loving in a way only Spencer can achieve.

"I guess we are." She says quietly, pressing her lips to his jaw.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The shift in the air is palpable. Even in her weary, drugged state, she can feel the minute the atmosphere turns the razor sharp scent of danger.

"They're trying to silence my message!"

"I can't control what they do, I'm not with them, I'm with you." Spencer argues, tensing up.

Her heart sinks when the video of Gideon pops up on the screen, Tobias' gaze unflinchingly furious. Call it a profiler's intuition but she can tell this isn't going to end well.

"You think you can defy me?"

"We don't know what...what he's talking about." She breathes out, loud enough to crack through the room. "We're here with you-"

"Silence." He slams his hand on the table making both her and Spencer flinch.

Something she's notices is Tobias doesn't address her unless necessary. He doesn't glance at her, doesn't talk to her, doesn't give her the same decisions as Spencer. What she's deduced so far in between her periods of being conscious is even in this fucked up situation Tobias seems to be gripping onto traditional gender roles.

The man makes the decisions, so he tells Spencer to choose.

The woman needs to listen, so he forces her to watch.

It's sick, twisted and a fucked up view of the world, and maybe she'd be more angry about it if she has an atom of spare energy to use. It's much easier to be indignant about the big picture right now.

The camera's switched on.

Perhaps there might have been some comfort knowing their friends are watching, that they're getting more crucial information, but then Tobias stops in front of Spencer.

"Confess your sins." The only noise out of Spencer is a ragged exhale.

Tobias cracks his hand across Spencer's face so hard it makes her audible gasp. She jerks out of her chair on instinct, wanting to be there, wanting to skin Tobias alive. Her efforts are rewarded with metal cutting into her wrists and the cool pinch of her handcuffs.

"Confess."

"I haven't done anything." Spencer insists choked up, still reeling.

The next punch from Tobias pulls out a sob from him that makes her heart twist, urgency flooding her veins. She can't breathe, she can't breathe watching him get beat, the same man who stayed awake with her for two days to console her after a case hit too close to home. The same man who held her hair back when she was sick, that remembered all the little insignificant things she told him about and knew her better than she knew herself.

He pleads out for Tobias to help him, and the begging makes her snap.

"I killed someone." She blurts out shakily.

Everything stops. Spencer's cries die down for a second as he gasps for air, hunched over.

"What?" Tobias narrows his eyes.

She leaves out the fact that he had an assault rifle and seventeen hostages in an elementary school.

Tobias's eyes narrow. "So you confess?"

Spencer straightens up, panic in his eyes. He shakes his head at her subtly, pleading with her to not continue. They know what happens when Tobias' victims confess.

He remembers the videos. They flash across his mind the moment she keeps going.

"I confess."

Slowly, Tobias approaches her, stops barely an inch away. "Thou shalt not kill. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment."

She swallows as he bears down onto her, cold, lifeless eyes scanning her for any hint of a lie.

They stop on her arm.

It's too late to pull her sleeve down. Tobias bands his hand around her arm in an iron grip, shoves up her sleeve to reveal the needle marks. "You're pathetic." He spits. "Just like my son." He yanks her out of her chair and shoves her roughly to the ground.

Spencer cries out for her as Tobias kicks her in the ribs, spitting insults, quoting passages that she's not familiar with. "You think you can outsmart God?" She sobs as he head snaps back, colliding with one of the wooden beams in a sickening crack. "You think you have the right to take a man's life of your own accord?" Her ribs are on fire, at least three of them broken, she thinks.

Curling up into a ball to protect herself, it doesn't save her much from the vicious onslaught. She can vaguely make out Spencer speaking and being ignored, can make out her own cries and the sicking thud of his boot colliding with her bloody form.

Then it stops. Just like that.

Breathing hurts. Twitching hurts. Thinking about moving hurts.

"Grab her." He hears Tobias command her boyfriend. "Bring her out to the yard." He's clicked free from the shackles, pale and clammy as Tobias grabs a shovel and heads towards the door.

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice. He stumbles out of his chair and onto his knees beside her, gathering her up into his lap in trembling arms. "I'm so sorry." He presses his face into her hair, tears soaking into the strands. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm really sorry. I'll- I need to...I'm so sorry." His voice shakes, apologies falling from his lips like a prayer.

She can't bring herself to speak, her chest feels caved in and lit on fire, but a trembling hand comes up to grip the front of his sweater vest anyway, bloodied, shaky, but reassuring. Spencer grabs it, brings it up to cup his face. "I'm sorry." His voice breaks.

"Hurry up, boy. Or you'll be digging in the frozen ground." Spencer swallows, and slowly stands up, helps her to her feet the best she can stand. He's trying to be gentle, trying to mind her injures but every whimper that breaks through her lips makes his heart break and his guilt triple. Anger takes it's hold somewhere in the midst of it all, anger that he's too weak to act upon.

He's led to a cemetery. Part of him is relieved that he was correct, hopes that Hotch got the message from before and pieced them together. He'd been dropping hints there and there about where he thought they were, hoping that it'd pay off later.

So far no luck.

A shovel's pressed into his hands.

"Dig."

"Dig?" He repeats shakily, setting her down at the base of a nearby tree.

"A body needs a grave, doesn't it?" He jerks his head towards her, and suddenly Spencer's paralysed. He wouldn't let it happen. Wouldn't take part in burying her, wouldn't watch while she choked on dirt and suffocated.

He needs time, needs to think, to come up with a plan.

But plans take time, and the only time he can get is by playing along.

So he digs.

He hopes she's not conscious enough to listen and understand what's going on.

For a few minutes there's nothing but Spencer's attempts to dig through the cold ground. Through stingy hair, he glances at her every now and then, just to make sure she was breathing, that she was still here with him. He'd felt blood on her when he carried her, felt it dripping down the back of her head. At this point he can't tell if the blood staining his clothes and hands is his, hers, or both-

"Dig faster." Tobias barks

Spencer's grip on the shovel tightens, "I'm not strong enough." He breathes. Something grabs his attention in the forest behind Tobias while the man strips off his jacket, throwing it onto the floor with a spat insult. Flashlights...people? Flashlights meant...

Metal catches the light in one of the pockets of the discarded jacket.

Tobias seems to notice his gaze and whips around to spot the light. Something determined and desperate kicks Spencer into drive, the first glimpse of hope in the midst of this hell, perhaps? The thought that maybe they'd be saved, that she'd be okay and they could go home.

Regardless, he snatches the revolver out of the coat and aims it at Tobias without hesitation. The clicking of the safety makes Tobias whirl around and bring up his knife.

She watches it all happen, watching through laboured breathing and half open eyes.

"Only one bullet in that gun, boy-"

The shot makes her flinch.

The thud of Tobias' body hitting the floor makes her want to cry. Her eyes slip shut as Spencer shuffles to the body, throwing the knife out of reach. There's voices, but she can't bring herself to tun into them.

Was it over?

Someone crunches the leaves next to her, and she flinches away at the touch.

"It's me," Spencer breathes, "It's just me, we're done. It's over. We're going home."

"Home?" She manages to repeat, and it hits Spencer so hard he blinks back tears of his own.

"Yeah," he sniffles, letting out a humourless chuckle, "Home." He tries to reach out again, and this time she leans into it. It's all the encouragement Spencer needs to gather her into his arms.

He keeps her so close it hurts, but she'd rather die like this than have Spencer let her go. This little bit of comfort breaks the dam and suddenly she's sobbing into Spencer's shirt. The man brings her face to press against the crook of his neck shakily, whispering to her. Sweet nothings, apologies, smoothing her hair back while she cries.

Spencer tenses as familiar faces fill the clearing, glancing up but unwilling to let go.

Hotch is the first to reach them. He says both their name, squeezes her hand and lets Spencer clutch his other in a deathly grip. "I knew you'd understand." His voice breaks. The trust he had in these people, in his family was the only thing that kept them going. The only light in the throes of darkness.

As they crowd around them, he swears he'll never let this happen again, he can't.

"I love you." He whispers onto the top of her head. "I'm sorry I-"

"Not you." She cuts him off hoarsely. "...not your fault."

"I know, but-"

"No." She sniffles, and even after being beaten half to death, the determination and finality in her chiding tone makes him choke out half a laugh.

"We're gonna be okay." He whispers, tightening his arms around her as the EMT's start trickling into the room.

She nods with a sigh, feeling the tension drain out her shoulders for the first time.

Reblog, Like and Comment! PART 1

(04/04/2024)

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dropthedemiurge · 3 months

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Love for Love's Sake | Things you didn't notice (probably)

Finally, I am watching a good K-BL and can enjoy multi-layered meanings within language, culture and translated subs altogether (unlike with Thai series where I need to learn a new language again xD)

So I'll be pointing out some fun things that I noticed for fellow foreign viewers =) Beware of a long post!

Disclaimer: I'm not fluent in Korean, but I've been learning and using it for years + lived and studied in Korea for a while so I'm offering my perspective and knowledge but it might not be the Ultimate Truth

Episode 1

«I prefer lonely supporting characters instead of happy protagonists. Cha Yeowoon is still unhappy. ... - Where are you going? - To see my main (최애). I mean, Cha Yeowoon.»

The word Tae Myungha used to described Cha Yeowoon, as I heard, was actually 최애 (choe-ae). It's a slang that can be translated as "my favourite" and typically is used for K-pop group members, meaning "my bias" (think One True Pairing but One True Person instead). Then, as his fellow classmate gets confused, hearing such word referring to a popular student in their school, Tae Myungha changes to "I mean, Cha Yeowoon", and it works because the word and the name sound similar.

Myungha uses this word because in the intro he stated that Yeowoon is his favourite character in the book out of all. So basically, his first reaction was "- Where are you going? - I'm gonna run to find my blorbo<3", which is so admirable. I'd also get obsessed with making happy my fav side character that was treated unfairly by creators :D

«Kids like chocolate, right? ... (Yeowoon grabs an icecream, Myungha grabs the same, adding with surprise:) Didn't see that coming. Bi-Bi-Big (비비빅)? You eat like an old man.»

What surprised Myungha there? That Yeowoon chose this icecream->

It's a traditional icecream that is made out of red beans. This taste is usually associated with older people (because typically kids like sweet things and older people like less sweet/bland tastes), also red beans or read bean paste is used in many traditional desserts in Korea. Yeah, who would've thought that a high schooler would choose this icecream out of all options?

Later, Myungha gets the message "You can compare Bi-Bi-Big to big Ba-Bum-Bar (another icecream with "old man taste" from chestnuts), why the hell would you eat it?" and gets confused as the message seems missent. I am confused as well, because Myungha wasn't the one choosing this icecream and Yeowoon wasn't typing in his phone. Considering that the phone number is unknown, I can guess that it might be a commentary from the book's author who's watching Myungha playing his story game? Let's figure it out in the next episodes!

«- You eat like an old man. - Do you play sports? - No. - Weird. You're a whiner like I've always heard. - Kids these days have no manners.»

My quick translation->

«- You eat like an old man. - Sunbae, do you play sports? - No. - Strange. You sound like one of those older jerks (꼰대). - Kids these days have no manners.»

More on the differences between Tae Myungha and Cha Yeowoon:

Myungha tried to poke Yeowoon about his "old man tastes", and Yeowoon called him out for his conservative/stereotypical thinking.

Yeowoon keeps calling Myungha sunbae (because he knows MH's a senior in their school so he must be polite), and Myungha REALLY TALKS LIKE AN OLD MAN to him ("Kids these days" in the subs does translate this style of speech correctly! I'm glad). We all know he's much older before he was thrown into high school times (~25-30yo?), but his words and intonations really make you feel like he's 50-60yo or something xD

Yeowoon doesn't like this at all, though, so he calls Myungha a sort of derogatory term 꼰대 (kkondae), which is used to described old conservative people who are set in their ways and keep nagging and scolding young people for not behaving properly. And, as a runner, he implies that there are senior sportsmen that are hazing or nagging younger sportsmen like this as well, that's who Myungha reminds him of. No wonder the affection stats fell down in the minus zone so hard!

There you go, guys, these are my comments on the first episode of Love for Love's sake! It is filmed so well, I like the idea, and I really enjoyed it (if this one gets really popular just like Semantic Error, we might get more BLs about gamers or gamedevs and I WILL LOVE IT I am so here for it, hehe)

Stay tuned for more as I watch next episodes :]

#love for love's sake #kdrama #love for love's sake meta #korean bl #bl series #lfls #lfls meta #love for love's sake reaction #dropthemeta #love for love's sake comments

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esotericpluto · 1 year

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messages from your future spouse

from left to right; intuitively choose the pile you feel more connected to. To make it easier, you can take a deep breathe, close your eyes and ask for guidance to your deities or guides. These are all general messages, so just take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This reading is timeless. If it resonates, feedback is always appreciated and motivates to keep doing pick a card readings.

these are intuitively channeled messages. I also channeled a book and looked at the quotes until I found the one that I intuitively matches your story better.

pile 1

sunshines, rainbows, picnics, lakes, swans, ducks and bunnies is the energy this pile is giving me. It feels like your future spouse is looking forward to taking you to such dates and it seems like they cannot wait until this becomes a reality as you will be their sunshine.

"It is you and me against the world. You are everything for me, my flower, my castle, my sun, my moon, my world. Never leave me and I'll make you the happiest person in the world. We are in this together and I'll never abandon you. I'll be your lighthouse and guide you and you will be my candle in every unknown path of life. We are one and I can't wait until we marry and have children. I am sure they will have your beautiful eyes. We will me meeting soon, just trust your heart and let go of fear"

"She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.” – Pride & Prejudice

pile 2

I feel like your future husband has tendency to act rough and strong, even in moments where they just want to break down and hold onto softness. Strength and resillience become weary and too much of a weight to endure and carry after so long, especially after years of going through so many hardships, difficulties and even traumas. Your future spouse struggles with opening up, with letting someone in, with showing vulnerabity or even some form of weakness.

However, they are telling me, and this is the message for you, that you make them feel like they are safe and taken care of. You are the warmth in their coldest days, you make them feel secure and like they can finally lean on someone, like they don't have to go through everything alone. With you they will learn how to trust, how to break down their barriers, their fears, their deepest worries. They want to give you the world and will defend you and protect you from everything they want. They are definitely the type to be very bold and strong towards other, but a full sweetheart towards you and this is something that will greatly enrich your heart.

I feel like they are telling me that you will also be scared at first as you will feel as if they are going to break your heart. They can assure you they would not, they would rather the whole world ending than your love going away and they will stick to their words and promises. Trust your intuition always.

"The first symptom of true love in a man is timidity, in a young woman, boldness" – Les Miserables

pile 3

"If we have had many ups and downs, many struggles, many back and forths. I thought I would lose you for real, that I had truly messed up, yet we are here again. You are in front of me, in this altar, in this sanctuary of love, exchanging vows. You made me the happiest person in the world and I can only thank you for that. I am sorry for failing you like I did, I am sorry you had to see the worst parts of myself the way you did and if I could give you the universe to compensate you, I would.

I am glad we could meet again, be together again. I knew our hearts would always find our way back to each other. I saw you in my dreams, I remember you from past lives. Our love was destined and nothing that could have happened could have separated us or changed that. You are my angel, my salvation, my inspiration to become better everyday. You have a shine in your eyes that lights up my smile. Thank you for giving me another chance".

I do not think this is an ex (although, for a minority of you, it is possible). It feels more like someone who you will still meet, have a separation with and find your way back to each other eventually. They seem to have really learnt from their mistakes and will do everything in their power to show that to you.

"Good-bye, till we meet then—I embrace you warmly, warmly, with many kisses. Yours till death." – Crime and Punishment

#free readings #readings #free reading #free intuitive readings #intuitive readings #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot readings #tarot reading #future spouse reading #fs reading #fs pick a card #fs pac #future spouse pick a card #future spouse pac

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iamnmbr3 · 19 days

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I find it incredibly creepy how Dumbledore views Riddle as being this sort of inherently seductive 'femme fatale' type. In book 6 he implies that Tom used his looks to endear himself to his teachers when he started school and hide his supposedly inherently evil and corrupt nature.

Like. Albus. DUDE. Tom was ELEVEN. Why would you assume that teachers would be swayed by or even paying attention to the attractiveness of an eleven year old?! WTAF?

And then he portrays the Hepzibah Smith memory as another example of Tom using his seductive charms for evil. But although he does bring her flowers he doesn't do anything else to encourage her and in fact seems uncomfortable and determined to keep the conversation focused on work.

She is actually the one who is being creepy here given the power differential between them. I mean, yes, Tom is putting up with her because it suits his designs for the moment and could and would kill her in a second if provoked. But even though we know that she certainly doesn't. As far as she knows she's creeping on this young store clerk without wealth or connections whose job depends on keeping her happy.

And certainly while she enjoys his looks and his attention she also seems quite happy with the persona he puts on where he addresses her in a highly respectful manner, not as an equal. She's certainly not complaining about how he calls her Miss Hepzibah or asking him to drop the honorific. She likes that. She likes that he addresses her not much differently than how her House Elf does. She likes his whole "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told" thing. And as far as she knows he is just that, with no particular special power or talent other than his good looks which she evidently appreciates. This is not him leading on and taking advantage of an innocent sweet old lady.

And yes he brings her flowers, presumably to keep her happy, but other than that he tries to keep the conversation professional and steer the discussion towards the purpose of his visit. He doesn't say anything overtly flirtatious or even try to prolong their discussion by asking to see some of her other things.

She brings that up on her own. Nor is there any indication that he is the one that decided to move their relationship in this direction. It seems more like she saw a young and good looking man, apparently far below her in terms of station and magical power, and made her move. He probably isn't the first.

The way she casually touches him is just so creepy to me. And though he tolerates it, he did nothing to encourage or solicit it. Riddle is someone who is in general quite averse to touch. We only see him voluntarily touch one person in 7 books and that's when he touches Harry, just for a second in book 4, just to show that he can. I don't think he enjoys this kind of attention. He was probably glad to kill her for more than just the purpose of getting the cup and the locket.

And yet none of her creepiness is acknowledged. Instead, Dumbledore draws our attention to how Riddle cruelly seduced and murdered a nice old lady whose affections he sought and then betrayed:

#Hepzibah Smith #Tom Riddle #Albus Dumbledore #do i need to tag #anti albus dumbledore #Tom Riddle meta #Harry Potter meta #my meta #Harry Potter #meta #my post

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aimless-imagines-for-fun · 2 years

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Phone Fun

Pairing :: Tangerine x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, SMUT/NSFW, Phone sex, Masturbation(F&M)

Word Count :: 1310

Summary :: Tangerine’s been gone for a while and you each miss each other a lot

A/N :: I KNOW I’VE BEEN GONE FOR LIKE EVER BUT we should have all accepted by now this is the type of person I am. I am sorry. Please forgive me for my laziness.

It’s not funny like at all how quickly I became a slut for this man. I even bought the book Bullet Train so I could get more of him. I also might make a small/mini series for him bc I think it’s hilarious if he dated someone who had no clue he was an assassin.

Tangerine is a professional. He does his job by the book(at least to the best of his abilities, given his line of work), quick and easy. He isn't the type to make mistakes or take risks. With that being said, he does everything he can to keep his work life and private life completely separate, even if that means lying to the person he loves most.

You hadn’t the slightest clue as to who he actually was. Everything you knew about him was an intricately fabricated lie of a life he created for you to believe. For starters, he told you his name was Gordon, and Lemon’s was Thomas. Lemon was happy he used names from Thomas The Tank Engine but would’ve preferred they had gone by Donald and Douglas since they’re brothers. Then, he told you he and Lemon both worked for a private security service firm that worked high-profile jobs. With this lie, you never questioned when he traveled to foreign countries for various periods of time. However, this also led you to presume he worked somewhat normal hours.

On more than one occasion, you called Tangerine while he was in the middle of work, and being the worry-wort he was when it came to you, he immediately answered after scrambling to find a decently quiet place to talk to you. Luckily, the calls were never because anything had happened to you or you somehow magically learned about the double-life he led and now wished to cut all ties with the contract-killer. Typically it was because you simply missed him and walked to talk to him for a bit, making sure he was okay.

Lemon always thought a simple text would have sufficed rather than a call. When he told Tangerine to tell you so, he received a menacing glare in response. After that, he completely threw out the thought of convincing him to tell you the truth.

Today’s call was not normal though.

“God am I glad you called.” Tangerine sat down on his bed, glad Lemon was out grabbing food so he could have a private chat.

You were able to hear clearly through the phone his exhaustion. “Was it rough today?”

He let out a deep sigh, earning a small chuckle. “You have no idea love.”

“You’ll be home soon, right?”

“Yeah, in two days.”

“I miss you so much.”

He was gone for nearly a month, jobs booked back-to-back. Before this, the longest he had been away was barely under two weeks.

Tangerine was looking forward to engulfing you in a large hug and pressing his lips against you in a passionate kiss. You never admitted it, but you became quite needy whenever he was gone. He never had any complaints since the sex when he got when he came back was always amazing. He couldn’t wait to toss you onto the bed, though he doubted if you two would make it to your room before you started your fun.

“This is gonna sound silly but…” You were hesitating. He was sure you had that shy smile you always put on when you were embarrassed right now. “I’m only wearing one of your button-ups right now.”

Only. That word rang in his head like a bell. “Oh really?”

Even though you knew he was returning soon, you were still incredibly lonely. Without thinking you grabbed one of his shirts and immediately a small smile formed due to the familiar scent that lingered. He didn’t use harsh over-bearing cologne that had multiple ingredients mixed creating a headache of a smell. Rather, he used a simple citrus herbal mix. Hints of orange and lemon hid under a woodsy scent with a slight spice.

Then, a slightly devious plan formed in your head, leading you to this very moment.

“Mhm.” You bit your lip, trying not to smile even though he couldn’t see you.

“And what are you doing right now?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re waiting in bed for me to come fuck you.” The sudden drop in tone shot a tingle down your spine, the warmth between your thighs growing.

“Ding-ding.”

“Have you started touching yourself?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to tease you.”

A dark laugh left his lips. “You know I don’t enjoy being teased love.”

“Exactly.”

Whenever you made the reckless decision to tease him, he would often end up turning the tables and turned you into a moaning mess. Sometimes you did it on accident, other times it was on purpose because you loved how worked up he’d get.

You let out a soft hum, starting by massaging your breasts. “Don’t worry, I’ll go nice and slow so you know everything I’m doing.” You pinched your nipples, rolling them between your fingers.

You always knew how to turn him on. It was truly a gift you had. Hearing your small satisfied hums, he began to grow hard and found himself palming the bulge in his pants that was forming.

One of your hands traveled downwards to start rubbing your wet folds. “Hnng...” You imagined he was here with you, taking care of your needs. You rubbed a small circle around your clit, doing your best to enjoy the moment instead of speedily making yourself cum.

Hearing a small zip and fabric moving, you knew he was doing the same. He began stroking his length, remembering the tightness of your cunt.

You were growing wetter by the second, so when you moved your other hand down to insert a finger a soft sucking sound of the mess you were creating was now heard. This caused his dick to twitch, eager to be wrapped around you.

You stopped rubbing your clit momentarily to stick in a second finger and begin pumping, hoping the wet sounds would excite him. Precum began beading at the top of his cock so he used it to help lubricate his shaft. Going at a pace that matched yours, his grip was tight but paled in comparison to your cunt.

Both of you could hear the other’s desperation in your moans. You each wanted to touch one another so badly but had to suffice with the situation at hand.

Deciding you needed more friction, you pulled your fingers out and sat up.

“What are you doing now, love?”

Shamelessly you replied, “I’m going to ride your pillow darling.”

“Fuck.” His balls tightened.

As your hips began rocking back and forth on his pillow, he began to thrust up in the air, each of you pretending you were riding him now.

Growing closer, you started rubbing your clit again, your fingers moving much harsher than before. He was also getting ready to cum, so he quickly threw off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt so that way they wouldn’t get ruined.

Your paced hips grew sloppy and your panting much louder. His groaning was becoming deeper, pumping and thrusting as if he was fucking.

“Ahh!”

The heat building in your stomach was begging to be released. You stopped moving, straddling the pillow with your hand between your legs. Your hand moved quickly across your clit until the tingling sensation finally broke. Your entire body tensed up, continuing to press firmly against the sensitive nub while your pussy clenched to release.

With his own muscles tense, hearing your cry of pleasure his cock twitched again, finally ready to cum. His tight sack finally contracted, releasing hot shots of cum that landed right on his abdomen. He released his hold, his cock continuing to jump as his entire load came out.

The only thing that could be heard now were the small breaths you were each taking to compose yourselves.

“Well this was fun,” You said while flopping onto your back.

“Fun, but not as good as the real deal.”

“Two more days until then.”

#bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson fanfic #bullet train tangerine smut #tangerine x reader #tangerine smut #bullet train tangerine x reader

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randombush3 · 8 days

Text

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won’t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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