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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months

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big dad vibes.

dad!ln x fem!reader

in which lando becomes a dad, and a series of moments that follow

back with more brainrot! this time it’s for dad!lando bc the baby fever is fevering and lando just had to go and talk about having kids on that podcast. my first time using social media elements as well so i hope you enjoy! ALSO! huge thank you for 3k, love you all and i cannot thank you enough for your support! 💘

warnings: minors pls dni with my work! mentions of pregnancy, children, minor angst, super duper fluff, suggestive jokes here and there, dilf!lando

1. the birth

lando’s legs couldn’t have carried him any faster than they already were. the hospital rooms disappeared past in a flash, his eyes scanning the hallways for one door. everything he’d ever wanted waited for him on the other side of that one door.

it was typical, really, that the one time he’d left your side since the season ended, you went into labour. he’d begdrudgingly listened when you told him to go to his meeting, despite the feeling in his gut that told him not to. lando knew, now, that his instincts were right.

the second he’d seen your face flash up on his phone, he was out of the conference room. you wouldn’t have called him unless it was an emergency. everything seemed to be moving in slow motion when he put the phone down, but then he was sprinting, through the double doors before him, past the line of cars, and out towards his car, speeding away from the MTC. the traffic fine he knew he was in for was worth it.

your words rang in his ears.

“lando… it’s time.” you’d breathed down the phone, accompanied by a shaky laugh.

and now he was looking at the door. it opened, slowly, and there you were, draped in a hospital gown, tired eyes bloodshot and soft. you were smiling, crying, and he fell to his knees before you.

“someone wants to meet you.” you cooed, and then he was crying too.

lando squeezed your knee, trying to pull himself together but it was futile. the most precious ray of light stirred in your arms, how would he ever be able to stop crying? you’d created that, you and him, and now she was here.

“can i…?” lando stood from where he was worshipping you, hoodie sleeve mopping up his tears.

“take all that off.” you replied.

“trying to get me naked already? i thought it would be at least six weeks-“ he teased.

“no, you sod. skin on skin contact.” you groaned, grinning helplessly at the man that had made you a mother.

he laughed along with you quietly, stripping the layers and sitting beside you on the hospital bed. you searched his excited eyes, melting as you placed your little girl in his awaiting arms.

and then he was falling in love.

the winter sunlight streamed through the window, a soft glow encapsulating your little family. lando sat next to you in dead silence, counting ten little fingers, ten little toes, memorising the dimpled curve of two lips, the crease between two softly shut eyes. his heart was bursting in a way it never had before, a new lease of life breathed into his body that fulfilled him more than anything ever had.

“are you okay, baby? i’m so sorry i wasn’t here.” lando mumbled, kissing your shoulder. he looked up at you, scanning your tired face, knowing that you’d never looked so beautiful. you cupped his cheek, pressing your forehead against his.

“the pain was worth it.” you quirked your lips, tilting your head so that you could kiss him. you felt his fresh tears wetting your cheeks, and you smiled into the kiss.

“i got here as quick as i could, i’m so sorry i wasn’t here to hold your hand.” lando was heartbroken to have missed the birth of his first child, guilty even, but you wouldn’t let that feeling linger.

“i’m just happy that you’re here now, i promise. we’ve gotta name this little love.” you pecked his lips again, cuddling into his side.

you’d been backwards and forwards on names for months, never landing on anything that seemed to fit. you’d read countless lists of names, brainstormed names of people you loved, but you just couldn’t agree.

“can we talk about it later? just wanna look at her for a bit longer. like, forever.” lando mumbled, and as if she recognised her daddy’s voice, your baby’s grey blue eyes fluttered open.

“oh.” he gasped.

you watched in pure adoration as they stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first. a bond was forming before your eyes, and you felt like the earth was moving under your feet.

lando knew, staring into big blue eyes, that nothing would ever be the same again.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: welcome to the world, the one and only matilda norris ❤️

2. the race

“lando, you cannot take her into the bloody media pen!” you scolded, ignoring the bark of a laugh he let out in response.

you were midway through changing matilda’s nappy, dressing her in the tiny mclaren t-shirt that the team had gifted you when you welcomed her to the world.

she was nearly six months old now, with the cutest smile and a laugh that could bring an entire room to tears. you were at your home in monaco, preparing to descend down the hills towards the marina where the race would be. this would be her first race weekend, and lando couldn’t have been more excited for her to make her debut at the track.

he also couldn’t have been more nervous.

the idea of putting your baby into such a hectic environment made lando sweat, which was why you’d left it until monaco, so that you had a home base to sneak away to if it all got too much.

“are you nearly ready to go, baby?” lando came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he was peering over your shoulder, gazing at the giggling baby on her changing mat. “and what about you, matty? you ready to watch daddy drive?”

“i’m sure you’ll have her undivided attention.” you joked, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “can you put her in the car?”

lando scooped up his daughter, placing her gently into the baby carrier. you grabbed the changing bag and followed him out of the apartment, smiling hard at the quiet nursery rhyme he was singing. you locked up and trailed behind the duo, watching intently as he secured matilda’s car seat.

“see something you like?”lando called behind him, shaking his ass at you cheekily.

“you know i do, that’s how i got pregnant.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

the entire weekend was hectic, lando having the time of his life. he’d put his mclaren on the front row, the race flying by where he claimed second place and a rightful spot of the podium. you’d kissed him hard, matilda’s grabby hands tugging at his curls when he’d dipped down to press his lips to yours. he smirked, scheming something, and then he took the infant from under your arm, whisking her over to his interview.

“lando norris, what a race that was for you!” jenson button bellowed into the mic. “and it looks like you’ve been busy off track, too! who’s this little one?”

“the one and only matilda norris.” lando replied, pearly whites on display. he’d never looked happier, and you could feel your eyes welling with tears. lando grabbed her little hand softly, making her wave at the camera. “proud of daddy, matty?” he cooed, and you were a wreck.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: matty’s first race 🏎️ 🧡

3. that time matilda crawled

“babe!” lando’s voice echoed through the house, up into your bedroom. you were fresh out of the shower, wringing your hair dry with a towel, nearly jumping out of your skin when he called.

“what is it, honey?” you shouted back, grabbing your (his) robe from the back of the door.

“you gotta come see this.” he sounded giddy and you bounded down the stairs, speeding into the living room.

“what’s going on?” you asked him, watching him practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“matty crawled.” lando beamed.

your eyes flitted to your daughter, sat quite casually on her play-mat.

“uh…” you said slowly. you wanted to believe him, but the evidence was not lining up. she was getting closer each day, but still seemed to be a tad far off of going the full stretch.

“she did! i swear!” he turned his attention back to matilda, dropping to the floor beside her. “c’mon matty, show mummy! i know you can do it, sweetie.” lando cooed.

“can i finish getting ready?”

“baby, she’s gonna do it again and you’re gonna miss it!”

“okay, just shout if she starts spitting bars.” you teased, turning to leave.

lando was pouting, but as if she sensed her fathers frustration, matilda had a point to prove. she pushed herself up from her tummy, fighting her way towards you.

“oh, my love.” you cooed, hand splayed over your mouth. she was growing up way too fast, but that was eclipsed by the pride bubbling hot in your chest.

“see?” lando pulled you into his side, gleeful. you moulded into him, lip quivering as you watched her wriggle around. “oh, baby, don’t cry.” he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“happy tears, i promise.”

“she’s so clever, just like her mama.”

5. the backlash

the clips circulating online made you feel ill.

lando had just done another podcast, and the topic of his family had come up. they’d set the trap, and he’d fallen right into it, pressuring him about how he approached racing and being a father. he’d tried, bless him, but the way they’d cut the interview made it look like little matty played second fiddle to daddy’s racing car.

you’d been in the studio while your baby slept peacefully beside you, you knew exactly what he’d said, and now the tweets circulating about your boyfriend made you want to scream.

you were no stranger to the occasional landogate, but he’d gotten a lot better over the years. lando didn’t care much for the way the media twisted his words anymore, but when it came to his family, his flesh and blood, he quite simply couldn’t take it.

lando hadn’t come out of his gaming room all day. you’d let him marinate for a few hours, but you hadn’t seen him in too long, and you were starting to panic. matty kept spitting out little strings of words, dadadada spluttering out her little mouth. she wanted him, and you needed him, so you swept her up in your arms and carried her up the stairs.

you tapped on the door, pushing it open before you got a response. he was slumped in his gaming chair, hood up, spinning around aimlessly. he looked so deflated, staring at nothing, manufactured guilt eating him up.

“hey, honey. matty wants her daddy.” you called softly, wading into the room. lando sighed, but took her out of your arms immediately.

“better take what i can get, before she realises what a terrible father i am.” he mumbled sarcastically.

“hey, no. don’t do that, lando. don’t fall into this mindset. you and i both know that you’re a fucking amazing father.” you wagged your finger at him as you spoke. he just slumped further into his seat, letting matty pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“maybe they’re right, though. i was always so scared of this part. what if she grows up and is ashamed of me?” he whispered, eyes honing in on his daughter.

“oh, baby.” it physically hurt you to see him so down on himself. you were ready to burn twitter to the fucking ground. “you’re the best father i could have wished for. she’s literally a little lando! god, honey, she loves you so much. and of course she would - you’re her whole world.”

“when she won’t sleep with me, ten seconds in your arms, and she conked out. when she’s bored, she only wants her dad. don’t even get me started on that annoying stubborn streak she’s showing. lando, she could never be ashamed of you. she is you.” you continued.

lando sighed shakily, pressing a kiss to matty’s forehead before placing her carefully on the ground. some of her toys were scattered there, so she made a beeline for her orange teddy, without a care in the world for you and lando. he spread his arms for you, ushering you in and you sat on his lap, cuddling into him.

“i love you, baby. you don’t know how thankful i am that you gave me this life.” he said into your chest, kissing right over your heart.

you knew everything would be okay, anyone with eyes could see how much he adored his little girl. and anyway, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought; all that mattered was that you had each other, and that was more than enough for lando.

5. matty’s first birthday!

your house was full of laughter, shades of pink, purple and yellow decorating every surface. balloons covered the ceiling, a big 1 taking up half your kitchen. and in the middle of all the colourful chaos, your boyfriend held your one year old daughter, bouncing her on his knee.

they were a picture, a truly stunning one, two identical sets of eyes crinkling at the corners while they laughed together. your heart was bursting, nothing able to contain the butterflies in your stomach as you watched the two greatest loves of your life.

stuffed toys and little pairs of shoes covered every surface, wrapped up with big ribbons. all of your favourite people were in one room, your families coming together with all of your friends to celebrate 365 days of matilda.

matty had spent her day playing with sylvie, george’s young daughter, while lando took photos from every angle humanly possible. then there was the cake, which lando had let the little girl smash all over her face. you’d scold him later, the moment was far too precious.

you were caught up watching lando play with matilda, when max came up to you.

“never seen him happier.” max beamed, pulling you into a side hug. you ruffled his hair in response.

“can’t believe we made her.” you muttered, head falling against his shoulder. you were awestruck.

“when are you having another one? he’s gagging for it.” max was joking with you, but the look you gave him made him do a double, triple, quadruple take. you were smirking. “wait… wait what?”

“sooner than you might think.” you patted your tummy slyly. “he doesn’t know yet, i only just found out last night. wanted matty to have her day and then i’ll tell him when she’s gone to sleep.”

max was staring at you, bewildered. you may have even seen a tear in his eye.

“oh, i love you guys. so fucking happy for you.” he whispered.

you caught sight of lando watching, his head tilted in confusion. you just winked at him.

“she went down easy. think today really took it out of her.” lando said as he walked into your bedroom. you were sat waiting for him, hands resting behind your back.

“thank you for today, it was perfect.” you beamed when he leaned down to kiss you.

you watched him get ready for bed, stripping down to just his sweats, and then he joined you, lounging across the foot of the bed.

“hey, what were you talking to max about, babe?” lando asked.

“a gift that i got you.” you replied coyly.

“a gift?” lando looked confused, and the confusion only grew when you pulled your hands from behind your back, placing a little gift bag in front of him.

“yep. hope you like it.” you kept your expression neutral.

he picked up the bag, rustling through the tissue paper, and then he found it.

a little white stick.

lando stared blankly, eyes flitting rapidly between your face and the pregnancy test in his hand.

“baby…” he started, but he lost his train of thought. instead, he launched himself at you, cuddling you into the mattress. you were laughing while he pressed his lips all over your face, your neck, ending with your belly.

“good gift?” you giggled, watching as his hand smoothed over the soft skin of your tummy.

“the fucking best.”

landonorris and youruser via instagram

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landonorris: for matty’s first birthday, we’re giving her a sibling 🫶

6. family sized

lando norris, father of two, reporting for duty.

leo norris was born under the english sun, the late august heat making your labour a difficult one.

from the minute he was born, leo had a personality, angry, passionate eyes glaring at you and lando, a cry tearing from him that could end wars. he was gonna be a force, that little boy, not that you were complaining.

lando had fallen in love again, only having a few days to adjust before he was racing around europe, but he always found a way to slip into bed with you in the early hours of monday mornings, leo sprawled across his tanned chest. he’d watch the two of you sleep, listening out for matty down the hall.

and then she’d wake up, and lando would lay leo by your side, padding next door to your daughters bedroom. the pitter patter of her little feet and lando’s big laugh would wake you up. mornings were the best part of your day, all four of you tucked up in bed together before the chaos began.

it was hard sometimes, but life was bliss. you had the most wonderful partner, two gorgeous children, happiness that you couldn’t have ever fathomed right at your fingertips.

lando finally realised how big the world was, now that his family was often on the other side of it. he ached every second his heart was away from his kids but watching them grow, getting to see them smile, matilda clinging to his legs the second he came home, made it all worth it.

and god, coming home to you, whether you were waiting with open arms at the door or tucked up in white linen bedsheets in one of his t-shirts, was fucking delightful. you were his person, the one that gave him a reason to get up and smile, and he’d do quite possibly anything to keep you happy until you were old and grey by his side.

“matty, what do you say when we say goodbye to chat?” lando asked his little girl.

he was wrapping up a stream, matilda finding her rightful place as his new cohost - max was hardly coping with being replaced but that was a separate issue.

lando bowed his head, looking at matty encouragingly and she beamed hard at the screen. she was two years old, with the bubbliest personality and the brightest eyes in the entire world.

“gg boys.” she grinned toothily at the camera, and lando’s squawk of a laugh summoned you into the room.

lando was logging off when you walked in, watching from the doorway. leo was down for his nap, and matty was soon due hers.

“what are you two getting up to?” you chimed in, leaning into the wall.

“matty’s gonna be a gamer.” lando said in his sing-song voice, the one he reserved for when one of his kids did something that made his eyes sparkle.

“no call of duty.” you said sternly, looking at him pointedly.

“don’t worry, baby. f1 game only, she’s gonna be a racing driver.”

“just like her daddy.” you whispered, watching the duo high five in their matching hoodies.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: @/mclaren i’m gonna need a bigger car

youruser via instagram

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youruser: big dad vibes 💘

7. long time coming

lando held his son tight, watching you and matty examine tiny sea shells in the little rock pools that were forming. the sun was setting over the monegasque beach, beams of pink and orange light bathing your family as it bounced off the soft waves.

leo was wriggling in lando’s arms, the two year old boy desperate to join his mother and his sister splashing around in the shallows, but lando kept a hold of him. leo was too mischievous for his own good, cheekier than the average two year old. perhaps it had something to do with who his father was.

“daddy, come look.” matty called, so lando waded into the water, ankle deep. that little girl had him wrapped around her finger. he cast his eyes over matilda’s inquisitive face, glancing at you for just a second, and that’s all it took for you to steal the air from his lungs.

you were more radiant than ever, as beautiful as the day he’d met you and fallen so helplessly in love. he hadn’t stopped falling in love since. you’d made him a father, you’d given him a family, you’d taught him what it was to be truly, unequivocally happy.

and now all you had to say was yes.

“that’s lovely, sweetie.” lando cooed at matty, eyeing the handful of seashells she’d collected. “wanna go play on the sand? we have that gift to give mummy.” lando winked at the little girl, who took off running, splashing sea water over you both.

once she was out of earshot, you turned to lando.

“you’re not pregnant, are you?” you teased, thinking back to the gift you’d given him those years ago, who was now tucked sleepily into lando’s chest.

“how did you know?” lando joked back.

he grabbed your hand, toes sinking into the sand as you made your way towards matty, who was fidgeting on the picnic blanket you’d laid out earlier. as soon as you reached her, lando gave her the sly nod, the signal that he’d taught her over the last few days, and her sweet little voice called out to you.

“mummy?”

“yes, my love?” you kneeled down on the blanket, eye level with your daughter.

“daddy wants to ask you something.” her doe blue eyes twinkled in the setting sun, and you whipped your head around to look at lando.

lando, who was down on one knee, balancing his son in one hand and the biggest fucking diamond ring you’d ever seen in the other.

“should’ve done this about four years ago, but we were busy popping out kids.” lando breathed, his eyes watery. you were already in tears. “my love, where do i even begin? i’m nothing without you, and every time i leave you, i leave my entire heart behind, so please, will you marry me?”

tears streamed down your face, and lando sat the squirmy toddler down next to his sister, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

you surged forward, the force of your movement leaving you both in the sand. you clung to him, lips meeting his with sweet urgency. you mumbled a million yes’s into the kiss, no one left in the world but you and him, and your two beautiful children.

and when you pulled away, you scooped your babies into your arms, holding them tight, knowing that you were in the presence of the purest form of love.

your little family, complete…

…for now.

youruser and landonorris via instagram

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youruser: family day out 🥹🫠❤️‍🔥

i don’t know how to write fluff lol

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wondersinwaynemanor · 27 days

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let's pretend that this is the right timeline because what if Dick becomes Batman at the same time when Wally becomes The Flash?

let's also say that this is just like the Justice League animated series wherein the League members don't know each member's identities (except of course Bruce, he knows everybody).

how funny would it be if Dick and Wally are together and the rest of the League are confused because all of a sudden Batman and Flash are close like super close? i mean they have witnessed how Flash gets intimidated by Batman. now, that's not the case anymore.

during a meeting:

Hal, leaning to John during a League meeting, whispers: I'm not losing my mind, right?

John, whispers back: I think I know what you mean.

Hal: Why is Flash making heart eyes to Bats????

John: I know??? Flash doesn't even look him in the eyes before.

Hal: That's so odd, dude.

Batman glances at the two Green Lanterns which makes them shut up.

meanwhile, across the table, Martian Manhunter has a light smile on his lips and Superman covers his laugh with a cough.

at the cafeteria:

Ollie: Hey, Dinah. Have you noticed something unusual between Batman and Flash lately?

Dinah: It is quite unusual, huh? I was talking to Hawkgirl the other day and she said she saw Flash bridal carry Bats.

Ollie: What the actual fu-

Flash, approaches the couple's table with a big bowl of nachos on his hand: Hey, guys! Mind if I sit with you?

Ollie and Dinah give a knowing look at each other. a conversation they definitely will finish later.

during in an another planet mission:

Batman, after announcing everyone's partners for the mission:... And lastly, I will pair up with Flash in today's mission.

Flash grins widely, that has Arthur thinking his cheeks might be hurting after that.

Arthur: Yeah, yeah. At this point, we already know, Bats!

the Green Lanterns, along with Captain Marvel and Booster Gold, snicker at his comment.

Batman ignores Arthur's comment and the rest of the members scatter to their assigned locations.

Victor, who was paired with Arthur: Was gonna give that comment too.

Arthur: It's like they are inseparable all of a sudden.

Victor, shakes his head: Well, I have seen weirder things.

in the meeting hall:

Wonder Woman, pulls Batman in the corner of the room: Okay, that's enough. You are truly ignoring me. What is going on with you lately?

Batman: Did the rest of the League put you up to this?

Wonder Woman, has her hands on her hips: They didn't need to. So, tell me. And don't you ever lie to me, I can see right through you, Batman.

Batman, sighs: It's hard for me to explain. I can't-I can't tell you right now.

Wonder Woman: Hera! Now, Bru-Batman.

before Batman responses, the door of the meeting hall opens and in comes Robin with his katana. the conversations between the League members come to a stop as they stare at the young hero.

Robin, glances at everyone, before approaching Flash: I need help with an important matter.

Flash, smiles and ruffles Robin's hair, as if that's second nature: Of course, little dude.

Hal, stands up from his seat: THAT'S IT! Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on????

Ollie, stands up with him: Are we in another dimension that I don't know about?????

Dinah pulls Ollie down by his arm to make him sit again.

the rest of the League members start to converse against each other.

Superman, floats a bit from his seat: Why don't we all settle down? There's nothing to be alarmed about.

Robin, shakes his head: Tt. Absolute fools.

by the time Bruce and Barry are back:

Bruce, pinches the bridge of his nose: Chum, you could at least be discreet with Wally.

Dick: It's not my fault, B! I swear I was going to explain to Aunt Diana then Dami entered the room.

Damian: Tt. Don't blame me, Grayson. Why don't you lecture West on how to be more responsible? He left me on read when I asked help for my Science project.

Dick, sighs: And what about Timmy? He could have helped.

Damian: I don't want anything to do with Drake.

Bruce massages his temples as he feels a headache coming up.

Barry: Wally!!!!

Wally, zooms right in front of Barry: I couldn't help it, okay?? Dick is just irresistible.

Iris giggles as she prepares the table for dinner.

Barry, sighs: That's alright. I'll talk to Bats on how we can explain it to the team.

Wally, grins and sits down by the table: It was hard not to laugh at them. They were so confused.

Barry, chuckles: I'm sure Hal's expression was the funniest.

Wally, laughs: You have no idea, Uncle Barry.

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heavenblvd · 3 months

Text

saw this tiktok where a girl jumped out of her bf’s moving car because she was losing an argument, and i’m thinking of that with rafe and fem!reader but with a twist to it <3

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩

rafe had hauled you into his truck, slamming the passenger door shut. anger was pumping through him, and he hastily got into the driver’s side, pressing on the gas to drive away from the party.

he was mad at you for not only wearing a short dress, but was mad at the fact men were giving you attention because of it. you knew very well that even if other males were to give you attention or flash you a charming smile, they knew better than to ever approach rafe cameron’s girl.

but for some reason, that knowledge didn’t stick to rafe’s own brain.

“my girl is out here, dressing like a fucking slut!” rafe yelled, and you rolled your eyes, ignoring the complete fact he was going 100MPH over the speed limit.

you would be okay with getting in a car accident at this very moment. maybe he would kick in some conscious or decent common sense into his head.

“want me to dress like i’m fuckin’ amish or something, rafe?” you asked, scoffing. “i get you want control or whatever, but my style is up for me to decide. not my fault you’re insecure.”

rafe’s head immediately snapped in your direction, eyes bulking with rage and madness, like a bomb about to go off. “the fuck did you just tell me?” he asked, mindlessly not paying attention the road in front of him.

“said its a not my fault you’re insecure,” you repeated, grinning happily. “a man who knows what he’s secures with doesn’t fucking trip every minute — all you do is worry, and get mad at the attention people give me.”

“i’ll throw you out this fuckin’ car right now,” he threatened, and you shrugged, picking at your acrylic nails. “leave you on the side of the road for someone else to get you.”

“yeah, hopefully it’s topper or cameron,” you said, bored of rafe’s threats. when you date a guy like him for over a year, doesn’t take much to start yawning and getting tired of his bullshit.

“you’re a whore,” he went on, and you hummed, glad to see he at least had his eyes back on the road. “parading yourself around like some tramp. looks like i’m with a fuckin’ pogue or something.”

“said you’ll throw me out of this car, right?” you wondered, taking off your seatbelt, and rafe eyed you for a hast moment. “i’ll just do the job for you,” you unlocked the passenger door, throwing your stilettos and purse out before you could proceed with them.

rafe reflexively pulled you backwards by the back hemming of your strapless dress, his other hand stern on the wheel. “what the fuck is wrong with you!” he shouted, slamming on his brakes in the middle of the road, and put the car in park. he tugged you back into your seat, and grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing eye contact. “some sorta attention seeker, huh baby? just trying to piss me off more.”

“thought i’d stick to your word for you,” you told him, and he panted heavily, his boiled anger coming visible to you. you only smiled, flashing doe eyes at him while batting your lashes. “can you grab my purse and shoes, then? least you can do, rafe.”

he let go of your jaw, staring at you for a moment with thoughts toppling all in his mind on what to do with you. he got out of the truck, went to grab your stuff, and tossed it down on your lap when he returned.

“you’re some fuckin’ surprise, baby,” rafe said, continuing the drive back to tannyhill. “you’re in for it when we get back home.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #obx #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #outer banks fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #outer banks imagine

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confused-pyramid · 19 days

Text

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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lymtw · 1 month

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Toji loves taking you out to bars because he knows you can't hold your alcohol like he can. You're messy, and you gain an attitude that he almost never sees, but more importantly, you rely on him more than ever.

Toji laughs at the irritated expression you have on your face. "What are you looking at?" you ask, rolling your eyes as you look away from him. He doesn't take it to heart, instead smirking at the returning attitude in your tone. You've gone over your drinking limit, and he knows you wouldn't ever say that to him in your sober state. At least not like that.

"Your pretty ass, dummy," he responds. He watches you reach for your glass again, quickly intercepting your hand before you're able to grab it. He sees the confusion in your eyes as he moves the glass away from your reach. "That's enough for tonight, babe. Gotta get you home before you pass out on me."

You can barely hold yourself up. You lean most of your weight onto Toji as he walks both of you out of the bar. He knows this is no way to leave you alone tonight, so he decides to keep you at his apartment for the night. You're well acquainted with it, anyway. A surprise sleepover won't kill you.

"Where are we going, Toji?" You slur, watching him buckle you into the passenger seat.

"You'll recognize it when you see it," Toji says, flashing a smile before shutting your door.

He quickly makes his way to the other side, sitting in the driver's seat. He watches you rummage through his glove compartment, then the compartment between your seats. He has nothing to hide, so he doesn't stop you for a minute or so, but he knows you won't find anything in this state so he has to intervene. "Tell me what you're looking for."

His voice grabs your attention, making you stop. "Water. My mouth is dry, and I don't like the taste on my tongue," you mumble.

He reaches back into the pocket behind his seat and grabs a flask filled less than halfway with water. He twists the lid off and offers it to you. "Drink the rest."

"Mm-mm," you protest. "That's too much." You tip your head back and let the cool liquid soothe your throat. You thought you had drank more, but the water barely entered your mouth before you brought the flask back down in your lap.

"It's gonna make you feel better, ma. Just do it."

Your eyes roll every time your heavy eyes blink, but you genuinely mean the attitude behind your eye roll when you turn away from Toji and lean against the car door. The effects of the alcohol have you thinking he trying to boss you around, and you're not having it.

Toji scoffs, putting the lid in the cup holder. He reverses the car out of the parking spot, glancing at you once more before putting the car in drive. Your forehead is pressed against the window, and your arms hold the flask of water tight. You don't even notice when you doze off.

You woke up a couple times for a few seconds, turning towards Toji with wide, red eyes. He cracked up each time, but calmly told you to go back to sleep. One of the times, you took his hand and put it on your thigh before turning towards the car door again. His hand was warm, and rough, just... Toji. He didn't pull it away unless he had to make a turn, but it would go back to its place immediately after.

Twenty minutes later, you arrived near Toji's apartment. He pulled into his assigned parking spot, a bold 723 on the curb, the same as his apartment number. He turns the car off and unbuckles himself. He exits the car and makes his way to the passenger side. You weren't leaning on the door anymore, so Toji opened it.

"Baby, we're here." He nudges your shoulder, gently. Your eyes open, heavy as you look around. Your hand comes up to rub your eye and the flask of water tips over, spilling onto your shirt and the crotch area of your pants. You gasp, watching Toji grab the flask before all the water spills out. "It's all good, mama. It's just water," he says, noticing the shift to worry in your tired face.

"I'm sorry... I didn't..." you slur, feeling a lump in your throat. "Toji, I'm sorry. It's not pee, I swear."

He suppresses the smile fighting to show on his lips. He can't bring himself to laugh when you have the saddest eyes he's ever seen. They have a glint when he looks into them, so he knows you're holding back tears.

"I know, doll. I believe you. Let's get you into some dry clothes, yeah?"

"Okay," you say, to yourself. You sigh. "So hard to move," you mumble. You use all the strength you have to get your legs out of the car and onto the ground. It was an almost impossible task when you felt like the world was moving so fast. Every movement you made felt like you were dragging yourself in that direction more than necessary. You felt so heavy. "I won't make it," you say, looking up at Toji with watery eyes.

"Wanna hop on my back?"

"You're older than me. Don't wanna break your back." You wipe away a single fleeing tear.

Now that made Toji chuckle. He would have to remind you of it in the daytime.

"Don't worry about it. You're featherlight, baby." He turns around and crouches in front of you. You give in since he's already in position. Again, you put in all your effort to push yourself forward. Your chest lands on his back, your arms lazily draped over his shoulders.

"Hold on tight, or you'll slip." He helps you by pulling your thighs around his waist, a strong grip to hold you in place. Your arms apply a little more pressure around his neck. He genuinely lifted you like you were featherlight, not even groaning as he pushed himself up and out of the crouched position. He leaves the flask on the seat, not covered, trusting that it won't fall over. The door is shut and the car is locked before he carries you to his apartment.

He can hear your breaths against his ear, finding that you dozed off again. He unlocks the door, and leads you inside his home. The door is locked behind him, and he flicks on the living room light. He takes you to his bed, setting you down so he can grab some clothes for you.

He goes into his drawers and fishes out one of his shirts. His clothes don't fit you, but you're in no position to reject them.

"Sit up, ma," he says, walking towards you with one of his black shirts. The bed sinks with his added weight. "Don't have any bottoms for you, but you can still take your pants off if you want to let them dry."

You nod, not wanting to think for yourself anymore. Toji is sober, he knows best for now.

"Arms up," he instructs, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off of you. "You wanna keep the bra on?"

You shake your head. Sleeping with a cold chest doesn't sound comfortable at all, so you let him unclip your bra and take it off. You quickly cover your exposed breasts. Regardless of how many times Toji has seen you naked, he doesn't protest your choice to cover yourself. Instead, he puts the shirt over your head and pulls it down your body. You release your breasts and put your arms through the armholes. You unbutton your jeans and kick them off, pulling the shirt down after to cover your upper thighs.

"Better?" He asks when your movements still. He receives a closed-eyed nod for a response. "'Kay, i'll be right back. Don't get out of bed." He squeezes your arm and rises off the bed.

He's gone for less than a minute, returning with a couple pills and a glass of water in hand. You'll wake up wanting these things, badly, so he'll save you the painful morning.

He dresses down and prepares himself for bed. He comes back to find that you're on his side of the bed. It would be a struggle to get you to move, so he'll accomodate for you, this time. He pulls you onto your side, facing him. If you blow chunks, you won't choke and die because of your position. Some might make it onto him, but that's a risk he's willing to take if it means you'll be fine.

You look cute in his enormous shirt. You don't normally wear it in circumstances like these where you're defenseless, but it suits you either way.

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princelyduties · 2 months

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Yandere Husband x Reader x Yandere Wife (Poly) pt 1.

Warnings: Death mentioned, implied drugging.

You've been working full time and studying as a full time student since you moved out of your parents home a few years back. It's been hard to keep the balance between the two with very little time for yourself. You don't want to burden your parents with the things you're going through, however these past few months have not been kind to you. More specifically to your wallet.

Tution to attend is not cheap so when your parents offered to house you again to make things easier for you, you jumped at the opportunity. Living back home wasn't exactly ideal since you've grown acustomed to your busy life. However, it was either that plus an extra 30 minute drive to school, or give up more than half your paycheck to rent a small room in a shitty shared apartment with 3 other people.

Yeah, you'd rather take the loss on gas than stay with your previous roommates who didn't care much for the apartments cleanliness. You swear you were the only one pulling your weight with the chores but you weren't going to dwell on it now.

You drive up to your childhood home with your car full of stuff and sigh in relief to see your mom and dad outside waiting. After exchanging hugs and happy greetings, you and your family crack down on moving your stuff inside.

As you finish up with the last few boxes, you overhear your mom chatting to one of the nearby neighbors. Turning your head you raise an eyebrow at the sight of an unfamiliar couple chatting up your mother.

Your mom quickly introduces you to the new neighbors that had moved in across the street. New to you , however, apparently they've moved in quite awhile ago while you were gone. How come you never noticed them before? You were positive at least your mom or dad would've told you about them in past conversations. Maybe it just slipped your mind?

Infront of you, you were introduced to Dante Rockefeller and his wife Kiara Rockefeller.

Dante was tall with broad shoulders, dark hair with a very professional but charming look to him. You'd say he looked quite pristine and well kept. He flashed you a smile as he took your hand to shake it. You shake his hand back but you feel him oddly linger for a moment before pulling away.

His wife Kiara was much shorter compared to her husband. More on the plump side with a more lighter color in her hair, she held a similar look to her husband. Well kept, pristine, with a softer smile plastered on her face as she excitedly hands you a few goodies she made earlier that day.

"Your parents have told us so much about you, we just wanted to properly introduce ourselves!"

Kiara explains with a gleeful look in her eyes. They looked almost like those picture perfect couples you see on TV. The type of couple that never fought and who were the ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ of the friend group.

"You just give us a call if you need any help with anything, afterall we're only a street away!"

The husband chimes in, giving you a friendly neighborly welcome back home.

You thanked them for the goodies, bidding them farewell as you and your mom head back inside the house. You could feel their gazes follow you along before shutting the door.

As time went on, you kept seeing the couple more often then not. At first, it was more of accidental run ins. Like when you were out shopping for a few grocery items, you always seemed to find yourself bumping into Kiara. Or almost every time you were about to head to work, you were stopped by Dante who was on his daily jog and decided to stop by for a quick chat.

The couple were always so sweet, stopping by the house to visit for dinners consistently since you've returned. You assume that your parents had grown a close friendship with them while you were away. You were glad that your folks had people to talk to, you knew at their age it's much harder to stay connected with others and are just happy for them.

Maybe that's why you didn't out right say anything about how touchy feely the two could get around you when they weren't around.

How Dante would stand too close to you on outing events, how Kiara linked arms with you as you guys shopped, how the two slowly started to show up in common places you frequented and would join you despite trying to politely turn them down.

You could've looked past this. Perhaps they were just were like this in nature? But it didn't explain the more... Awkward situations you'd find yourself in with the two. Kiara wearing subtle revealing clothing around you, Dante buying more expensive luxuries for you, the two inviting you over to stay the night as a friendly visit.

You've tried to decline their offers, gifts, and even ended up avoiding the places you frequented because of it. You weren't sure why but a gut instinct told you to keep them at arms length. You tried your best to keep your distance, find ways to slither out of situations, even go as far as avoiding them. You hate to treat them like this but you just couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness around them.

That was until the fire.

When returning back from a long day of classes and work, you returned to firefighters and police officers at your door as the blaze in your childhood home burned rapidly. Ambulances came to aid and your panic after seeing your mother and father being carried out in stretchers worsens.

It took a week of before your parents passed away in the hospital. A whole week of being terrified if your parents were going to be okay and now they’re just.. Gone.

Their deaths hit you hard and you could barely function as you mourn. It doesn’t help that you’re practically homeless, 90% percent of your stuff had been lost in the fire, and you still had to deal with figuring out funeral arrangements for your parents.

Broke, homeless and still grieving you feel your world start to crumble in on itself.

Just when you feel hopeless, to your surprise the Rockefellers reached their hand towards you and took you in.

You wanted to deny their help at first, this felt all too much for them to do for you but where exactly were you going to go? You had no other options. You couldn’t help but cry when Dante and Kiara asked if you’d like to stay with them, insisting that none of it was a burden on them if it meant putting a roof over your head in these trying times.

Dante handled cooking dinner that night as Kiara helped you get settled in the guest room. It was mostly a haze for you, just trying to keep it together.

“Dinner will be ready in a bit hun, I got you a few spare changes of clothes from our closet- I’m sorry we couldn’t get your size right sweetheart, so they might be a bit big on you. I’ll leave you alone to get yourself settled and cleaned up, but just holler out if you need either of us, okay?”

You thanked her profusely, apologizing for burdening them again with your troubles but she stops you mid sentence.

“Hun, you don’t need to thank us for a thing. Dante and I are more than happy to take you in for as long as you want, you’re important to us and we’ll be sure you’re well taken care of.”

She gently wipes away a tear going down your cheek with her thumb as you once again thank her and her husbands kindness.

After she leaves, you wash yourself up and clothe yourself. A soft knock is heard from your door, you open it to see Dante with his signature smile but you can tell it seems more genuine. The smell of dinner from downstairs wafts into the room, causing your stomach to grumble and growl. You blush in embarrassment but Dante just lets out a soft chuckle.

"Dinner is ready, I'm sure you're starving after today. Kiara is setting up the table, shall we join her?"

He holds up his hand for you. Hesitantly you take his hand in yours, as he leads you to the dining room with care.

The food looked delicious, it reminded you of home as you dug in. How long has it been since you actually sat down and had a proper meal? You weren't sure, but with a full belly and the warm atmosphere you felt.. Safe. Maybe you were wrong to avoid them for so long? To think they possibly had alterier motives to their kindness when they were just normal people?

You tried to offer help to clean up before you offly felt tired. Like a heavy blanket was eveloping you, your vision starts to get blurry as you look at the couple with hazy eyes. Before you know it, your body gives way and you feel yourself lose conciousness. The last thing you see is Dante and Kiara surrounding you before blacking out.

#yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #female yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere oc #yandere poly #gender neutral reader #original yandere

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klausinamarink · 2 months

Text

based on this hilarious video with Gianmarco Soresi whom I’ve been watching his comedy work for a few months now

read on ao3

“What do you do?” The standup of the hour - the guy had introduced himself as Eddie - points at Steve.

Flustered at the attention directing every eye in the club to his table, Steve tries not to stammer as he answers, “Well, uh, I make movies.”

“Oh!” Eddie genuinely looks interested. “So you’re a director?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At least I started out as an indie, but I have a big project that’s out and a couple more on the way.” One table nearby claps and Steve tries to wave them off to stop.

“So what was that big project? Was it something we would’ve seen?” Eddie repositions himself so he has one leg up on the stool. Steve stares at how lean they seem with the tight black jeans. He’s got them daddy long legs. His brain suddenly burps out and it nearly makes Steve lose his composure.

“Uh, ha, I did The Final Bat. It’s on Shudder.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly, perfectly hiding his internal cringe. The horror genre is way out of his league and Steve’s already seen The Final Bat being on a few critical lists damning the title as another cliche-filled mess. He only did it because he had finally caved to Dustin’s pleading to make at least one horror movie.

Eddie, on the other hand, seems ecstatic by this revelation. “No way! That’s sick, dude! So the next time you make a horror flick, you’re gonna watch Blumhouse and A24 coming in at each other with steel chairs for distribution rights.”

Everyone laughs, including Robin. She smacks on Steve’s bicep with a wide grin. He smacks her back before he turns back to Eddie and clarifies, “I don’t like horror! I’m not doing it again!”

Aghast, Eddie throws an invisible hat to the ground and stamps on his feet. “Come on! Then what’s the point of watching the studios bite each other’s dicks off when you’re slipping out to watch - I don’t know - the Barbie movie! Now they’re just fighting for the next shitty horror movie to exist!”

Steve covers his mouth but fails to hold back in the laughter. Eddie’s infectious energy is starting to get to him. It makes his chest clench with something other than the usual pains.

Eddie patiently waits for the patrons to quiet down before continuing, still attentive to Steve, “I’m just wondering actually if you ever done theater class.”

“Sure did! Two years in high school,” Steve confirms.

“Let me guess, they did Hamlet?” Eddie raises an eyebrow like it’s meant to be accusatory.

“Yep, soon after I joined.” Steve nods, the memory of that production flashing before his eyes. It had its ups and downs but it was one of the most fun things Steve had ever experienced.

“No wonder they started as soon as your handsome ass walked in the club.” Eddie says low and flirtatiously into the microphone, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. It echoes across the room and back, bringing the howling laughter with it.

Heat crawls behind his face. Steve keeps his hands on the table, forcing down the urge to hide behind them. “I-” He stops to cough, “I wasn’t supposed to play Hamlet.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, “What do you mean?!”

Robin answers loud enough for everyone to hear, “He was the grave robber, but the other guy who did Hamlet got into a coma a week before the show and Steve knew all the lines.”

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie holds his hands out, looking scandalous. He throws looks around the club. “Everyone, shut the fuck up right now! This is more important than caring about the rest of you!” Eddie drags the stool over and perches on it like a very much invested gargoyle, almost oblivious to the audience’s reaction.

“Okay, let me go through this.” He points at Steve, still holding eye contact as if Steve’s soul would provide the answer. “You weren’t Hamlet. You were meant to be the guy who gives him the skull to monologue. The OG Hamlet got into a coma for some reason-“

“Car accident.” Robin interjects.

“Yeah, no need to elaborate, ma’am. You, Steve-” Eddie breaks off for a second, holding back a laugh of his own. “You somehow knew all the Hamlet lines because you were waiting to skin OG Hamlet’s head and make his skull yours to do the monologue.”

There’s a scandalous outcry from all tables. Even when they mostly calm down, Steve uses the growing anticipation to ‘think’ about what Eddie just said before he casually shrugs and says, “Sounds about right.”

Eddie drops his face into his arm, letting everyone laugh at him. Steve lets himself break, his laughter bubbling out of him in a way that doesn’t sound so self-deprecating or hollow. If he was in a cynical mood, he would’ve thought it was pathetic that the only person who made him laugh so lightly again was some random standup.

After a moment, Eddie finally looks up, his face broken in disbelieving grin. He chuckles into the mic and looks back at Steve, “Sorry, it’s just I hear some wild stories in the crowd some nights and I think yours takes the cake.”

Steve smiles, “Thanks, man.”

Eddie stands up back, half-leaning onto the stool. “Do you still remember those lines? To be or not to be?”

The whole damn thing. “Uh… some of it?”

Eddie’s grin shifts into something more mischievous. “Let’s see who knows more.”

A collective oooh goes around the room, including Robin. She already has her phone out for recording. Steve rolls his eyes at her and takes a quick sip of his water. He clears his throat and starts, “‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’”

“‘Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..’” Eddie says without missing a beat.

Oh, he thinks he knows it all. The sense of competition that Steve thought had died out with his future of a sports career reignites in his chest. He sits up even straighter. “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’”

“‘To die-to sleep, no more.’” Eddie slowly walks over to the edge of the stage, “‘And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.’”

“'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.’” Steve almost shivers as he recites the line, uncertain if it’s from the club’s cooling temperatures or the intense gaze from Eddie’s eyes. “‘To die, to sleep.’”

“‘To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub,’” Eddie suggestively rubs a hand on his chest as he squats down. Steve’s eyes flicker to the hand, almost hypnotized by the motion. Nay, he shakes himself out of it. No distractions!

“‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.’” It’s getting harder to remember the following lines. That hasn’t happened before. Steve has never forgotten the damn soliloquy in years, even when other people try to challenge him.

Eddie continues, “‘Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely.’”

“‘The pangs-’” Steve feels his breath catching in his throat when he realizes, for the first time, what beautiful eyes Eddie has.

Oh.

Eddie suddenly perks up in excitement. For a second, Steve thinks that Eddie has come to the exact same thoughts for him. But then he remembers that he hasn’t completed his line, so Steve feigns defeat.

“I win!” Eddie stands up with a triumphant cry. He spreads his arms out to embrace the cheering whoops and applause. “And I’ve only got to play Hamlet in-” He spins around and crouches down so he can look Steve in the eye again as Eddie’s voice booms into the mic, “-FOURTH GRADE, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Steve’s not even mad. He just throws his head back, laughing and clapping along.

Almost too soon, Eddie moves on to heckle on another table. But he keeps glancing over at Steve, his smile widening every time. And Steve smiles back, feeling a laugh slip out of his slips at every joke. He watches Eddie more closely, feeling his heart pound faster in his chest the more Eddie stays onstage.

By the time Eddie has to depart and thank everyone for being here, Robin announces her need to go home and snuggle with her girlfriend.

“Man, that was the most I’ve ever laughed in this place.” Steve stretches his back, groaning at the little pops. God, being in his early thirties can be a bitch sometimes.

Robin only hums, moving her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Steve pointedly makes no further comment as he pays the tab.

Outside, the crisp night air welcomes him. Steve takes in a whiff, staring up at the light-polluted sky as he bids Robin a goodbye. Then he hears his name being called. He turns around and sees Eddie hurrying out the doors.

Steve feels a smile already on his face, “Hey, Hamlet.”

Eddie grins at him, teeth and all, “Hey, yourself.”

They stare at each other but it lacks the competitive intensity earlier. Steve likes this. But he already has a feeling that this won’t be the first time either one of them would challenge the other.

“Sooo…” Steve says when the silence stretches a little too long. He gestures between himself and Eddie, “Wanna restart our introductions?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten, “Yeah! Right, sorry.” He clears his throat and thrusts a hand out. “My name is Eddie Munson. Self-proclaimed comedian and musician. You may recognize me as the guy who beat you in Hamlet’s famous speech.”

Steve takes his hand. Eddie feels bony and thin, but large enough to fit perfectly into Steve’s palm. He tries not to sound so eager as he says, “Steve Harrington. Film director who doesn’t like horror. Believe it or not, I actually know the whole stupid thing.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, “Really? Like, no offense, but even if you remember that much-”

“‘And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.’” Steve winks with the Harrington Charm, smile and all.

Eddie stares at him for so long that Steve feels his heart racing for a different reason. And then, Eddie turns around and muffles a loud scream into his free hand. When the man turns back to face him, he’s sporting the widest smile Steve has never seen.

“You knew the whole thing!?” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with utter adoration.

“Yep.” Steve pops the ‘p’, grinning like a little shit.

“But why did you forget that line?”

“Let’s just say,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, “I got distracted by the pangs of love.”

Eddie bites on his lower lip as he swoons his body over so they are pressing against each other. With half-lidded eyes, Eddie whispers, “You know that part is Hamlet referring to missing his dead dad, right?”

Of course Steve couldn’t help but kiss him.

#and now for something silly #as if i don’t always write something silly for steddie #klaus writes #steddie #stranger things

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scarfacemarston · 21 days

Text

Teacher!Natasha x Teacher!Reader Oneshot

For Lesbian Visibility Week! If you enjoyed this, please note and reblog! Feel free to send other prompts or requests! Prompt: The students come into your classroom complaining about Natasha as a teacher not knowing you're her wife. This is version 1. You sighed as you glanced at the digital clock on your computer. Damn. Your planning period was almost over, and you really needed to finish grading these essays. Soon, you would be back to teaching your high school history classes for the day. The period ended far too quickly as students began to file their way into the classroom, discussing this and that. You were so engrossed in your work that you were hardly paying attention until you heard “Ms. Romanoff” mentioned not once, not twice, but in a string of sentences. Oh boy. Ms. Romanoff was one of the more controversial teachers at the school known for her no-nonsense attitude, sternness and sarcasm , but she was also fair with a dry sense of humor. “Why did I take international politics as an elective? Oh, that’s right, I thought it would look good on my transcript!” One student said sarcastically. “She’s so nitpicky! I got an A-. AN A MINUS!” “Hers is the only class I don’t fall asleep in anymore. Not since….last time.” “She’s so strict even the Macklin brothers shut up.” “She’s terrifying. I heard she used to be an undercover agent in the CIA”. You smirked at that one. You should probably look into that rumor. “A spy? Shut-up, man. Who’s going to believe that?” “I heard she was a failed actress.” “I heard she voiced the Russian Siri.” “I heard she’s a rich heiress that lost all her cash.” “Look, guys, I don’t care. She just ripped our class to shreds.I just can’t right now. Nearly the entire class failed her last test. These test corrections are going to take all night.” “At least you’re allowed test corrections! We’re her AP class and the only way we can make up points is through a new essay.” “She’s scary. I swear” “I think she knows what I’m thinking and then that makes me think more and then she thinks what I’m thinking and that thinking makes my head hurt.” “I was ONE minute late to class and she gave me a late slip!” “One time my grandma called me in class, and she made me pick it up.” You shot a quick text to Natasha before the bell rang. Her classroom was two doors down from yours since you two were technically in the same department. Time to log off your grading program and begin class. You pulled out the binder with today’s lesson plans ready to begin. “Wow, you all are full of comments about Ms Romanoff today.” You said neutrally. “Miss Y/N, you don’t understand. She’s so ….uh, extra.” You withheld a smirk. Natasha wasn’t what you would call extra, but she was set in her ways.” “I don’t think she’s extra. I think she just has high standards.” You responded. One of the students rolled their eyes.

"Do you all talk about me like this when I'm not here?"

"Nooo Ms. Y/N, we would never!"

"Well, maybe you could extend the same courtesy to my wife next time," you said, withholding a laugh. The room fell silent. A pin could have dropped.

“Fuck” you heard someone say under their breath. “Language”, you chastised, but you couldn’t say you blamed them. You saw the students in various forms of awkward shuffling, a cough here or there or “Ummm” or “Uhh” as students tried to form sentences. “Wait, you’re married?” a student questioned before being glared at by the others. Your fourth period class was near silent for the rest of the period, with the students seemingly still in shock. One minute til the bell rang. You saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of your eye. Thirty seconds. Natasha knocked on the door. “Hey, you, we’re all ordering from Robert’s Deli for lunch. You want your usual or will you finally try something new?” Natasha teased. The class whipped their heads collectively towards the door. It was becoming harder not to laugh. Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on, Y/n?” “Oh, you’re scaring my class, dear!” You said, smiling widely. Natasha scoffed. “Dear, huh? Oh, so they found out, didn’t they? As if us entering the building together and leaving together in the same car wasn’t hint enough that we’re married. Yeah, I might have scared a few of them. It was well deserved, trust me, Isn’t that right, Reynolds?” Jason Reynolds sank down into his seat, not meeting Natasha’s eyes. The bell rang. The students couldn’t scramble enough as they grabbed their bags and rushed past Natasha. You gave a small laugh as you finally met Natasha. “You’re a mean woman, you know that?” “Hey, you texted me, babe.” “It was great, not gonna lie. Sorry the “secret” is out.” “It’s not like we’re closeted, we’re simply professional. I’m surprised they didn’t figure it out sooner….or maybe I’m not.” Natasha muttered. Your stomach growled. “Alright, I’ll look up the menu. Find something new to try for once. Promise.” You said in response to your stomach. Natasha nodded. “Don’t want you to scare the next class because you’re hungry.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romonova #black widow #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you

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foli-vora · 1 year

Text

once again in your arms

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: mwahah, hello boys i’m baaack (10 points to whoever knows what movie that quote's from). took an unexpected break coz life, but i’m ready to get back on track. this was requested by a beautiful anon a while back (sorry for the wait angel), but i hope you enjoy! x

Request: hello! so this is kinda angsty: joel and the reader are married and have a baby (plus sarah, obviously). the day of the outbreak, reader and baby were in town and she couldnt call joel (or viceversa) cause the phone lines were down. they were separated for a few years until they arrives at the quarantine zone he's in, and he recognizes them in the crowd.

Word count: 4.5k-ish

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth and having a baby, domestic fluff, angst, pre and post outbreak, some spoilery things if you haven’t seen the show yet, heartbreak, loss of a child, apocalypse things, i sweat at the idea of caring for a baby during the end of the world, soft reunions, fluff, cameos of my fave oc’s made in a different series

It’s a fact you had learnt in the very early days of your relationship... the Miller men knew how to care for a lady. Whether it was Tommy sliding in to open the door for you before you could reach for the handle, or Joel draping you in blankets and taking on the responsibility of keeping your hot water bottle warm to fend off cramps for the evening, not a moment went by when you didn’t feel the constant reassurance of their care.

Especially now, fresh from the hospital and tender from your days of excruciating pain and an extensively long labour, Tommy quickly slaps the pillows into something plusher, hands gentle as they guide you down until you’re reclining into the armchair.

Joel keeps an eye on you from across the room, the brief wash of concern slipping away with the easy smile that grows along his lips when your eyes meet.

He rocks the wrapped bundle in his arms softly, a big hand dwarfing the small head that peaks from the blankets. His fingers brush through the light smattering of hair peeking out from the cotton burrito, his index running along the tiny peak of a nose and you feel your heart swell in your chest.

“Dad,” Sarah whines with an eager smile, shifting restlessly on the couch, “come on, I’ve been waiting all weekend.”

“Oh my god,” Joel drawls sarcastically, “all weekend? Baby girl, how are you survivin’ right now?”

“Shut up,” her grin widens, “give me my baby brother before I explode.”

“Well, we don’t want that mess all in the livin’ room,” Joel quips, stepping over your weekend bags tossed on the floor and closer to the couch, “ain’t treadin’ your brain all into the rug—thing was damn expensive.”

Sarah shrugs, readjusting her body to sit straighter and holding her arms out expectantly, “Least I have a brain.”

Tommy snorts in amusement, grinning at his brother's expense, “That’s true.”

“Are you still here?” Joel side eyes him, barely fighting the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

They bicker, throwing their little snippy sibling comments back and forth before Sarah clears her throat, her eyebrows rising in impatience.

“Alright, alright. Here, watch his head,” Joel instructs gently, a smile playing along his lips, “that’s it, baby, you got him.”

It’s a beautiful picture, Sarah carefully bringing the baby closer and tucking him carefully into her arms, and the sentiment is shared with Tommy as the flash and click of a camera goes off. He removes the polaroid sliding from the slot and sits it on the coffee table to develop before instructing Joel to slide in next to her and smile.

Both Joel and Sarah are oblivious to his instruction, lost in the bubble that has overcome them. You find peace watching them, warmth spreading along your limbs by the sweet tenderness of it all. The love is clear between the three of them cuddled on the couch, and it’s almost too much for your heart to bear.

Sarah beams down at her baby brother, cooing soft words and stroking a gentle finger down Matthew’s cheek. Joel throws an arm to rest on the top of the couch behind Sarah, turning into her and answering her questions quietly.

8 pounds, 3 ounces. Smaller than you. No, he didn’t cry at all—gave me and the docs a damn heart attack. She sure did a great job.

Your Joel was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the emotion shines from his eyes, bleeds through the lines in his face and it’s enough to bring tears building along your lash line.

“You okay over there?”

His familiar drawl brings your attention to him, and you smile at him, tired and fully at peace. It’s bliss, despite the ache of birth still hanging in your limbs. M

“I’m fine,” you respond quietly, lids heavy with exhaustion, “I’m just so happy.”

He fucking beams. His grin creases his cheeks and he nods softly.

“Me too, honey,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his children and playing with a strand of Sarah’s hair as he gazes down at Matthew, “me too.”

—

Four months later.

Chaos.

Matthew wails against your chest, the deafening sounds of screams, bullets, sirens and explosions setting him off into hysterics. Your arms tighten around him, keeping his face tucked closely into your throat so your scent could hopefully provide him some reassurance.

You crouch beside cars, you run until your legs ache. You take cover in stores, the soles of your shoes crunching over broken glass of the shattered windows. Every phone you try gives nothing but a dull tone. Radios are filled with static and emergency broadcasts play on the view screens you run past in your effort to escape whatever the hell is happening.

Worry stirs along the edges of your mind. Is Joel okay? Sarah? Tommy? You can’t call him, you can only run and hope nothing takes you down in your effort to get back to your car. You pass people crouched over others, blood smearing along their lips as they tear unforgivingly into the flesh of another.

It’s a nightmare, and it’s everywhere you look.

Almost there.

You see the sign of the parking lot and it only makes you run that much faster, even though your legs threaten to give out at any minute. You pass an elderly man crouching beside a woman, blood flowing from the open gash on her throat, and the ache clutching your heart only increases when his pleas reach your ears over the mayhem.

“Gloria,” he mutters in an aged rasp, “up you get, love. You’re alright, come on now—”

You can’t help it.

Somewhere in your mind you can feel Joel screaming at you to keep running, to get yourself to safety and not give a damn about anyone other than Matthew, but the image of this man cradling his wife’s wrinkled, bloodied hand is enough to get you advancing to him before anyone could hurt him.

“Sir—”

He ignores you, too busy with brushing the woman’s blood soaked white hair from her face.

“Sir, we have to move—”

You wrap your fingers around his shoulder and shake firmly. His head gives a shake of denial as he clutches his wife’s hand tighter.

“No… no, she’ll need help—she has a bad ankle.”

Shifting Matthew unsteadily onto your hip, your fingers wrap under his arm and tug him onto his feet. He fights you, bats your hold away with an infuriated expression at your rough handling of him.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s gone—we have to run. I—I have a car, please… just come with me, please!”

“I won’t leave her—”

“Please… they’re coming! I—would she want this for you? To die like this?”

He blinks, his frown softening ever so slightly before screams pierce the air, much closer than you anticipated, and terror claws up your throat until you feel you’ll vomit.

You hold out a hand, relieved when his own rough, calloused hand finally takes it, and then you’re running, albeit slower than before, but you make it to your car with no issues.

You dive into the driver's seat, passing Matthew over to the stranger when he makes an impatient gesture to hold him and then you’re tearing out of the lot, running down the few rabid looking beings that advance on you with bloodied expressions of hunger.

You don’t think you take a proper breath until you’re past a military barricade that had seemingly been destroyed in the attack, flying down the highway and around other panicked drivers with sweat slicking your skin.

Taking a deep breath to slow the brutal pounding of your heart, you look at Matthew, now calmed and looking up at the stranger with an obvious shine of curiosity. The old man is clearly softened by the baby, letting his small hand wrap around his finger and wiggling it playfully in his hold.

“That’s Matthew,” you mutter shakily, meeting the eyes of the elderly man before gazing back out the windscreen. You take another breath before giving your own name, tears biting at your eyes when you utter the name Miller.

Do you still have a husband? A step daughter? A brother in law? The unknown scares you, outright fucking terrifies you.

The man nods in your peripheral vision.

“Harold,” he finally says, voice rough and tired.

—

There are people everywhere, screaming, crying.

People run, shout, wail over family and friends.

Tears have long dried on his face, his head thumping relentlessly with the remnants of his heartbreak. Tommy’s grip is firm on him, tugging him out of the way of people tearing down in their direction, pulling him to where a makeshift table is thrust under a tent as a reception of sorts.

He doesn’t care about the people already there asking about their family and friends. He shoves them out of the way, hands shaking as they clutch the edge of the weak table.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman… she’d be with a baby boy, not even four months old—”

His voice shakes. He can’t get it to stop. He struggles to get out the detailed descriptions of you both down to the clothes you were wearing, speaking your names through trembling lips. His stomach jolts at the thought of you somewhere, lying helplessly on the floor with your flesh getting torn into while Matthew screams in his car seat.

He’s a damn baby. He wouldn’t know what’s happening, wouldn’t know why his mama’s not there with him—

The woman gives a small expression of sympathy over the thin surgical mask covering her mouth, “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had no babies that young come through, and nothing like that has come in over the radios.”

He retches.

His body heaves, almost as if it’s rejecting the mere idea that you weren’t somewhere safe waiting for him. He had failed. Failed to keep Sarah safe, failed to keep Matthew safe, you—the vows he had made now meant shit. He hadn’t been there for better or worse. He’d hadn’t done what a father should have and kept his kids free from harm.

Sarah had died, terrified and in agony, in his hold. Her bloodied handprints remain dry and caked on his arms. Matthew had died, not even making it to six months. A baby, still fresh to the world, only just able to hold his own head up. You had died, not knowing where he and Sarah were, if they were even safe.

Tommy hauls him to a close trash can, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back as he chokes on vomit, tears soon streaming down his cheeks when his body eventually has nothing left to give. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering against his ribs and filling his ears until he’s unaware of the noises around him.

“They’re gone,” he whispers hoarsely, clutching at the rim of the trash can in an effort to keep himself up.

“Now we don’t know that—”

“God damn it, Tommy, you saw what it was like out there!”

Tommy sighs, his own eyes filling with tears. “We gotta keep hope, Joel—”

“Hope?” Joel spits at his brother, “What good is hope against that shit out there? She would’ve been alone, you know as well as I Matthew only would’ve slowed her down. They were in the city. We couldn’t even keep safe out here! They’re—they’re gone. My wife… my baby boy, my baby girl—”

The sobs tear from his chest, harsh and painful. He mourns for hours, unseeing of the flurried movement still happening around him, his sorrow mixing with the flood of agony filling the makeshift safe zone with every new unhurt civilian looking for someone familiar.

Tommy doesn’t take his arms away from around his brother until dawn starts to pierce the horizon,

—

Two years later.

He still fills your thoughts daily.

Your life, your old life, would flash behind your eyelids at night when sleep would finally claim you. You’d feel his touch, kiss his lips, touch his face. It all felt so normal. The dreams would be nothing but memories, and somehow, it made them feel more like nightmares.

Mornings making breakfast with Sarah, dancing to the music falling from the radio. Family game nights, watching Tommy and Joel get more and more competitive with each game. Grocery shopping with Joel, simply wandering down the aisles and relishing in his comforting touch warming your lower back.

You could never quite make peace with the possibility that he was dead. It didn’t sit right. The idea that your Joel had been lost to the disaster that had claimed the world just seemed impossible. Your heart rejected the notion, refused to accept that its counterpart wasn’t somewhere out there, living, breathing, surviving,

Sarah and Tommy, too.

They had to be somewhere, holed up safely and keeping well. They had to.

“They’ve established a quarantine zone close by,” you say quietly, mindful of Matthew sleeping on your lap, “it’ll be a lot safer there than out here. I think we should give it a go… find a more secure place to live. I’ve heard they have work available, good flow of food and medicine…”

Harry snorts quietly, shifting under his old, thick jacket, “That doesn’t mean they’re happy giving it out. There’ll be a catch somewhere.”

You eye the long carved frown in his features and lean forward to fix the blanket covering his tired legs, “Don’t you think we should try at least?”

“Maybe they’ll put a bullet in me,” Harry grumbles moodily, “I’m old—I can’t work like they’ll want me to. Although, it’ll beat living through this bloody nightmare any longer.”

“Harold,” you chide softly, heart aching at the thought of losing the grumpy old man after spending so long by his side.

He’d quickly become a grandfather figure of sorts, to both you and Matthew. The little boy was obsessed with him, and had been since the day you had come together, and though he tried to hide it behind his usual icy facade, Harry was smitten, weak from the boy learning to call him pa.

“He’ll be safer in there,” Harry finally grumbles, gazing at the sleeping toddler. “This is no life for him out here. It’s getting worse and worse. Stability will do him good.”

“And you’ll come with us?”

He sighs sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine—I’ll come. But if they don’t kill me, I’ll be bloody upset with you.”

You snort in amusement, a grin curling your lips. “Fair enough. Now drink your soup.”

“I’m not hungry. You have it.”

He shoves it away, pushing it in your direction, as he usually does. It’s a daily fight—him refusing food in favour of giving you and Matthew more, ensuring you both never went hungry despite his own hunger and rapid weight loss due to the sudden lack of food.

You give him a playful frown and hold the small cup out to him.

“Don’t make me force feed you, old man, drink it.”

—

The walls of the Quarantine Zone are a lot more daunting than you had originally thought they would be. They tower high, and the barely there movement of soldiers along the front and top of it have nerves start to build in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Surely they wouldn’t shoot without asking questions? Would they even give you a chance? What happens to you if the zone is full? Would they let you go on your merry little way?

God, you feel sick.

The ice creeping along your skin doubles, and you tighten your grip on the baby carrier strapped to your chest. Matthew hums quietly against your back, his little fingers tracing random patterns along your shirt as he bounces with your each step. Harry walks somewhat steadily beside you, his cheeks reddening with the more distance you cover.

He gives you a reassuring nod when you look to him for guidance, and you continue forward, swallowing the lump building in your throat when you become aware of them yelling about your presence.

Their guns are raised when you eventually make it closer, and it’s automatic to throw your hands up in surrender.

“We’re not infected!” you shout, hoping they’d listen.

A soldier steps forward. “On the ground, now!”

“Shit. Okay! Please, I—we’re not infected—”

“Get. On. The. Ground!”

“I have a kid! I have a—please, we’re not—”

“Get the kid out.”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You fight the tremble in your fingers as they raise to the clip across your chest, winding a supportive hand around to your back to keep Matthew from falling out of the carrier as it loosens from your torso.

After a bit of shifting, Matthew stands on shaky legs, his eyes darting between you and the few soldiers with their weapons raised.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe softly, “we gotta do what the man says, okay? Can you do that for mama?”

You continue to lower until your front hits the rubble covered ground, and you motion for Matthew to do the same, heart breaking as he cowers in fear and falls to his knees before copying your posture and hiding his face against the road.

More voices fill your ears, the obvious presence of more soldiers swarming from the gate causing your pulse to skyrocket as Harry lowers on the other side of the small toddler.

“Check ‘em.”

“Everything’s fine,” you murmur, keeping your gaze on Matthew and smiling when he peeks at you from between his fingers, “we’re okay. Keep your eyes on me, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It stings.

You automatically flinch away from the device someone holds at your neck, freezing when more weapons are raised in your direction. The device gives a small beep and the soldier gives a loud clear, before moving for Matthew.

He cries out at the pain, his chest heaving with his growing sobs. The guns move in his direction and you’re flying towards him before you can even think, yelping when arms pull you away from your baby before you can console him. His screams worsen.

“Please,” you beg, “he’s just a baby—!”

The soldiers remain emotionless.

Another beep, another clear.

The fingers digging into your arms loosen and then you’re free, hurriedly crawling on all fours until Matthew’s in your arms, his tear stricken face pressing into your throat. You soothe him softly, murmuring how well he did and that he’s safe with you while the soldiers move their attention to Harry.

When the device gives a final clear, another soldier steps forward, a small smile stretching his lips.

“Sorry about that,” he says, stepping forward until he’s only a step away, “but we can’t be too careful.”

It’s surreal being around people again.

For the longest time, it’s just been you, Matthew and Harry. The people left after the event had turned cruel, desperate for any remaining resources and resulting to violence left, right and centre. It’d been sheer luck that you three had escaped some of the nastier characters you’d come across during your treks. Sure, you’d lost a few supplies every now and then, but you were thankful you all were still here at least.

The man leads you into an office of sorts, with rusted old chairs to sit on while he goes about ‘registering’ you. You’re surprised at the process of it all, confused when he says you’re in luck because after this morning, there are new rooms available. What does that mean? Had something happened to the occupants?

Your stomach turns, but you dare not dwell on it.

Safety for Matthew, that’s all that matters. That’s why you’re here.

It feels like hours before you’re stepping into the sun again, lead out onto a relatively normal looking street with written directions to your new accommodation. The door bangs loudly behind you, fully closing you from the horrors of the outside world, and you try not to focus on the looks of curiosity, borderline hostility, as you start to walk further into the QZ, the height of the wall casting a large shadow over your path.

There’s a main square of sorts, filled with small stations of people selling various items. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of shitty looking food, desperate to eat something other than the random old bits and pieces you’d find through your looting, but you’d have to begin work to even afford a single half burnt bread roll. The two ration cards you had received at your ‘registration’ wouldn’t make a dent in what you’d need to afford any of it.

You pass the sellers, sharing a sullen look with Harry as he too realises he wouldn’t have enough for any of it.

There’s crowds, and you try to keep to yourself as you move, but something catches your eye, as if your sight had been automatically pulled to that direction and you’re oblivious to the people bumping into your frame.

For a moment, you’re sure you’re dreaming.

Did they end up shooting you at the gate? This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be unfolding right before your very eyes. You feel alive. You feel your pulse, your breath. You feel Matthew shift in the carrier, you hear Harry making comments about the people and the surrounding buildings.

You can’t look away.

You’re pulled in his direction, certain with every bone in your body that it’s him. It’s him.

The man turns, and his eyes are meeting yours through the crowds before you can even brace for it, and you see the moment it hits him.

He freezes, his eyes unblinking as if they don’t want to risk losing the hallucination his mind had conjured. He steps forward, and again, and again, slow in his movements, cautious.

“Joel?” You breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the bustle of your surroundings and the distance between you, but he must see your lips mould his name because then he’s running, ducking through the people and heading straight your way.

You start to jog, careful not to disturb the carrier holding Matthew too much, and then he’s there. He’s there and he’s real and he’s saying your name so sweetly, a broken rasp of disbelief and a tremble taking over his hands as they raise to cup your cheeks.

You sob at his touch.

The tears flow from your eyes and you grasp at whatever you can on him, your fingers tightening around the jacket hanging from his frame as you attempt to pour two years of loss into your embrace. He cradles the back of your head, keeps your face pressed tightly against the dirtied skin of his throat as he mutters brokenly about how he thought you were dead and that he’d missed you so damn much.

“Oh baby boy,” he rumbles, noticing the baby carrier and the toddler within it with tears filling his lash line, “look at you.”

You hurriedly unclip the harness and sweep Matthew out of it, bringing him into the middle of your embrace. Joel runs a hand along Matthew’s cheek before sweeping down and kissing him on the forehead, his tears dropping over the toddler’s cheeks in obvious relief and utter joy.

“How—”

You shake your head, nuzzling into the rough hand holding your cheek. “Later. We’ll talk later about everything, I just—god, I’ve missed you so fucking much, Joel.”

His head lowers until his forehead is pressed against yours, and his eyes flutter closed. You feel it in the simple gesture, how much he had missed you, mourned for you. He gives a small nod, followed by a quiet okay, before another presence suddenly makes themselves known.

Your body jolts with the weight hitting your side, and you jump in fright before your eyes come across a slightly skinny looking Australian Shepherd desperate for attention.

His tongue lolls from his mouth as he attempts to lap at your cheek, and you chuckle through your stream of steady flowing tears at the cheerful dog.

“Chip,” Joel grunts in slight annoyance, shoving the fluffy beast away from where he tries to jump and sniff at Matthew’s cheeks, “down—down, boy!”

“You have a dog?” You ask in curiosity, reaching out to pet the animal. Your smile widens when he eagerly nuzzles into your touch with an excited whine.

“He was wanderin’ the QZ when I came in,” Joel replies, one of his hands leaving your waist to deliver a rough rub to the dogs head, “followed me home one night and hasn’t stopped botherin’ me since. Tommy said he’d be good for me.”

“Tommy’s here? And Sarah?” You perk immediately in excitement, your eyes flying past his shoulder to look for his brother and the other part of your heart that’s been missing for years. “I’m so glad they’re alright, where are they?”

You don’t notice how considerably quiet he’s gone until you look at him. He’s defeated, guarded, his dark eyes drawn to the floor. He can’t look at you. Why can’t he look at you? What’s happened?

“Joel?”

“Sarah… she—she—”

He struggles to finish the sentence, the words stick uncomfortably on his tongue. His features twist in clear anguish and you feel the world around you shatter. Sarah, she… she’s gone? When? How?

Your heart sinks, weak and broken by the unexpected news. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the notion that you’d never see her again, that the last time you saw her was truly the last.

Regret begins to build in the pit of your stomach. That last day… you should’ve hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead, told her how much she meant to you and how lucky you were to be in her life—

The tears begin again.

“Oh Joel, I-I’m so sorry,”

You both share the heartache, wrapped in each other's arms and breathing in the other. His tight hold doesn’t loosen for a second, and you attempt to put every ounce of energy in your tired body into returning it.

The world stands still, just like it did that cursed day.

How can you be so elated that he’s here, and yet be filled with so much pain at the same time? How long has he been lost, no doubt blaming himself for his baby girl not making it to where he is now? You mourn her, mourn him for being lost, stuck on a path of despair and believing he had lost everything for so long.

What had become of him? What had the pain done to him? Surely it would’ve been pure torture for the man who practically breathed family.

Harry can wait. Introductions can wait. Food, drink, sleep—you care for none of it. Not now. All that matters is that Joel is here, truly here in the flesh, wrapped in your arms and holding the child he hasn’t seen for two years. All that matters is that you had found one another in the violent hellscape the world had become.

Peace, but that tranquillity will forever be tainted by loss, a void hanging in the midst of relief, never to be filled again.

tag list 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld,

tags that have continuously not worked will be deleted from my taglist soon x

#joel miller x reader #joel miller f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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talaok · 4 months

Text

The carpet

pairing: Pedro Pascal x fem!reader

Summary: You and your husband Pedro prepare for a red carpet, but once you're there you have a wardrobe malfunction, luckily, he's there to help.

Warnings: just so much fluff for no reason

a/n: i havent written something for Pedro that wasnt a request in literally 9 months, but guess what the hyperfixation is hyperfixating lately and I just needed to write down what i've been daydreaming about all day.

"wow" he exhaled, closing the door behind him, his eyes trained on you.

You chuckled, looking at him from the mirror, as a choked "aww" escaped Linda, your make-up artist's, lips at the reaction.

You gave her a look and she just grinned, checking her work one final time before whispering "Seeing you two is better than watching any rom-com, I can't even remember the last time my Mark looked at me like that", making you laugh once more with a playful roll of your eyes.

"you look stunning sweetheart" Pedro breathed, right behind you now, his hands already on your waist

Another dreamy sigh fell out of Linda's lips before she decided it was time for her to go.

"i'll go wait downstairs then... leave you two lovebirds some time alone," she said, excitement piercing through her tone as if she was watching her daughter walk down the aisle.

"thank you Linda, we'll be down in a moment" You nodded, smiling sincerely at her as she started for the door.

But just when a foot was already out into the hallway, she turned around, a serious expression on her all of a sudden.

"And Pedro" she shot him a look "Just this once, try not to mess her lipstick up too much, will ya?"

You couldn't help but laugh, loudly, wholeheartedly, but Pedro, ever so honest only answered with a "I can't make any promises Linda", before the poor woman groaned and shut the door behind her.

Just as the soft thud of the motion bumped from wall to wall, Pedro turned you around in one swift motion, getting to see your pretty face better.

"hi there" you smiled, placing your hands on his chest, softly playing with the hem of his tuxedo's jacket.

"hello sugar" he grinned, letting his eyes drink in all of you.

"You look handsome" you murmured, your right hand going to his face, feeling the soft stubble of his beard graze your palm.

"mhhh" he hummed, leaning closer already, much to Linda's disappointment "Well you know how it is... if my lady's gonna be the most beautiful woman on the red carpet I gotta step up my game"

You huffed out a laugh

"'s that right?"

"need to at least try and look like you're not miles out of my league" he cocked an eyebrow, his hands on your waist pushing you flush against him.

"You're a bad man Pedo Pascal" you stifled a smirk "A bad, bad man" you whispered as his lips finally met with yours.

They were softer than usual, but heavenly just the same.

His hold tightened on you and you melted right into his arms, whimpering weakly into his mouth, before after what was probably a good two minutes, he pulled away.

"we gotta go" you murmured

"I know" he groaned, half-heartedly leaning away.

And as you checked yourself in the mirror one last time, you couldn't help but chuckle, as your gaze fell to your lips.

"Oh Linda's gonna be pissed"

__ __ __

the carpet was booming tonight,

celebrities filled every inch of the crimson rug, and the flashes of the countless cameras pointed at you were so strong you swore they would have blinded you if you weren't so used to them.

You were posing to show off the gorgeous dress you were lucky enough to be wearing, and once you had exhausted all the poses you knew, you turned to your husband on the left as he offered you his hand, which you took with a smile, walking to his spot and leaving a soft kiss on his cheek the photographers seemed more than a little enthusiastic about.

But as you posed together, his arm on your back drawing soothing circles, an almost inaudible pop made its way to your ears, and all the sudden some pressure was gone from your chest, and when you looked down... when you looked down the button that was holding the two pieces of fabric covering your boobs had popped, and said fabric was starting to fall.

"oh my god" you blurted, but before you could do anything, your reflexes slowed down by the shock, Pedro's hand found your chest, salvaging the falling pieces of the dress.

"I-" you stuttered, not knowing what to say, or do as he moved in front of you, his broad build doing a hell of a good job of shielding you from the photographers

"I was about to flash so many people" you finally breathed, your voice faint.

"yeah" he said, trying, really trying to suppress the chuckle down his throat, but failing miserably "Yeah you were sweetheart" he laughed softly, his hand still holding your dress.

"are you- don't laugh!" you gasped, although with one look at your face, you could feel a bubble of laughter making its way up your thoat "It's not funny" you smiled, chuckling too now.

"no" he shook his head, sarcasm spilling out of his every pore " there's nothing remotely funny about this sugar, absolutely" he smiled, making you want to roll your eyes

"hold the dress for a sec" he said, having you do just that as he took his jacket off and instead, put it on you.

"thank you" you smiled, looking up at him.

"you just worry about keeping that jacket closed" he murmured, kissing your cheek "I've already seen too many men's eyes wondering a bit too much"

"oh shut up" you laughed, rolling your eyes as he escorted you off what must have been the worst red carpet of your life.

"Whatever you say flash" he laughed, obviously very proud of his own joke

"god I hate you so much" you sighed, smiling widely into his chest nonetheless.

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mondaymelon · 1 year

Text

— "𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪?" ♥

:feat~ childe, dottore, scaramouche x gn!reader:

⤷ established relationship, modern!au ⤷ violence, overprotective ...comfort(?)

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

art by @/code_tesseract on twitter! ✩

“Why do you refuse? Tell me.”

CHILDE’s heart drops when he sees you.

It’s only a small bruise below your eye, but he can already feel his blood boiling as he dashes over to you, embracing you in a tight hug until you manage: “Taglia- can’t breathe…”

“Tell me. Who did this to you?” He pulls back hesitantly at your words, albeit only slightly. You’re still pressed up against him, warm figure in his arms.

“Taglia, it’s nothing you need to concern yourself over.” Despite his questioning, you merely glance away, ignoring his pleas with a dismissive response each time. It’s clear that you don’t want to get him involved, but he does, because just seeing how you’ve been hurt, no matter how lightly, makes him pissed.

But he can tell, begrudgingly, that you don’t need his help, or rather, don’t want it. So he’ll respect your wishes, at least while he’s in your presence. With a long sigh, he loosely shrugs his shoulders, giving you one more tight hug before asking if you want anything - ice, bandages, food, whatever. Of course you insist you’re fine, because that’s the kind of person you are… and while it’s slightly problematic at times, but being stubborn is an endearing trait of yours - after all, if you always showed no resistance, how boring would that be?

So as soon as you turn in for the night, claiming that you’re tired, he just smiles and nods along, a plan already in mind.

You said you were out with friends.

When he called you at 10:04 pm, you responded.

There was background noise.

There was someone’s voice, telling you to get off your phone.

Oh, now he knows who it was.

And that someone will surely not live to see tomorrow. ♥

DOTTORE seems indifferent at first, not bothering to spare you a glance up from his countless research papers.

Then there’s a flash of red in the corner of vision, and that’s when he whips his head up, piercing red gaze immediately landing on your figure. It’s not much, just a small amount of bleeding, but his mind already races. He’s a peculiar boyfriend, to say the least, and his personality is one that changes constantly, so much so that you’re not sure if you have one lover or thirty. For the time being, he’ll tend to your wound, but archons know he’s already calculating his plans on how to make the one who did this regret it.

“Ouch… Dottore, the bandage is too tight.” You wince from where you’re sitting on his office chair, arm held up so he can see. The male seems to jolt, glancing up at you while his enraged expression melts, just the slightest. He doesn’t apologize, but does redo the bandages, looser this time, before looking back up at you for your approval.

“...Darling. Who did this to you?”

His tone seems gentle enough, like he’s trying not to scare you. But his gaze is clear, the way his crimson eyes are cold and how his features are twisted furiously.

“Dottore, I’m fine.” And just like that, you withdraw your hand, your warmth, and hurriedly move to your room.

…What?

You’re not dismissive like that.

You always tell him everything. Because he can solve everything.

Yet, now you’re keeping secrets from him?

It’s all their fault. Whoever they are.

"So if I kill them, won’t that resolve everything?" ♥

SCARAMOUCHE merely scowls, glancing at you, brows furrowed.

“What happened to you?” His voice is mixed into a scoff as he stares at you up and down, expression only worsening, for some inexplicable reason. He’s leaning against the countertop in the kitchen, looking rather… well, there’s only some slight bruising on you, but his eyes hold so much… distaste.

“It’s nothing.” You push aside the male, heading towards your room. Scaramouche doesn’t follow after you, only intensifying his glare as he watches you shut the door without another word, letting out a little ‘tch’.

But as soon as you’ve disappeared behind the door, the wooden counter he’s holding onto splinters under his choking grip, small shards crumbling onto the floor. Crimson blood drips from his fingers, the fragments digging into his sin, but all he can hear is the overpowering rush of his own rage.

Nothing? You think this is nothing?

You are his, and everyone knows that.

He has made it clear.

Yet, someone dares do this to you?

Perhaps it's an act to save face, an act to protect his pride, but more so, it’s an action to hurt the one who dared to hurt you, whether you want him involved or not.

The next words that come out of his mouth are fractured whispers, violet gaze focusing on the red streaming from his hand.

“You won’t have to worry, love. I already know you too well.”

“You want me to take care of this, right? To get rid of the imbecile who dared to lay a hand on you?”

“Haha, very well. It seems that tonight will be one of bloodshed.” ♥

(a/n) ...was originally going to add pantalone to this too... but then gave up. please send help

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cherry-leclerc · 2 months

Text

stolen sweethearts ☆ cl16

genre: humor, angst, yearning, pining after three years so maybe slowburn??, fluff, second chances, whipped!charles

word count: 4.3k

Everything that leads to your wedding day and ends up with a knock on your door from your ex-boyfreind and an infamous letter.

req!...longer than intended, whoops! enjoy, anons :)

inspired by this !

“You’re making a mistake—”

Your eye twitches in the slightest, glossy lips curling into a snarl. “Shut up and be quiet.”

“What?”

Looking down at your boyfriend, dressed in Armani from head to toe and a blank expression, you wince apologetically. You grasp his hand tighter, knuckles becoming white, and smile widely, tears brimming the corner of your eyes. “Not you, honey!” A wet chuckle escapes when he visibly relaxes. “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”

The engagement party was a pleasant surprise, filled with congratulations and early wedding gifts. It also brought out a large group of your friends from hibernation. “Felicidades,” Carlos says with a teasing smirk. “I truly never thought I’d see the day you settle.”

You bit the air. “Ha ha. That was the old me. New me is a completely changed woman thanks to true unconditional love. It’s crazy, try it out some time,” you shoot back.

The Spaniard simply scowls and bows away, returning to his earlier conversation. You consider yourself lucky—as if you committed a successful heist and somehow got away with it. He was handsome, with bright eyes, dark hair, and tempting lips. There truly wasn’t a single flaw to your now fiancé. And if there were, no one ironically saw it but Lando.

“You’re making a—”

“Mistake?” you finish off his sentence, sighing and rubbing your temples. “So you say.” You were in the middle of ordering yourself another piña colada when he hounded you like a madman. The Brit blows out with a tired expression, as if he were giving up on all of humanity.

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.” Angling your head to aim a dirty glare, you silently flip him off as he uses your earlier words against you.

“Aren’t you tired, Lan? It’s been three years, let it go.”

The blue eyed boy musters a threatening look and then rips your sweet treat away from your grip, immediately claiming ownership. Your brows fly up with an offended scoff. He chugs it all down before shaking his curls adamantly. “No, I will not let it go. Bloody hell, you’re one stubborn gal—you can’t go through with this.”

For the shortest second, a ray of hesitance strikes your face when you spot your fiancé, happily indulging in a round of shots with Carlos, Max, and Daniel. The group laughs with amusement over something he says. Your lips wobble, turning back to your friend, shooting lasers. “Why not? And please don’t say—”

“Charles.” Somehow, even with the mention of his name, your world still manages to spin off its axis, alarming your remaining sanity. Last time you saw the Monegasque was quite the day, ending with regretful words and inferior decisions. Lando grimaces when you let out a shaky breath. “You know you haven’t gotten over him. And I can guarantee you that this…” He spins his index finger around the flashing room. “Will not make the difference you're hoping it will.”

Have you made your Christmas list? I told you I need it at least two weeks prior. I work well under pressure, but for God’s sake, honey, this is too much. Charles chuckles, cleaning his pair of Ray Bans against the hem of your skirt. You sigh.

Oui. Making his way over to his duffel bag, he retreats a crumpled up piece of paper. Oh, um, shit. The green eyed boy cringes with embarrassment, pouting modestly. You swallow the giggle sliding up your throat when he frowns furthermore. I swear I had it! It must've gotten crushed with all my stuff. You know what? Charles strolls over to the flight of stairs. I’ll just make a new one, give me a sec.

As soon as he leaves, you yawn, stretching out like a cat. You can’t help the fluffy feeling; Christmas always adds to it. But something about this one felt distinctively different and you couldn’t place the reason why.

Your orbs flicker across the dimly lit room before falling back to the thin piece of paper. Patting your palms on your thighs, you get up and delicately open it up, curiosity overflowing. It shouldn’t have mattered, he was going to re-write it anyways.

His calligraphy had always been messy, and yet you always—somehow—understood; from the start of his sentences to the final dot. But this had to be the one and only time you wish you weren’t so comprehensive.

I’ve been thinking about us

A lot recently, actually

I’ve had some thoughts over these past few weeks and

I think we should just end things.

You bat your eyes, already feeling the pressure forming behind, stinging harshly. Was this meant for you? For you to find? Had it been intentional the moment he pulled out the fucking note? Would he just not come back and was it all an excuse?

But he does. And his pale face answers all of your questions.

Oh fuck, what have you done?

Rage fuels within you as you briskly brush away the acid sliding down your burgundy cheeks, heat rushing through your body. What have I done? What the fuck is this bullshit, Charles?

The Monegasque instantly rushes over, trying to get ahold of the piece of paper. You rapidly pull it away and force a step back as you let out a wet chuckle. He winces at the cold sound. Why would you do that? Why did you do that?

So you’re not denying it? You wrote this? You knew he had, his writing was imprinted into your brain like a manuscript you had professionally studied endless hours.

His skin only loses more color with every passing second. I’m not trying to blame you! I did. I did write that—but that was so long ago, you have to believe me, and I can explain! He kneels down, silently pleading you to bless him with a spare minute. Just let me explain it all to you.

I never took you for a poet, you bitterly spit out as you continue skimming through the full page. You have a lot on your mind—a lot. Scanning his desperate state, you can’t help but let out a soft whimper, scrunching your nose.

I’m not, shit. He grips your thighs from where he is and lets out a set of shaky breaths. Do you remember when—

I don't want to remember, you let out. I just simply want to forget.

He can creepily hear the way your heart is breaking and how his follows along with every word, puncturing his soul. You don’t even notice his coming arm, taking half of the note away and you irritatedly pull back, causing it to rip in half.

That does it, bullying you down to the floor where you start to cry. Out of anger, out of betrayal, out of everything. The green eyed boy tries to soothe you, mumbling into your hair but you’re too busy zoning out that you don’t catch a single confession.

Leave.

Charles flinches; you can feel it as he presses close to you. What?

He almost doesn’t recognize you when you furiously push him off, crawling back with a sense of suffocation. Pain crosses his eyes as he watches you create distance. I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you here anymore—leave.

Anyone who knows Charles would know that he never gave up. He either spoke down on himself and pitied for a while, but never ever gave up. So this was a first. A tough pill to swallow.

If that's what you want me to do, then…okay. He stands up firmly, but inside he’s terrified that his limbs might call out for the day. But I love you. So don’t ever ask me to stop. And he walks out of your life after evilly twisting the knife.

With a new note and ring box deep inside his pocket.

Despaired eyes flicker over to where Charles eases into a conversation with Carmen and George, occasionally clenching his jaw. You hadn’t invited him—that’s just absurd—but he had gotten word from blabbermouth Pierre and you didn’t have the solidity to say no. From the looks of it, he didn’t want to be here either.

“Well I’ve got news for you, my dear friend, I love Hudson, so climb on board because this is happening…” Your voice trails off the second your ex looks up, as if he felt your eyes drawn onto him. Normally they’re dazzling and filled with joy, but the unfamiliar injured expression is like a punch to the gut. Your conscience calls you out on it, slapping you back into reality. Turning to Lando, you purse your lips tightly. “Who even is Charles?”

“God! When I saw Charles had showed up I just wanted to dig up a hole and never come out! Who would willingly go to their exes' engagement party?” Like a spinning top, you fume at Kika whose eyes shine at the sight of you, even after barking. “You should have warned me Pierre would do that. God, I hate that jerk sometimes.”

The Portuguese hums. “Me too…” You flick a questionable brow. Kika giggles, fixing your white gown, feathering it out like a dove. “I know, I should have! Bad friend, bad friend,” she childishly says. You can’t help rolling your eyes, returning your attention back to your reflection. “But if we’re being truthful here, someone should have warned Charles.”

“What are you talking about?”

Taking a quick sip of the complimentary champagne, she nods enthusiastically. “No one gave him a heads up. He thought it was just any other ordinary party—nowhere near a proposal.”

Your stomach churns, mortification taking over at the sudden report. Charles’ reaction was odd, but you couldn’t help filling up with satisfaction, climbing onto your high horse when you saw it. Never in a million years did you ever consider that being a surprise to him too. Hellooo? Coughing awkwardly, you swat her hand far away. Kika yelps.

“Yeah, well he deserves it.” You chug down the rest of her drink in a matter of seconds. Her wide eyes grow larger as she nervously giggles. “No one ever gave me a warning either.”

You were never one for being superstitious, but if anyone ever taught you something valuable, then it would be to never make contact with the groom before the wedding ceremony. He probably didn’t know any better—it of course wasn’t intentional—but that doesn’t stop your heartbeat from spiking up when you spot your fiancé sauntering over to where to stand.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss. Hudson furrows his thick brow. What are you talking about? I came to see you. You look fucking hot by the way. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shoo him, expensive jewelry clinking against one another. “Listen, that’s sweet and all, but you need to leave or else you’re going to ruin it!” You already did, the devil on your shoulder growls. You try relaxing, but can still feel the tenseness shifting between your shoulder blades. “Hudson, I’m dead serious, go.”

The stubborn brunette raises his arms in defense, mouthing a quick wow and walking back out. Were you being a tad bit colder than intended? Was there a better way to deal with the unwanted interaction? Yes. Probably. That’s what you tried to convince yourself because you knew the longer you pondered, the quicker you would realize that Lando was right.

You were making a mistake.

Charles isn’t any better off. He twists and turns the entire night, debating whether he should attend the occasion he knew would most likely make him flat line, but the curiosity definitely got to him. He always wondered what type of dress you would exclusively choose, perfect in every detail. Your hair, your heels. Your smile. Because they weren’t all the same. There was the kind that would sort of slip to a subtle, shy frown when he would compliment you, so he often saw lots of those. Or the kind that would cause your eyes to crinkle—he witnessed those when he would tickle you half to death, laughing loudly as tears would start to form. What he would kill to see you beam back at him once again…

But naturally, he talked himself out of it. What good does it do for him? The following morning, as he blinks strangely at the white wall, he starts to reminisce to himself. Like your first date—which was originally for both Carlos and Isa—but you both weaseled your way in. Or the time he taught you how to skate; only to remember he doesn’t know how to skate. He kept apologizing as the doctor secured your arm with a bright pink cast, but you only laughed, begging him to be the first to sign it. You were probably high off of meds, but still.

A peculiar feeling washes over as he spots an old shoe box. He almost dashes out of the arctic room when he realizes what it holds, but deliberately crunches down to open it.

And he knows what to do.

“He wants to see you,” Lily shrieks, peeking out into the hallway, then jumping back in. The teal dress was doing wonders for her skin tone, but you couldn’t help the agitation. Tell him I don’t want to see him. We have a whole lifetime to do that, you groan, slipping onto your heels.

Your bridesmaid clicks her tongue, widening the entrance as you hold back a much needed gasp. “I think you should tell him yourself…”

“I only need a minute,” Charles stammers, a thin layer of sweat coating his sharp nose. You’re too afraid to speak, so you robotically nod as you watch everyone scurry out, giving you two privacy. The twenty-six year old shyly gets closer, gently pinching a piece of paper in between his clammy grip. Your heart stops. “I walked beneath a ladder…on my way here,” he clarifies. You blink, long lashes fluttering like a fan. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn.”

If I had known you were this manly, I would’ve married you a lifetime ago. It slips out like a force of nature before you can stop yourself as your boyfriend halts from his task. The day was soon ending, late November, and you were both working together on painting the bedroom your dream shade. He had tried talking you out of it because it was simply—just white— but you had hounded him until he agreed. Now he stands here with a white coloring staining his dark gray shirt and you’ve never been happier.

Is that something you might want? Charles tries to play it cool, picking up from where he left off, lips itching into a goofy grin. To get married?

You’re almost glad he’s not facing you since you're as bright as a tomato. I won’t lie, I’ve definitely thought about it. You take a sip of water, suddenly caught with a dry throat. Could be nice.

The Monegaque flips around to face you, placing the paint roller down and strolling over to where you sit criss-cross. You visibly gulp; electricity slipping into the small room. It would be, wouldn’t it? His pink lips ghost over yours as you lean in a bit.

Yeah…

Could kiss you anytime I want… Kiss. Fuck you anytime I want… Another kiss. My fucking dream.

You moan against his touch, melting away like an ice cream sundae. I-I-I really think we could do it; be married. You had been together for so long now, you’re honestly surprised you hadn’t had this conversation any sooner. I would choose that exact same shade for my dress, you squeal, pointing at the wet wall. He hums. Not eggshell, not timid white—whipped cream, if you will.

Ahhhh, smart girl, he teases, nipping at your bottom lip. You practice this shit when I’m not around?

You laugh. I’ve been taught all kinds of tones from birth. My father was a painter himself, remember?

Of course I do, mon amour. He only created the best piece of art yet, he announces with a cheshire smile, watercolor eyes pointing down at you. You blush.

You’re such a klutz, you would probably do something stupid like walk underneath a ladder on our wedding day. You only do it every time, you say, wiggling out of his grip as he tickles you.

I swear I don't do that shit on purpose, it just happens, okay?

Pressing your nose against his, you cozily sigh. As long as we don’t see eachother until the actual ceremony, then I won’t be too upset.

Is that a promise?

You nod. That’s a fucking vow.

“You called it.”

Shifting uncomfortably, you chuckle when you nearly tip over. “Yeah, you’ve always been like that, but don’t think about it too much—it’s not like it’s your wedding.”

He clenches his sharp jaw. “Sure, but bad luck is bad luck, no? And I think I’m quite familiar with it.”

His words shouldn’t impact you so much years laters, but they do. Perhaps it’s due to his sorrowful stare, or his anxious tick, but it kills you just the same way it did that December night. You let out a light shudder, blinking away tears. “What do you want, Charles?”

“I wrote you a letter.”

God—a heartfelt note is the last thing you wanted and today was not the day to receive it either. Or ever. Not when it came from him. “I’m sorry, but it’s a bit too late for that. I’m about to be a married woman in approximately an hour.” You narrow your neat brows, flawless makeup shimmering against the sunbeams. “What gives you the right to walk back into my life, get shit off your chest for your own sake, and just for you to do what? Leave?”

You’re not being fair; not completely, but you can't help it. For the longest time, you thought you were over it, but clearly not. Charles licks his rosy lips, closing the gap between you two. “This isn’t something I just came up with.” He extends his arm out. “I wrote this three years ago.”

You inhale sharply, suspiciously eyeing the white paper. Please, just read it. Back then you could never turn him down, as much as you tried…

And it appears like today wasn’t any different.

It’s almost hilarious to think about how much you cried on your proposal date and how much you are now. You were a light rain at best when Hudson got down on one knee, but Charles stands here, tall, and you’re a complete waterfall.

“Y-you were going to ask me to…” A headache comes rolling in as you let out a wet cry. “This isn’t true; it isn’t real. You wrote this today and came here to fuck with me.”

The Monegasque shakes his head in panic, blood painting his higher cheekbones. “No—listen; the first letter you found, I did write that.” You grimace. “But I swear I took it back immediately. It’s just that you were getting so much hate during that time, and you would always cry, and then you’d say you were never crying…You were in a really dark place. Do you remember?”

How could you not? You knew not everyone was going to love you for dating one of the top Formula One drivers, but you never expected to read such brutal messages either. They were descriptive, and cruel, and ruthless, and it crushed you more than you’d like to admit. Which was fucking stupid since there was always a rather large community that loved and adored you, and Charles loved and adored you—and yet.

You release a shaky breath, desperately rubbing your eyelids. Lily would probably throw a fit at your now snotty and smudged makeup, but you couldn’t really think too deeply about any of that right now. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The brunette cradles your face and you hate when you lean into his warm touch. “I just wanted all of that to end; for you to feel better. And I could never actually say the words, so I drafted a letter, and I’m so fucking sorry, mon amour.” The tides crash inside your chest, getting harder to breathe. “It has been my biggest regret. Hurting you.”

He did more than hurt you; he broke you completely. Like a porcelain doll, like a trophy, like a mirrorball; it ruined you. But you know he knows that when his eyes slowly turn red. “But then I thought to myself, it doesn’t have to be that way! W-we could restrict comments, I could post something and stand up for the woman I love, and I could reassure her by vowing the most sacred thing there could ever exist…And I sat down and wrote this letter.”

If you thought Charles loved you before, then you’re a fool. He was utterly infatuated, devoted, obsessed and drowning in fervor. This letter may be old, slightly cutting loose around the edges, but it’s pinned as straight as can be. Not like the last.

“My only mistake was writing the first, and to even consider giving up on us. My best decision has been writing the second, and promising to stick by you the way I knew I was put on this Earth to do.” Charles carefully draws you in closer. “But I know nothing could ever fix the shit I’ve put you through, but I’m begging for the chance to try.” He kisses your temple and you relax against his lips. “I’m fucking desperate—just one.”

He slips out his original ring box and shines the gem back at you. It’s smaller than the one Hudson had given you, thinner too.

But it has you written all over.

A dizzy spell hovers over as you blink hastily. Charles doesn’t dare to breathe, waiting for you. “This isn’t…I just…” You bite your lower lip, glossy orbs flickering towards the band and then back at him. “Thank you for taking the time to apologize and clear things up; I really needed that, but I can’t do this.” You step out of his embrace, immediately freezing as if you were spending a winter in Iceland. His heart palpitates hysterically, green eyes skimming your features. “This isn’t what I had in mind—this isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” you press sternly.

“You’re right; it’s not.” Though you had just said the same, hearing him repeat it jams the knife deeper into your heart. You can hear chaos ensuing down the hallway, your friends chirping happily at one another. Contrary to what was going on in here. “It’s not because you can’t marry him. Because you know you don’t love him the way you say you do.” He laughs. “You tolerate him at best! I saw the way you avoided him getting down on one knee that day. You kept running off until you couldn’t anymore.” You burn up. “And who was the first person you looked for as he slipped that ring onto your finger? Me.”

“You’re paying too much attention to detail,” you retort, almost snarling.

“Sure, and that’s eggshell.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Your blurry vision focuses onto your dress for a second before snapping back up. “It’s whipped cream. The way I wanted.”

The Monegasque rolls his watercolor eyes, nostrils fuming. “Open up your eyes and see—It’s. Eggshell. Nothing about this is anything you ever dreamt of for your wedding! From your dress, to your ring, to your fucking fiancé!” He huffs. “This ring is all I could have afforded back then, but I would have sold my heart to get you a fucking star if that’s what you wanted…But you’ve always liked the simpler things. You always said you didn’t need a huge diamond to prove your devotion. Look at you now,” he says, signaling to your ring that swallows your hand whole. “All of this is fake.”

You’re sobbing now. You’re bubbling with anger. Because he was here, with you, out of all days. Because he was still the same man who broke your heart and stitched it back up.

Because he was right.

Brushing your nose with the back of your hand, you stare up weakly, defeated. “What do you want me to do?” you whisper, brows drawn together as he folds over completely over your goddess state.

“Don’t marry him and come with me.”

Though you knew that was what he wanted from the moment he walked past the door, it still knocked the last breath you held.

Things were never easy with him. There were constant fights—but that never seemed to matter by the end of the day. There was constant hate—but you always braved through it because you needed him.

And he steadied you. Charles was the first one to apologize, even if the majority of arguments weren’t his fault. Charles was the one who despite crushing his own heart, he wrote that letter to keep you untouched from his fans, from the media.

The letter hurt; like a motherfucker—and it would take a while to forgive…

But there’s no one else you would rather work through with it than with him.

Smiling softly, you nod, almost as if you can’t believe you’re actually doing this. Charles lets out a heavy exhale, laughing as he hugs you tightly, leaving you like a fish out on land. But you’re giggling through it all. “I have to talk to Hudson first, oh God, I have to talk to his family…” you shriek, pale and mortified.

“You know,” he starts. “We could skip all of that and just—”

“No,” you coldly press. Charles’ brows fly up. “I have to do this.” Distancing yourself from him, you wobble to the wooden door before looking back at the handsome man who stands proudly with his neat suit. Butterflies expand freely. “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”

With a single hand pressed against his heart, he nods, as if you held the keys to all gates. “I’ll be wherever you need me to be from now on.” With that, you grin, eyes crinkling and exit the room.

What happened to your makeup? Lily squeals when she spots you running down the hallway, tripping over her tall heels as Alex catches her. There better be a reasonable explanation to this!

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wileys-russo · 6 months

Text

off limits (6) II a.putellas x león!reader

part one part two part three part four part five

off limits (6) II a.putellas x león!reader

"ale where are we going?" you laughed, leaning back into your seat more as your girlfriend sped down the highway. "stop asking me princesa, it is a surprise!" was all you got in return alongside a toothy grin as barcelona raced past her window in a blur.

you adored when alexia was in moods like this; so jovial and free spirited, lowering her stern serious facade and allowing a more bubbly and playful one to shine through.

as a friend, team mate, role model, footballer, sister, captain, lover she had many sides to her and you'd argue till you were blue in the face that some of those she reserved only for when it was the two of you, such as the childlike joy which currently oozed from her.

you'd only been back from training long enough to shower and change before she'd cornered you in her living room, grabbing your hand, twirling you and kissing her way softly up your arm, informing the two of you were to now go for a drive together.

you hadn't questioned it, well you hardly had time to before the taller girl had thrown you over her shoulder and smacked your ass, stating you needed warmer clothes as she tossed you down on her bed.

she'd shut up your questions then by throwing herself on top of you with a grin and peppering your face with kisses, biting your cheek playfully and murmuring in catalan that all would be revealed soon enough.

your heart soared to see her so carefree and happy that afternoon, the two of you bundling up a little more and leaving her apartment hand in hand. unable to show much affection all day you were both admittedly touch starved, making sure at all times that at least a centimeter of your skin pressed against the others.

alexia going as far as to challenge you to a race once you entered the carpark the two of you sprinted off laughing like children as you beat her there, rewarded by her pressing you against the vehicle and kissing you so hard it had stole the air from your lungs.

now as the two of you drove away to an unknown final destination you looked at her with a soft smile and hopelessly lovesick gaze.

her ever alluring and warm hazel orbs stayed hidden behind her most favorite pair of sunglasses. you once teased she liked them more than you when she'd tackled your sister to the ground to get them back as mapi stole them off her head after training one afternoon.

no one but the two of you knowing the truth behind your relationship at that stage you'd left separately, quickly meeting up at your apartment where you'd taken your turn to steal her glasses. the taller girl chasing you around and around till she'd finally caught and taken you down to the floor as well, your combined laughters filling the cosy atmosphere of her apartment.

grinning up at her you'd simply slipped the sunglasses on and pulled her down into a passionate kiss, pretending not to notice how eager she still was to take them off your eyes and hide them away in her pocket, not breaking the kiss for even a second as she did.

now back to your pining stare toward her in the drivers seat her pink hair fell down her shoulders in gentle waves, gradually fading back to blonde with each wash much to your insistent bothering that she should dye it pink again, but you knew you were fighting a losing battle.

the top of her head was tucked away beneath a black beanie, loose strands of hair whipping around in the wind from where her window was wound down. the late afternoon sun was glorious and bathed her in its golden glow, highlighting her tanned sun kissed skin and sharp jawline which as far as you were concerned could have been carved by the gods themselves.

her plump pink lips stayed curled into a cheeky grin, white pearly teeth flashing out at you as one hand stayed on your thigh and the other gripped the steering wheel.

at alexia's insistence you had on matching nike hoodies, hers a pale pink and yours a mint green, the midfielder ignoring your teasings about how cute it was that she wanted you two to match, shutting you up with a loving kiss.

"take a picture, it will last longer than staring at me bebita." the older girl smirked, her laughter bouncing around the car before being snatched away in the wind as you grabbed your phone and did exactly that.

"i am not staring, i am admiring my beautiful girlfriend." you retorted happily seeing a slight blush creep up her neck at your words, her eyes darting off the road for just a fleeting second to look at you, shining with a type of tender adoration she'd not felt warm her heart before you had turned her world upside down.

"okay amor put this on por favor, but backwards so you cannot see anything." alexia reached down beside her and handed you a bright pink balaclava. "why do you have this?" you'd laughed so much your stomach hurt, clutching at your aching abdomen muscles.

"it is albas! just put it on before we get there, i told you it was a surprise and you are going to ruin it!" alexia whined with a playful grumpy pout. you rolled your eyes but did as she asked, your girlfriend waving her free hand in front of your face a few times to check you really couldn't see.

"if you are taking me somewhere to murder me i must warn you that i have not written you into my will yet so you will get nothing." you'd smirked beneath the soft fabric of the balaclava hearing a raspy chuckle beside you.

"if i was going to murder you cariño it would not be for your money, i have more than enough of my own." alexia shook her head in amusement as you felt her take a few turns, the road a little bumpier now.

"okay la reina sorry i forgot you could just sell one of your millions of trophies. how much is a ballon d'or worth on the black market? if i make it out of this alive maybe i will just rob you. i have a balaclava now they will never know it was me." you mocked her, squirming as she pinched your leg for the teasing.

"are we nearly there?" you groaned, starting to feel a little ill as the car turned and bumped and you stayed in the dark. "si niña bonita, soon." her fingers interlocked with yours, bringing the back of your hand up to her mouth and kissing it sweetly, repeating the tender gesture over and over until finally you heard gravel crunching and cracking under the tyres and felt the car still, engine cutting off.

she let go of your hand as her door opened and closed, still unable to see you jumped as yours suddenly opened next, your girlfriend reaching over to unbuckle you. "can i take this off now?" you asked, alexia grabbing your hand before you could.

"almost." she helped you up and out of your seat, arms locked around your torso and helping you to walk, steadying you as you tripped a few times, her lips kissing your neck apologetically.

"joder." you hissed quietly with a wince as suddenly she yanked off the balaclava and sunlight pierced your eyes. "sorry." she mumbled with another kiss to your cheek this time, still wrapped tightly around you as her chin came to rest on your shoulder.

"oh alexia." you smiled in surprise as your vision adjusted, the two of you stood at the lookout of turó de la rovira, a 360 degree view of barcelona greeting your eyes.

golden hour almost over and the sun starting to set the sky had turned a soft coral, streaks of bright orange and yellow dashed across it like god was painting the sky just for the two of you.

"do you like it?" your girlfriend mumbled, hugging you even tighter as you nodded. "i love it, its beautiful. i have not been here since i was little." your smile was nostalgic and soft, alexia melting at the look of awe and wonder on your face.

"buena hermosa." alexia sighed happily, your hands finding hers and intertwining, her arms still tightly encasing you as the two of you watched the sunset together in a peaceful and comfortable silence.

in that moment you were certain that you'd never felt more loved by someone. never more appreciated and tenderly adored than by the tall catalan hugging you tightly and lazily kissing your jaw, whispering soft confessions of just how much she adored you over and over in your ear.

never in that moment did you once think things between the two of you would end up how they had right here right now.

"my contract is up this year with barca ale, and i will not be renewing it."

sat across from her in the physio room you watched your ex lovers heart physically break as you delivered the final blow, unveiling a secret which had haunted you for longer than you dared to dwell on.

"what do you mean you are not renewing it? I-" alexia struggled to get out her words as you looked on, eyes swirling with a storm of guilt, relief, pity and empathy. "barca is your home. you cannot go somewhere else!" she forced out, fists balled by her sides.

"that is why i am here so late, i just had my final meeting with jonatan about it. the decision is made alexia, there is no going back now." your voice was firm though not unkind, despite what was going on between the two of you this news was not something you would ever use as a means to make her feel guilty.

"no no no por favor amor por favor." within a second she had wedged her body back between your legs, clasping your face in her hands, tears welling up in her eyes.

"it is done, the lawyers were there and everything." your voice was barely above a whisper as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut, unable to bring yourself to look into her broken ones any longer. your heart felt like someone was closing it in a tight fist as you heard her try to stifle back her tears.

"oh ale." you sighed, wrapping your arms around her neck as she moved to push her face into your shoulder, her hands tightly gripping your hips as if she could hold you to stay there forever.

you held her for as long as she needed, there was more you wanted to explain but you knew she needed time to process what you'd already said.

you weren't even sure if you'd processed it yourself. there was still six more weeks of active games in between breaks, and you would still be on the team for each one of those.

but the fact that after that this would no longer be your home, no more would you don the infamous red and blue colours of your team, surrounded by girls who you looked at like family, was a terrifying prospect you refused to think about just yet.

"sorry." alexia mumbled, pulling herself away and wiping her nose, the two of you letting go as she moved to sit back on the bench opposite you.

"where will you go?" she questioned quietly after she'd taken a moment to compose herself, embarrassment now joining the boiling pot of emotions bubbling up inside her. "that is the other thing." you exhaled deeply, shifting uncomfortably at the rest of your news as alexia frowned curiously.

"i won't." you started simply, fiddling with your hands in your lap. "i do not understand." alexia's frown deepened as you sighed again, forcing yourself to look away from the floor and back into her eyes.

"i am not moving to any other team ale, after this season i am retiring from football all together."

"que? why?" was all the older girl could manage to spit out, her head a spinning mess of questions and thoughts and feelings, all far too dizzying for her to make sense of any of it.

"because of me?" she followed up quietly, daring to allow her eyes to look at you for a moment before they moved to look at the wall beside your head. "not completely, i promise there is much more to it than that." you answered honestly.

"but what happened with us is a part of it." alexia stated more than questioned as you nodded, now the one to push yourself off the bench, moving to stand in front of her and gently grabbing her hands as she flinched momentarily in surprise.

"i love barcelona more than life. i love living here, i love that my friends and family are all here, i love how it has been playing football and a name for myself here, and I will always be a culer till the day I die-" you started softly, squeezing her hands to get the girl to look at you.

"-which is why i could never play for another team. but i would be lying if i said just because i love living here doesn’t mean it feels like home here anymore alexia, because you were a big part of that feeling and now you are gone from it." you forced out, hating the way her face fell at your words.

"i am not gone, i am right here!" alexia whispered desperately. "then why does it feel like you are so far away?" you smiled sadly, knowing your words would hurt her but needing her to hear them none the less.

"a part of me will always love you alexia. but that same part aches that as much as I love you, you are not mine to love anymore." you paused to take a shaky breath, hands still tightly holding onto hers.

"like i said i am so tired. i am so tired of fighting with you, arguing with my sister, feeling angry all the time is exhausting. and so is being unsure how to fix and mend relationships which mean so much to me, while still trying to get over how much it hurt for them to break in the first place." you poured your heart out honestly.

"football has always meant a lot to me but i need more, i crave something out of life that football can no longer give me. and i promise i was thinking about that before anything happened with us." you spoke sincerely, again not wanting her to blame herself for a decision that held a lot more meaning to you than you were currently able to explain.

"i hope that with some time and some distance to grow maybe we can be friends again one day ale, I know you will always be in my sisters life as her best friend and she will need you when i leave." you smiled, wiping away a stray tear which threatened to fall.

"you have not told her?" alexia asked, struggling to process what you were saying, struggling to breath as with each word you spoke the room seemed to feel smaller and smaller.

"no, not yet. and i am trusting you one last time not to tell her about this, not to tell anyone. i will tell them when i am ready and in my own way." you requested, again squeezing her hands gently in yours as she nodded.

"i cannot change your mind, can i?" she returned it with an equally sad smile of her own. "no, nobody can." you confirmed, letting go of her and taking a step back.

"but if barcelona is not your home anymore, then where do you plan to go?"

"hola." mapi looked up in surprise as you stood in front of her, already changed after training with your bag slung over your shoulder ready to go.

"hola hermana." your sister greeted slowly, taken aback by the casual nature of your approach, not having properly spoken to her for well over a week now.

"would you and ingrid want to come over for dinner?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, the norweigen sat a few lockers away glancing over hearing her voice, tapping aitana's leg signalling she was no longer listening as the girl spoke with her.

"tonight?" mapi asked, eyes wide in shock as your own rolled. "no next week. si maria, tonight." you replied much more curtly, tapping your foot impatiently when you didn't receive an answer.

"we will be there." ingrid answered you with a soft smile when her girlfriend didn't. "buena, come over whenever." you sent her a smile and shrugged then with that you were gone.

"estás bien mi amor?" ingrid moved to sit beside her girlfriend who seemed lost in her thoughts, mapi nodding that she was okay and bending down to continue lacing up her shoes as aitana handed ingrid her bag with a smile, wishing them both goodbye.

"see i told you, you just had to wait and to let her come to you."

dinner had been going as good as it could have been so far.

things were a little awkward and frosty at first, but with ingrid acting as a buffer you managed to settle into a much more comfortable conversation style.

you'd dished up dinner, grateful to have cooking it as a distraction as you encouraged your guests to do majority of the talking. the two planned to go to norway soon during international break as she had national team commitments.

they were going to see ingrids family and take a few days to themselves in between games finishing and needing to return to barca, and spent time telling you all about what they had planned to do and see there in the short while.

ingrid had of course extended the invitation for you to join them, your sister also eager for you to come. you'd met ingrids family before so you knew it would not be an issue, however you had already committed to malta and wouldn't put it past the younger putellas to track you down in another country to drag you there with her, having been texting you repeatedly about it.

so you waved off the invitation, grateful for it but making a series of jokes about not wanting to third wheel as you ate. though eventually you could no longer stomach the polite conversation and you knew you needed to come clean, the longer you avoided it the more nervous you'd become.

“ingrid, maria. I need to tell you something.” you blurted out much more abruptly and awkwardly than you'd intended. the entire plan you'd spent the afternoon creating all gone out the window, as had your prepared speech.

her smile dropped at the use of her full name, attention now entirely yours to command as you glanced at ingrid beside her who nodded to you to continue, seemingly just as concerned.

“i’m not renewing my contract with barca.” your voice was barely above a whisper but your words fell on your sisters ears like an anchor. you flinched as her cutlery fell to her plate with a loud clatter and she shot to her feet.

“what the hell do you mean you’re not-“ she started with a scowl leaning across the table, ingrid firmly squeezing her leg and giving her a pointed look, nodding to where you sat across from them staring down at the floor, anxiously playing with your fingers as you awaited her oncoming wave of rage.

swallowing the bitter anger and frustration which was rapidly bubbling to the surface knowing that was not what you needed right now, mapi took a deep breath and slowly sat back down.

“hey, look at me.” the girl ordered as you nervously glanced up to meet her eyes which to your shock were glazed over with worry. “what do you need from me hermana?” she asked softly, her reaction catching you a little off guard.

“not to hate me.” was all you managed to breathe out as you crumbled and the tears you’d been fighting off began to well up in your eyes.

your sister quickly moved around the table to sit by your side as you collapsed into her awaiting arms, tears wetting her collarbone as she cradled your head tightly.

“no I could never ever hate you niñita, never. I promise.” the older girl assured softly, murmuring it over and over as she held you tightly as you tried to calm yourself.

not wanting to overstep ingrid quickly gathered your empty plates, moving to the kitchen to wash them up and giving the two of you a moment of privacy.

you pulled away from her and wiped your eyes with your shirt, a little embarrassed at your emotions as ingrid returned, handing you a few tissues. "come, we need to talk about this." your sister encouraged, nodding for you to all move to the sofa.

"so you are leaving barca." she sighed a little as you nodded after you'd all settled in. "to where?" she asked the same questions alexia had. "not another team." you started, the confused faces staring back at you also mirroring that of your ex lovers.

so with a shaky inhale, you repeated the same words you had to her.

"retiring?" with that your sister could hold her tongue no more, once again shooting up to her feet.

"are you injured?" "no." "do you still like football?" "yes." "have you been told you need to stop playing? forced into this by someone?" "no."

"mierda i have just named all the possible reasons for retiring!" the tattooed spaniard snapped, ignoring ingrid who tried to reason with her.

"not mine." you replied calmly, the two words catching your sister off guard as she faltered for a second and fell quiet, slowly taking her seat again and wordlessly waving for you to speak as ingrid moved closer in an attempt to comfort her.

"i am not happy anymore." you started simply, moving to cross your legs underneath you and turning your body a little more to look at the couple sat a few feet away whose faces softened at your words.

"si, i like football. no, i am not injured or being told i cannot play anymore. but i no longer love football, i do not have ambitions to win awards or trophies or tournaments. i cannot represent my country anymore, i cannot continue to pretend like i feel the same when everyone speaks about these things." you began to explain, feeling lighter with each word you got off your chest.

"i have always done what you have. you played football in the backyard, i played football in the backyard. you played for the junior national teams, i played for the junior national teams. you played for barca, i played for barca. you stood up for the way we were being treated, and i stood beside you." you recounted, the look on your sisters face not easy to decipher what she was thinking, though she remained quiet and allowed you to continue.

"but now, now i need to figure out what i want and what i need and what i love. barcelona does not feel like home anymore and it will always be so special to be but i need more." you sighed, rubbing your face with your hands and taking a pause to reset.

"i need to feel like i am giving more, doing more, like whatever i leave behind is worth something. i just want more from life." you sighed, struggling with your words as to not undermine anything or anyone.

"this has been the hardest decision i have ever made. all i know is football, all i am associated with is football, all i know i am good at is football and that is no longer good enough for me anymore." your voice broke slightly and you wavered, taking a deep breath.

"it hurts more than i can explain and i am terrified but i am also just so tired. i am tired of fighting with alexia, i am tired of feeling like i need to walk on eggshells around the two of you. i am tired of worrying about injuries or playing well or not playing well. so si, i will play the rest of of this season with barca and then i will retire, everything was made official today." you rambled on, stopping yourself before you could spiral any further and falling silent.

the couple shared a few looks as if speaking without words which made your stomach knot up again with nerves, anxious for what they would both have to say about it as they gave one another a small nod and turned back to you.

"okay." your sister started softly, a small frown creasing into your eyebrows. "you're not mad?" you asked, still apprehensive for her reaction. "no hermanita, how could i be mad at the cost of your happiness? i am disappointed that the fierce barca legacy of the león sisters is no more, but that is only on the pitch." she started with a smile.

"i am not mad but i am worried about you, why did you not come and speak to me about it? about any of this?" she asked, her hurt disguised in her voice but not in the glint of her eyes.

"actually after everything i can see why, and that is my fault." mapi quickly corrected, forcing a pained smile.

"i am so sorry for not being a better sister or making you feel like you could come to me about this and about your relationship with ale. i have blown up a big part of your life and i will never stand in the way of you trying to start a new one again." your sister promised sincerely as you nodded.

"if not barcelona anymore, where will you go?" ingrid finally spoke, sending you a kind smile as she grabbed her girlfriends hand. "i am going to volunteer with the united nations. they have a six month program that sends you around the world wherever aid or help is needed." you answered, both older girls across from you with wide eyes at your words.

"wow." mapi breathed out. "how did you-"

"alba helped me. she has a friend who heads the recruitment, got me in touch and put in a good word. i actually only heard back yesterday with an offer for a spot." you responded somewhat shyly, still trying to wrap your head around the opportunity.

you didn't have time to say another word, two bodies launching at you and wrapping you tightly in a hug as your sister kissed your cheek repeatedly mumbling about how proud she was of you.

"bueno bueno! thank you for the support but get off." you laughed, unable to even begin to describe the sense of relief at the weight which was melting off your shoulders finally having come clean, and it having gone a lot better than you worried.

"have you told mami? or the team? or your-" "si, mami knows. alba knows. alexia knows. the barca staff know. but i am not ready to tell the team just yet, por favor." you pleaded, both girls assuring they would not tell.

"so you spoke with alexia then?" ingrid asked cautiously, unsure if this was something you'd wish to speak about. "yes. we had an....honest conversation." you sighed, settling back into the sofa.

"the two of you..." mapi trailed off now, also with an air of caution not wanting to overstep. "no. i do not know what could be done to fix things now, the damage is done and it is there and it still hurts. but with some time apart, maybe we could become friends again." you forced a smile, trying to remain optimistic despite the dull thumping ache in your chest any time you thought about the blonde.

"okay hermana. are you still going to go to malta? pina mentioned alba convinced you to go, and we know alexia is also still going." your sister asked with a raised eyebrow, the two of them not going as norway had two games to play during the break which mapi planned to go and support ingrid at.

"yes, we still have the rest of the season to go and i do not want to have to keep arguing and avoiding her. i think after our talk we have a sort of, understanding." you winced slightly, knowing no matter if you wanted to go on the trip or not alba would be forcing you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part seven

i would like to lovingly remind you all before you implode that this is not yet the endddd, we still have at least one, maybe two, chapters left to go

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen #woso imagine #woso blurbs #fcb femeni

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artificial-transmutations · 26 days

Text

Finally Together

When Jerry called, I could immediately tell something was very wrong. He was holding an ice pack up to his face and looked deranged overall.

"Jerry? What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, hey. Yeah. This." he pointed at his face. "That's a long story."

"Let me see!" I demanded. You see, Jerry was, most definitely, my bff - my very best, very gay friend. And he had a talent for getting into trouble, sadly.

He slowly lowered the ice pack and I gasped. His right eye was swollen shut, and his face was covered in bruises.

"How..."

"Well, there was this guy. He was kinda hot, and totally my type, but, you know, straight as an arrow. At least *now* I know that." Even despite his bruises, Jerry raised his eyebrows in the cutest way possible - one of the traits I admired about them.

Yes, I should mention, I kiiiind of had a tiny little crush on Jerry. Or perhaps a gigantic one. You always want the ones you can't have, right? In my case, I was a woman - which was enough to disqualify myself rather finally.

"...and? Did he hit you?" I asked, even though I already suspected the answer.

"Yeah. I was just talking to him, trying to subtly find out his orientation. You know how it goes. Apparently, I wasn't too subtle about it, though, and he kind of escalated all over my face. It's no big deal, now I know."

Jerry smiled, but I could clearly see that it caused him pain to do so. It nearly broke my heart.

"It is a big deal." I answered. "That's horrible. You are worth so much more than this. Where did it happen? Did you call the police?"

"It was in the gym. Keith - that's the guy - works there, so, I guess, I need a new gym." Jerry joked. "And no, I didn't call the police, it's just... it's alright, okay Mathilda?"

I was not convinced but decided to let it go. Jerry was just a so sweet and innocent guy, he wouldn't even cause someone trouble if that someone punched in his face. I, on the other hand, was fuming. That was not a way to treat my bff! I would have really liked to kick that Keith's ass right now.

I chatted a bit more with Jerry before he had to go and promised him to come over that evening.

To be quite honest, I didn't plan to do anything, but when I was walking to Jerry's apartment in the afternoon, I passed his gym. I didn't even know it was on the way, because I honestly never paid attention to it much. But now that I saw it on the way, I couldn't help it. I would go in there and just tell the manager that one of their employees was a homophobic asshole. Just a little push in the right direction.

I entered the gym. It looked quite standard, but I couldn't see any manager or anyone else to talk to, for that matter, so I just went in there. It was quite empty, which was not surprising at this time of the day. There was, however, a young, muscular man doing push-ups. It was quite disgusting, actually, with all the sweat dripping down his body and a musky, penetrant smell was filling the room.

He stood up and greeted me.

"Hi, there. You're not a member, are you?"

"I'm not." I said. I felt like adding a "sorry" or something but decided against it. Instead, I clutched my handbag tighter.

"So, what can I do for you, ma'am?" He had that smug grin of an urge driven man who seemed to undress me with his gaze. I shuddered in disgust, but still, I straightened my back.

"Well, actually, I'm here to make a complaint."

"A complaint? About what?"

"Your staff."

"Oh? Do you have an issue with someone working here?"

"Well, yes. I just learned that one of your trainers, Keith was the name, I think, assaulted a customer. That is a terrible way to treat people, and I will not stand for it."

The guy laughed and flashed me a superior grin while he nonchalantly readjusted his groin. Free balling of course. Ugh. Can you spell 'toxic masculinity'?

"Look, honey. Whoever told you that, they lied to you. Keith would never hit a girl, especially not a pretty one."

I felt my face reddening from anger.

"First off, I'm not your honey, and secondly, it wasn't a girl but a guy."

The guy raised his eyebrows. "Really? A guy, huh?"

"Yes. He is my very good friend, and it's not funny at all."

"Hmm. Yeah, I think I remember the guy, some fruity fag who needed to be told a lesson."

Then it dawned on me. The disgusting guy in front of me was the man that had hurt Jerry.

"You're the one who did it! How dare you!" I exclaimed and tried to slap his face.

Before I could land a hit, though, he grabbed my wrist with an iron grip and grinned like a predator.

"Ah, ah. I wouldn't try that, if I were you. Would be a shame, if something were to happen to your pretty face, too."

I withdrew my hand and trembled from disgust.

"Ugh. You're just such a disgusting... jock."

In hindsight, I had no idea what happened, but perhaps some benevolent spirit or sprite was listening. In any case, Keith all of a sudden got a really strange expression on his face and looked really pale for a moment. And then... he suddenly looked even paler, like white paper or cloth. I will never be able to forget the expression of surprise on his face, as his body kind of... collapsed in on himself. His muscular torso diminished, and his arms and legs twisted and fused into thin rubber strips. But his face... His face contorted into a white fabric pouch that was completely devoid of any features within seconds. It had only taken a few moments, but Keith had disappeared.

I looked around first, but nobody else was in the gym right now. I carefully stepped closer and inspected what was left of Keith. Inside his black, damp gym shorts that was lying on the ground, I could see a pair of men's underwear, I believe it was called a jockstrap: A large fabric pouch held by rubber bands - designed to just cover the genitals, although, judging by the size of the pouch, rather large genitals. Now, as Keith had demonstrated quite clearly just a few moments ago, he had certainly not be wearing any underwear - and I had seen what had happened to his face.

With pointed fingers, careful not to touch the damp gym shorts and almost gagging from the strong smell, I picked up the piece of underwear. I had almost thrown it away again, when I noticed that it, too, was covered in sweat and stink. However, the piece of underwear that had once been a man held a strange fascination to me. I lifted it up to my face, to have a closer look, but didn't consider the consequences. When I breathed in, my nose was filled with the overwhelmingly strong and manly smell of sweaty, unwashed genitals, and it triggered something inside of me. All of a sudden, I felt tingly all over and groaned. My body felt weird all of a sudden. It was like that disgusting smell was all around me, enveloping me, pushing me to... change, somehow.

In horror, I felt my feet swelling up in my shoes. It wasn't painful, but it felt like I had been wearing boots that were way too small. The pressure was quickly getting unbearable and painful until my canvas shoes and thin socks couldn't take it anymore. First on the left and then, shortly after, on the right side, the toes of massive feet burst out from the footwear. The pressure subsided, and it felt fine again.

The changes didn't stop, though. Now that my feet had broken free from their restraints, my legs were the next to follow. A ripping sound heralded the death of my tights, as my legs gained mass and muscles. It looked almost comically how the threads of my tights were ripped apart, strand for strand. At the same time, I watched, as my hands grew larger. Gone were my delicate fingers, replaced by thick sausage-like appendages. Those new finger weren't carefully manicured but instead, I was now sporting short, ugly nails that would have been fitting for a lumberjack, rather than a girl.

While my legs were still growing, and I was getting visibly taller, my arms were next to follow. My blouse didn't even stand a chance as the arms did not only grew longer but most importantly, stronger. My biceps swelled like I visited the gym every day and, to my horror, I saw a tattoo forming on my right arm that reminded me a lot of the one Keith had had. I didn't have much time to think about it, though, as a new force practically ripped my blouse apart: My torso was pushing outward in all directions. My shoulders widened considerably, and my bra snapped from the strain. At first, I thought my boobs were growing, but it was quite the opposite. They were receding into my body, being replaced by even more massive and decidedly male pecs. Below them, a ripple went through my stomach, leaving behind the cobblestone road of abs.

The changes had met up at my midsection now and I was afraid of what was going to happen next. Sure enough, my skin-tight summer trousers bulged forward as something pressed against them from the inside.

"No..." I groaned, with a lower voice than I was used to, and tried to push whatever was appearing back into my midsection, but it was no use. With another ripping sound, a penis emerged from between my legs, quickly followed by a pair of testicles that pushed the ruined trousers down and settled in between my tree trunk-like thighs.

My head started swimming. That was wrong, that was so wrong. But the changes just went on. An Adam's apple formed in my throat, further lowering my voice, and my face reformed. It became squarer, and my jawbones became more pronounced. At the same time, my beautiful long hair receded into a short masculine cut. However, as hair disappeared on top of my head, it grew elsewhere. Or, should I say everywhere. Disgusting, wiry body hair grew in on my arms and legs and even on top of my enormous feet and the back of my hands. My chest was coated by a layer of short and coarse hair, and a treasure trail led down my midsection, where it disappeared into a thick pubic bush.

Speaking of bushes, two more formed in the large area of my armpits. Ugh. I was hairy like a fucking monkey. The only well-groomed bit of body hair was on my face, in the short beard that I could see in the gym mirror.

I could hardly believe my eyes. Staring back at me from the reflection was no one else but Keith. *I* was a splitting image of Keith now, only naked aside from the tatters of my clothes. I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a low grunt.

Okay, Mathilda, no reason for panic, I told myself. I would just... Go see a doctor. Yes. There had to be an explanation. This could be treated.

I took a step towards the exit and stumbled over the remains of my coughing. Oh, right, I was still naked.

The only piece of clothing was Keith's gym shorts. Well, his gym shorts and Keith himself, who was a piece of underwear now. I looked between the shorts and the underwear. On the one hand, I really didn't want to wear what had just been Keith, but on the other hand... I certainly wasn't going without any underwear. Everyone would be able to see the outline of my current genitals. Yuck.

So, lacking other options, I pulled on the white piece of underwear. It was, unsurprisingly, very sweaty, and it clung to my junk. I grimaced, but it was better than the alternative. My ass was still largely uncovered, but that was not as bad as the front side. I had to admit that my new equipment filled out the pouch pretty well.

I quickly shook my head and pulled on the gym shorts as well. It felt weird not to cover my chest, but that was probably acceptable in my current state.

Perhaps I could ask Jerry if I could borrow some men's clothing from him.

Oh my, Jerry. He was probably waiting for me. I grabbed my handbag and fled the gym.

Walking felt weird. Of course, regardless of my looks, I was still a woman, so I took small steps and refused to spread my legs too much while walking. It was very awkward. The sun was shining down and although it wasn't all *that* hot, I found myself starting to sweat. How disgusting was that? It was like those stupid mountains of muscle were producing so much heat that my skin was soon glistening with sweat and my armpits started to smell. I tested it by lifting an arm and taking a whiff. Ugh. I needed a shower, badly. I probably would be able to use Jerry's.

Jerry... I saw his face right in front of me in my mind. The cute smile, the adorable brown eyes, the cute little dimples on his cheeks when he grinned.

A strange feeling came over me from my groin area. What was going on down there? When I looked down, the ample bulge of my cock had become even bigger, probably tenting out the pouch that had been Keith's face. I groaned. Men were so primitive. All it took was one sexy thought and bam, erection.

Still, I couldn't deny that it felt pretty good. I checked it anyone on the street was looking before I felt the outline of the cock through the layers of clothing with my big hand. The touch made me moan, and I felt my member throb.

That's when I experienced the weirdest feeling. As the sweat from my groin mixed with the fluids seeping out of the cock head and were absorbed by the jockstrap, all of a sudden, I felt the presence of Keith - the real Keith. It was like a strong mental attack, to get his body back, but I fought back. It was not *his* body, it was mine, even though it may have looked like Keith right now.

It was the strangest experience. I could practically *feel* his thoughts and emotions. The humiliation from being wrapped around, well, *my* cock and balls, I could even taste and smell an echo of what he was tasting and smelling, including the weird taste of precum that had mixed into the face-pouch recently.

It wasn't easy, but I repelled Keith's mind and kind of stuffed it back into the underwear. When I continued my walk, I didn't even notice that I know walked like a man: With long, powerful strides and enough room for my balls.

Luckily, my cock had calmed down a bit by now, and I ran the rest of the way, just to make sure. I was glistening with more sweat when I finally arrived at Jerry's apartment and rang the bell. Ugh. That musk was so bad, I just hoped I could hop under the shower right away.

However, when Jerry opened the door, we were both stunned for a moment. I because Jerry looked even better in reality than when I imagined him. Foreign hormones flooded my system, coming from my balls and I just stood there for a moment. Of course, I had a crush on Jerry before, but right now, in this moment, I realized for the first time that now, Jerry wasn't quite as unreachable as before.

Jerry, on the other hand, backed away, an expression of fear on his face.

"Keith, what... Is this some kind of joke?"

I was taken aback by his reaction.

"No! It's not... It's me, Mathilda!"

"Who?"

"Mathilda, your best friend."

Jerry stared at me, confusion on his face.

"What are you talking about Keith? Wasn't it enough for you to bash my face in? Do you want to humiliate me now?"

"No, please. Listen, Jerry, you're my friend, and I would never hurt you."

He scoffed. "Oh really? My black eye says otherwise."

I could feel myself getting upset from all the testosterone and took a deep breath.

"I can explain. Please, Jerry, hear me out."

He looked at me skeptically.

"Fine. I'll listen."

With that, he let me into his apartment.

"Okay, first of all, can I take off these gym shorts? They are really really disgusting and sweaty, and they are clinging to my legs. Yuck!"

"Uh, oookay." Jerry looked even more confused but allowed it.

Gladly, I got rid of the stinking shorts and threw them at the ground, far away from me. Jerry frowned but was apparently more captured by my now only jockstrap-clad body that I sat down on his couch. I admit I wanted to get rid of the jockstrap, too, but then I would have been completely naked in my friend's living room.

The thought was oddly exciting, and I felt my cock raise in reaction.

I just hoped that Jerry wouldn't notice my state of arousal, even though there wasn't much fabric left to hide it, but I quickly spoke.

"So, Jerry, it's really me. Remember the time when we watched Star Trek: Voyager and had a pillow fight, and you beat me easily, even though I am taller and stronger?"

"How would you know about that, Keith?" Jerry crossed his arms. He had obviously noticed my midsection problem, which was throbbing now, leading to another wet spot on the piece of underwear.

"I'm telling you, I am Ma..."

Suddenly, I grabbed my head. There it was again. Keith had reacted to my arousal and was fighting for control of *my* body again. It was weaker this time, though, and although it took me a few moments, I pushed him back between my legs, where he belonged.

Finally, I spread my legs, man-spreading without even thinking about it and giving the whole world in general and Jerry in particular a good view of my massive groin. A smirk formed on my face. Having such a big cock was something to be proud of.

"...Mathilda." I finished my sentence, although I found the name rather unfitting for a stud like me. "I just kind of... transformed into Keith's body, but it's still the same old man as always. Woman, I mean."

"Uh... what?"

I smiled and stood up, slowly, so he could see all the muscles I had gained. I was taller, too, taller than Jerry even.

"But tell me, do you like what you see?" My cock was throbbing like mad now. God, I needed to have this man!

"Uuuh... uhm... yes? Yes."

I chuckled. "Well, Jerry. I don't know how to get back to my original body yet, but do you want to... touch this one?" I gently took his hand and placed it on my chest.

Jerry didn't react at first, but then he started caressing my chest. It felt great, and he moaned, too.

Another small spurt of precum spilled into my underwear and again, Keith acted up. It was even weaker this time, and I had no trouble staying in control. I did notice something else though. Apparently, Keith was enjoying this a lot, way more than a straight man should. He was almost addicted to my cock fluids by now, and he mentally lapped at my organ submissively. And he exhibited a longing for Jerry that appeared to be too deep-rooted to have developed recently. Well, good for him, because as my jockstrap, he would have a front row seat in what happened next.

"Mathilda, is it really... okay?" Jerry asked, barely being able to restrain himself.

"Yes Jerry." I said while looking into his eyes. "It's more than okay. It's perfect. And it's Matthew from now on, okay?"

I took a deep breath, breathing in my wonderful musky smell, and I watched Jerry do the same. And when I kissed him, I couldn't wait to tear his clothes off and plow his cute little ass with my mighty cock while my lucky jockstrap was watching.

#female to male tf #muscle transformation #straight to gay #inanimate transformation #sweat #musk #man stink #romance

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distantdarlings · 6 months

Text

SPEAK OF THE DEVIL // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* During an after-game Quidditch party, Theo approaches you, intending on reconnecting with his on-and-off ex, you. You are not interested, at least, not originally. He quickly changes your mind, though, just as he always does.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! No protection - piv, Language, slight praise kink, fem reader, slight begging, slight resistance from reader at first, dom!Theo

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Half of My Heart - Josh Makazo

---

The wind rushed against the Quidditch stands, blowing the team flags up and around the stadium. You gasped and ducked as one flew right over the Slytherin stands. Next to you, Pansy burst out laughing as you helped each other to your feet. It had narrowly missed her, as well.

“That was insane!” she laughed. The two of you huddled together in an attempt to pool some warmth between the two of you, to no avail. It had to be close to below freezing. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sky started dropping snow soon, and with the blanketed, gray light overhead, you figured that would be happening rather quickly.

Around you, shivering students chanted a few cheers for the Slytherin team, ensuring that the shitty weather could never get them down. Even the Gryffindor team had dampened a bit, but not the Slytherins. A prideful smile beamed on your face. Pansy and you joined in the hooting and hollering.

Overhead, three green jerseys swooped downward, causing several students to duck again. You thought you heard a few professors gasp over the cheers. Once the players had passed over the students, you saw them split and tackle different sides of the pitch. This was a strategic maneuver to get the Gryffindor beaters away from their seeker so the Slytherin seeker could focus solely on catching the Snitch. Anticipation burned in the air as the tension between the two teams swelled at this tactic. Merlin, you loved Quidditch. Who didn’t?

And in a matter of a few minutes, the Slytherin players had successfully deflected the Gryffindor Beaters’ attempt to ward them off, sacked a couple bludgers toward their Seeker, and allowed their Seeker enough time to spot the Snitch and soar after it. By the time he had caught the small, golden thing and dived back down into the main part of the pitch, the roar of the Slytherin crowd was deafening. You could barely feel your fingers or toes, but you couldn’t care less. Slytherin had won, which meant that the aftergame party was going to be fun.

The group of green-clad students began to pour out of the stands and toward the common room as the Quidditch players exited the field. Pansy ranted back and forth with you on the strategies used in this evening’s game. You laughed and teased the whole way back. The two of you had discussed outfits for hours after classes had ended today and, thanks to your obvious inability to remain realistic in your expectations, had set out your selected clothing for the party. In your minds, there was no way Slytherin wouldn’t win tonight, and you had been right.

Once back in the common room, students were flashing up the stairs, running to grab their outfits and stashed bottles of firewhisky, amongst other stashed things, so generously donated by the Hufflepuffs. The two of you giggled as you made your way into your dorm room, quickly shutting the door behind you. A few of your other roommates had already returned and were changing. The group of you squealed in excitement, ramping each other up. You all had plans for the evening, ones that had been discussed over secretive shots the night before.

Your plan was to find a bit of a distraction tonight. In the last year, you and your ex-boyfriend, Theodore Nott, had bounced on and off with each other. No matter how many times you had called it quits, you kept finding yourself back in his bed, beneath his strong, warm—

“Hey, come on!” Pansy shook you. “Get dressed!” You laughed along with her and began pulling your heavy winter clothing off. This was going to be a night to remember for all of the right reasons, not because of Theo.

You selected the dress you’d reserved especially for this party and slid it over your body, letting it fall down the expanse of your hips. Pansy appeared behind you to zip it up, marveling at its gorgeous design: a small black thing with a high neck and no sleeves. Perfect for the evening, in your opinion. You slipped into the black heels you’d picked out last night and pulled a necklace over your head. It was silvered with an ornate snake carved into the charm at the bottom of the chain. Nothing wrong with a little bit of house pride.

“Okay, let’s head down!” Pansy announced to the others in the room. The small group gathered closer and filed out the door. You gathered the larger group of students in the hallway filtering through the passageway and into the common room. Like magic, it had transformed into a gorgeous scene of celebratory banners and music. You poured into the enormous amount of students, all dispersing randomly. Pansy squeezed your hand politely before briefly leaving you to go find someone.

You pushed through the crowd, feeling the bass of the music pound in your chest. Excitement built in your chest, pushing small pants out of your lips. Your mind was set on finding someone new tonight and the anticipation of getting to know someone like you had once known Theo made your heart flutter. Then again, no one had ever known you better than he had. His hands had traveled every inch of your body and learned you so personally as if he had sculpted you.

“Looking for someone?” A sly whisper appeared in your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of the voice so close to you. You turned and came face-to-face with Theo. Speak of the Devil…You rolled your eyes and turned, intending to leave him behind. You weren’t doing this. His hand gripped your arm roughly, his eyes dark and needy when they found yours. Shit.

Your body slammed against the door of his dorm. You moaned loudly into his mouth as his hands ran smoothly up and down your body. Sculpting you, shaping you, just like always. Nobody’s hands compared to his. His fingers trailed up the outsides of your thighs, slipping slyly beneath the material of your dress.

Suddenly, he ripped the material up and over your hips. You gasped at the sudden movement, hissing as he bit down onto your bottom lip. Your hand slapped against his chest as a blossom of pain spurted against your teeth. He mumbled a breathy apology against your mouth before resuming his previous activities. His fingers curled beneath the thin waistband of your panties, slowly tugging them higher and higher. The material of the undergarment pressed against your core, eliciting a spark of pleasure behind your eyes. Your hands tightened in his hair.

“Mm,” you pulled away from his lips, “we shouldn’t be doing this.” You struggled to get the words out around his insistent kisses. Every syllable you spoke was lost against his rough lips, marking every inch of your own. “Theo, you know we’re just going to regret it.” Yet you didn’t stop kissing him back. You couldn’t stop. His taste, his touch, his smell…It was addicting, and pushed more heat between your thighs than anyone else ever could.

“Tell me to stop, then,” he mumbled into another kiss.

“What?” His lips separated from yours and began to trail down your neck. The cleavage parted in your dress granted him just enough access for his teeth to scrape the soft flesh of your breasts. A silent moan parted your lips as you leaned your head back against the door. His large hands held you firmly in place. His head began to move past your chest. As he lowered to his knees before you, his fingers slipped into the sleeves of your dress, wrapping tightly in the material. As he dropped before you, he roughly tugged the garment down over you. You yelped as your chest was exposed to the cold air. Your dress remained scrunched up around your waist as one of his hands traced delicately over your clothed core and the other massaged your left breast. You couldn’t contain your moans any longer.

“Teddy,” you moaned breathlessly, letting your favorite nickname for him paint the walls of the room. You never called him that unless he was pleasuring you in some way and, fuck, was he ever doing exactly that.

You ground your hips against his fingers, trying to gather a bit of friction against yourself. Just as you’d come into contact with his perfect fingers, he pulled away. He smirked devilishly at the whine that fell from your lips.

“Should I stop, baby?” he murmured against your lips. “Don’t want you to regret me…” He laid an open-mouthed kiss to the outside of your left thigh, maintaining darkened eye contact with you.

“No, don’t stop, please baby,” you begged, your hands curling in his hair. You tried to push him closer to you, to press his face to you. But you couldn’t, he was much too strong.

He got to his feet, pressing his face closely against your ear, his lips brushing against you. A shudder fell down your spine as your knees weakened.

“Beg for it,” he whispered. He pressed small kisses to your jaw, reiterating he wanted to hear you beg until you finally caved.

“Ugh, please, Teddy,” you whined, bucking your hips against his, eyes rolling back at the contact it made. “Please fuck me, baby. ‘ve missed you so fucking bad.” A smirk fell on his face as he lifted you into his arms, wrapping your thick thighs around his waist. Your mouths found each other again and he claimed every inch of your tongue as his own.

“Always miss me, baby?” he breathed into your mouth. “Think about this sweet mouth every day.” His hand gripped your jaw, holding it perfectly still. He walked the two of you away from the door and laid you against his bed, careful to set you down gently.

“Raise your hips,” he instructed. You did so, allowing him to slip the rest of your dress off your body. The only thing left on you was your thin underwear, already soaked through with your arousal. You shook in anticipation as his fingers slowly glided against your naked thighs. Your bottom lip sucked between your teeth. They crush down on it until you taste metal, the reddened material painting your lips.

“So pretty,” he moaned, pressing his mouth to yours. His spit mixed with your blood, his tongue carving a new taste against you.

His hands, rushed and rough, tore through your panties with strong, mean fingers. You whimpered against his lips at the sudden action. The tips of his fingers slid against your core, tracing your wetness all around you. Your head pushed back, separating your lips.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.” You nodded your head and promptly obeyed, flipping yourself over. His hands wrapped around your hips and yanked your ass into the air. Your teeth closed around your folded arms, trying your best to keep your noises to a minimum.

Behind you, you could hear him undoing his trousers and pulling them down. The bed creaked and shifted as he got to his feet and slid them all the way off. Your hips swayed impatiently, waiting to feel his touch again, desperate to feel it.

“Please, Teddy,” you whined, spreading your legs even wider. You could feel the wetness from your core sliding down between your thighs, slowly coating his comforter. No one had an effect on you like this.

It never mattered who you were with. If they had magic fingers, the perfect mouth, none of them compared to Theo. Traits as simple as his voice had your legs pressing together, from the very moment you’d met him. The very first time he touched you had been imprinted in your mind, tracing your eyelids every time you closed them.

His fingers brushed against your entrance, sending shocks of fire through your body. You gasped and tightened your fingers painfully hard in his sheets. Merlin, this was where you were meant to be. Pressed into his mattress, inhaling his scent, his body claiming yours. Fuck, you were pathetic.

His hands wrapped around your hips, carefully lining himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing himself into you. Sharp heat split through your body, carving a line down your abdomen. It had been a while, but you hadn’t expected yourself to be so tightened up. Your muscles tensed roughly until he bottomed out with a breathless groan. You relaxed into the bed, barely holding yourself up. He gave you a minute, then two, until you nodded your head, eyes clenched and wanting. The two of you knew each other so perfectly well, no words needed to be spoken. He knew every inch of your body better than you knew it, yourself. His tongue and his fingers and every part of him knew you better than anyone else and he took you as such. He began to move.

The feeling of him moving himself back and forth, traced every part of you from the inside to the out. Your lips parted in a silent scream, relishing in the sensation you’d missed so dearly, that no one else could recreate. You could tell he felt the same way. A brief glance back revealed a flushed, pleasured Theo; his lips parted, musical grunts leaving his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. You’d have never known what he looked like if you hadn’t looked back, because he tended to be the “big man” in bed, always doling out your pleasure and keeping face. He wasn’t such a big man, you realized smugly, you were the same drug to him, as he was to you. A particularly sharp thrust had shoved a scream through your lips.

His hands slid up from your hips and found your chest. He swiftly pulled you up and against his chest, his sticky skin melding with yours. His hips never faltered and the change in position had him hitting new parts of you. His lips were against your ear, whispering sweet nothings and kissing the areas surrounding.

“Feel good, baby?” he groaned. You nodded weakly. “Yeah, baby, yeah?” His pace fastened, the speed working you towards the end of all things. Your breaths came out in short, hot pants. His fingers curved over your chest, tracing the tips of your breasts, forcing your end closer and closer. You tightened around him at your fast-approaching finish. He groaned at the sensation.

“Mmm, missed this fucking cunt, baby,” he grunted out. “Always squeezing me so well.” His lips pressed to your neck, creating a tight suction with his teeth anywhere he could. The bruises he left there were going to remain for days, alerting all who spotted them that you were his and no one else’s. The thought was enough to push you over the edge. You came around him hard.

The sensation of your finish pushed him against his, which he announced with one more whiny moan and shaking thighs. His hot release painted every inch of your insides, soothing the rough force with which he’d fucked you.

The two of you collapsed against the bed, side-by-side, and watched each other with heavily-lidded eyes. And once again, you realized, the two of you were back in the same position you always were. The regret hadn’t yet had time to bury itself into your stomachs, and the guilt hadn’t made its way to your hearts yet, but in the few hours after, you’d graced each other with immeasurable pleasure; that was your favorite. His thumb traced gently over your lips, shaking slightly with the afterglow of your love.

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #fem reader

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