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#when it's published it's no longer a mistake
timepool · 2 days
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ONESIX HYPERFIX(ED)
A free 2+ player hyperfixating TTRPG I made, and goofed up, now fixed!
You are having a normal, mundane conversation together— which is exactly the problem, it isn’t about your hyperfixation!
You can get the PDF version on the itch page (and donate if you're so inclined), or download the image version below!
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Now the elephant in the room, how did I goof up? So, you'll notice how the above image is kinda split into two halves. That top half was the original game.
I uh...accidentally opened my half letter format in Publisher when I first made ONESIX HYPERFIX. So it wasn't great for printing as a single pager, like at all.
I had also upped my layout game for it, and I couldn't simple scale it up to fit a full letter!
So, I made the layout vertical, and added a second "page" full of optional frame and hyperfixation tables. Not only does this mean you can uh...actually print the thing now, it should also help you enjoy ONESIX HYPERFIX for longer, and enable you to have more fun with it!
I also took the opportunity to clean up some minor design flaws that had been bothering me for a bit, and made all the tables have rounded corners (as I finally figured how to do so)!
The original half letter format is still included as optional files, for those with sharp objects and a dream.
I won't repeat this mistake in the future, and I apologize to my A4-using friends for the close margins here, unfortunately that couldn't be resolved easily. My other single pagers are properly formatted for both letter and A4 paper, as will my future games!
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girasollake · 3 months
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Hi! Can I request a smut imagine with prompt 48 and trope 8 with Theodore Nott.
She’s a slytherin too and a badass bitch who everybody wants to be or date
Thank youuu!
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✧ theodore nott x fem!reader x jealousy x "you. are. mine."✧
(this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )
this took longer than i expected, thank you for your request anon! x
told u guys i’d post smth… surprise!!!!
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v sex, some swear words, some slight cedric x reader, theo being bitchy ig, fingering, general sex stuff, orgasm denial, ummmmmm yeah i think that’s it
i’ll reread it later to fix mistakes cuz rn it’s 2 am where i live and i’m going to bed bye
•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•
Your relationship with Theo was complicated. At least in your mind that was the most suitable word for this dynamic, you could never find anything else that would quite describe it. You were friends, that’s for sure, this was the only thing you were certain of. Some days you had found yourself tangled in his bedsheets, his soft fingers caressing your back as you lingered in his scent. But, there were also days when you didn’t speak to him at all, strolling through the halls and seeing him tug a piece of hair behind the ear of some Ravenclaw girl while simultaneously giving her his infamous smile. Even though you also flirted and went on dates with others, something inside your guts sunk down each time you saw him with a girl who was not you. And you could barely handle it. Every time you promised yourself you’ll never sleep with him again or give him your attention, you’d always end up doing the opposite. There was something about him that lured you in, it was toxic, but so divine. So, whenever his lips connected to yours in a hungry kiss, you’d forget about all of the other women he probably does this with. It was just you and him and your only thought during these moments was to stay with him like that forever.
‚-it’s not like it’s that important.’
‚Huh?’ You lifted your head and met Pansy’s annoyed face. ‚Sorry, what were you saying?’
¨What is going on with you lately?´She shook her head and sighed. ´I asked if you have a date for the ball.’ She then added.
‘Oh, well, not really.’ You shrugged.
‘Seriously? Is this about Theo again? I’ve told you multiple times that there is a fucking queue of guys just waiting for you and all you do is always go back to him.’ She huffed. ‘What about Mason? Louise? Henry? They were all head over heels for you, I don’t believe they didn’t ask you at least once.’
‘They did. I just said no.’ You mumbled and avoided her angry gaze.
SShe groaned and took a sip of her butterbeer. ‘I was not going to tell you this, but I see there is no other option.’ Pansy took a deep breath. ‘I heard the boys talking about the ball and Nott wants to take Arisa.’
You swallowed a big gulp in your throat and looked down into your drink. You expected that something like this would happen, you just didn’t think you wouldn’t be prepared to hear it.
‘’M sorry.’ She looked at your numb expression with caring eyes.
‘It’s okay Pans.’ You gave her a soft smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to move on.’
Even though you tried to not think about him for the next few days, it was unusually hard. He was on your mind non stop, like a song playing on repeat. On top of that, everyone was talking about the upcoming event. While walking through the halls you overheard people gossiping about the pairs, discussing what they are gonna wear and you were also a witness to roughly 7 performances of the boys creatively asking their crushes to go with them.
You walked into the courtyard and took a seat on the nearest free bench. You pulled out your sketchbook in hopes to finally draw something. Truth is, you didn’t remember the last time you practiced your beloved activity, not that you didn’t have time, you just didn’t have any ideas. This time wasn’t different, you looked around and then your gaze rested on the empty page before you. You made a soft line with your pencil and stopped, it was like your hand didn’t want to listen to your mind. You groaned and closed the sketchbook to put it in your bag again. While doing this, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Cedric Diggory, a charming smile plastered on his face.
‘Hi, do you have a moment?’ He asked and you stood up to face him.
‘Of course.’ You smiled.
‘I have a question.’
‘If you want my help with something, then no. I can barely finish my own essays and-‘
‘No, that’s..’ He chuckled. ‘I was wondering if you’d want to go to the ball with me?’
‘Oh..’ You bit your lip softly from the inside. ‘I.. I’ll think about it. Is that okay with you?’
‘Surely, just don’t take too long, darling.’ He sent you a wink and walked out of the courtyard.
Later that night you were studying in your dorm, soft music was playing in your headphones as you scribbled some sigils for one of the classes. Your back was turned to the door, so you didn’t hear that someone came in. It was the feeling of being observed that made you move your head to inspect the room and there he was. Theodore Nott stood next to your door, his arms were crossed and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You grabbed your headphones and took them off.
‘Knocking exists.’ You told him.
‘Not for me.’ He replied sternly.
‘What are you doing here, Theodore?’ You fixed your position on the bed so that you were fully facing him. ‘Don’t you have any other hoes to tend to?’
‘Are you going to the ball with Diggory?’ He avoided your question.
‘Why do you care?’ You stood up.
‘Answer me.’ He took a step closer to you.
‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.’
‘For fucks sake, stop being a brat and answer the question.’ He said through gritted teeth.
‘It’s none of your business.’ You replied while stepping closer to him and poking your finger into his chest.
His scent filled up your nose and you felt this forbidden feeling again. Your body was lustful, for him, but you couldn’t let him win again.
He chuckled, ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’
You scoffed, ‘Fine. Yes.’ You spat at him. ‘I’m going with Cedric. Is that what you wanted to hear?’
His eyes darkened at the confession, which wasn’t even true. You just wanted to get on his nerves and see what he would do. You didn’t even have time to react before he pinned you to the wall and hovered over you. Your breath hitched and you tried your best to avoid his eyes, because if you looked into them, you’d lose.
‘No, you’re not.’ He stated. ‘You are not going with anyone.’
‘Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?!’ Your eyes were glued to the ceiling.
He gripped your face with one of his hands and forced you to look at him. You closed your eyes.
‘You.’ He whispered and brought his lips closer to yours before breathily adding the rest. ‘Are. Mine.’
The sound of his voice was angelic and it sent a certain feeling down to your core. You tried your best to resist but your eyes fluttered open and met his. You lost.
He grabbed your face and connected your lips in a hungry kiss. You whimpered into his mouth and cursed yourself in your mind. Why was he so addictive? Why couldn’t you quit? He just felt too good to be true. Kissing you in all the right places, his fingers touching where you needed him most, every time you felt him inside of you, it felt like heaven.
He took a few steps back and tried to not break the kiss. He pushed you onto the mattress and with one of his hands he pushed all the books off the bed. He left wet kisses along your jawline and you moaned at the feeling. He discarded both of your shirts and attached his lips to your chest, leaving a couple love bites along the way.
‘I want you to say it.’ He mumbled into your ear.
‘Hm?’ You were brought out of your trance.
‘I want you to admit you’re mine.’
‘But am I?’ He stopped kissing your neck and gripped your throat.
‘Are you?’ He raised his brow and smirked challengingly, knowing you’d fold under him.
You stared deep into his eyes and swallowed harshly because of his grip, before replying, ‘I’m yours.’
‘Good girl.’ He let go of your neck and connected your lips once again.
Soon enough both of you were a sweaty mess, clothes laying somewhere on the wooden floor, soft sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His breath on your neck and occasional kisses made you feel dizzy, his fingers making you squirm from the pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.
‘I need to feel you.’ You breathed out and Theo didn’t waste a second.
He positioned himself on top of you and slowly entered your aching pussy. You threw your head back and he used that to immediately attach his lips to your neck once again.
‘’S okay, darling. You’re doing so good f’me.’ He whispered to help you relax.
His voice made you let go of the tension in your lower body, finally allowing him to move at a pace so perfect for both of you. He lifted you up and spinned both of you, so that you were on top of him. His thrusts became quicker and stronger, one of his hands was caressing your breasts, while the other rubbed your clit so deliciously. You cried out his name a few times when you were close, but he always stopped just then. He just smirked every time and continued his actions, it turned him on, watching you whine on top of him. He felt he was getting closer to his release, so he sped up again, and this time his hand stayed on your sweet spot. You reached your high with a loud moan and threw your head back, your hand grabbing Theo’s arm. He released inside of you with a loud groan and you used that to push away his hand which was still rubbing circles on your bud, too sensitive for more. You collapsed on top of him and gave him a peck on his collarbone. Theo reached for the blanket and covered the two of you.
‘I lied.’ You mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I’m not going with Cedric.’ You replied softly. ‘I told him I’d think about it and..’
‘Good.’ He interrupted. ‘You’re going with me then.’
‘Am I?’ You looked up at him playfully. ‘I thought you were taking Arisa.’
‘Who?’ He replied and you giggled. ‘She asked me to go. But I refused.’
‘Why? She’s a nice girl.’
‘Maybe. But she isn’t you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘And I belong solely to you.’
•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•
@ girasollake 2024
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1d1195 · 7 months
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Right Here
Hi, idk if you all know this about me, but I love tropes. ALL of them. All. of. them. So here they all are: one bed, nightmares, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, childhood "friendship," coworker Harry, grumpy/sunshine (I'll let you guess who's who), etc. etc. etc. (Don't look too close this is Zipper but reveresed)
Other warnings: angst
9.2k+ words
“Business or pleasure?” The driver asked.
She stated “business,” immediately. Whereas Harry said, “a bit of both,” with that devilish smirk of his and looked at her with delight in his eyes. He seemed to get more enjoyment out of his comment as she glared at him.
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In Year 2, Harry was playing with a few of his friends by the slide. He wasn’t really aware of what was happening but there was a girl in his class playing with a couple of her friends when the screaming started. There was a huge to-do; parents were called, the principal was involved, and the girl that seemed to be at the center of all the drama would not stop glaring at Harry.
But Harry didn’t like girls. He was six. He wanted to hang out with his friends at recess and maybe learn about the shapes and the planets if he had time. So, he didn’t really care that she glared at him. Or that he had to write an apology letter (that his mum told him how to write in his six-year-old scrawl). It was just another day in the life of a Year 2 student. He didn’t even know why he was writing the little note to her. He didn’t know what happened or why he did something wrong.
Year 2 turned to Year 3 and soon Harry was kissing and hugging his mum and sister goodbye as he went off to university. He was studying English Literature and Communications. He wanted to be a book publisher—mainly because he wanted an excuse to read all kinds of books. Moreover, he could read really good books before everyone else did. Eventually, he hoped to open his own publishing company, but he would need a business partner for that.
That was still a long way down the road. For the time being, he would enjoy university: friends, girlfriends, classes, his part time job, and everything in between. His only downfall was listening to his professor who suggested he get a minor in business—especially if he planned on own his own company. Even if he didn’t fully run the business side of things, it was good to have a general idea. Some key words and concepts would be helpful. More so, if the business partner wasn’t someone he trusted.
But Harry was awful with his business classes. The very first one he took was the bane of his existence. He strongly considered never opening his own company, he would just get the other person to handle it. Needless to say, he was recommended for tutoring two weeks into the class.
That’s where he found the glaring girl. Obviously, no longer seven. She was twenty, like Harry. And she was lovely looking. Except for the scowl on her face directed at Harry. Surely, she hadn’t harbored a grudge toward Harry since she was seven?
Oh, but she was. She was curt while she tutored. Everything Harry did was wrong. She managed to correct his mistakes kindly, but he could tell it pained her. There was a lot of sighing and eye-rolling involved. But she was good, he’d give her that.
Harry tried to be friendly, but she clearly wanted no part of it. “I am not here for small talk with you, Harry,” her voice was flat. She didn’t want to talk about the weather, or parties, or anything that wasn’t part of Harry’s class. When she came to help him at the designated time in the library with tears in her eyes, she sat down, took a deep breath, sniffled, and started her help with his homework.
“Hey, we don’t have t’do this now, beautiful. You’re obviously upset—”
“What do you care?” She interrupted.
“Jesus,” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “What is your problem?” She rolled her eyes, tearfully. “Y’can’t seriously still be mad about Year 2.”
She shook her head. “Just...shut it,” she snapped and turned her attention to Harry’s assignment. He sighed, looking at her like she was on the verge of a breakdown but did as she wished. Listening intently to her lesson, Harry felt this pull of how sad he was by her anguish, and he didn’t even know what it was. He kept watching her expressions, judging her tone, in between her explanations. He was worried there was something seriously wrong.
Despite her anger towards him, he didn’t want her to be upset. He worried someone had hurt her or upset her in some way—in a way that he could fix. It didn’t occur to him why he wanted to help her until well after three other classes she tutored him in for his minor over the last two years of university.
He got very little information out of her about anything that didn’t pertain to his classes. He knew she was grumpy in the afternoon and much preferred to tutor in the morning when her mind was fresh. That was when he got a glimpse of her gentler side—for only a second. She liked coffee a lot, she smelled fresh of her shampoo, and her eyes were brighter. She would ask if he had a good weekend or if he had any fun plans. It was the only time she offered up anything to him.
If it was any time past two in the afternoon, she wanted nothing to do with pleasantries or Harry, it seemed. But she was paid to tutor him, and she did it well. Harry never would have made it through his business classes without her. He was forever thankful for her help, even if she didn’t want to be thanked.
*
“Harry, would you like to go to this conference?”
He looked up from his desk where he was reading a riveting historical fiction novel that was passed up the chain to him. Harry thought it would be a NYT bestseller for sure. “Me?” He asked, clearing his throat and putting his pencil down. One thing he hated was marking up people’s hard work in any color pen—but especially red. It felt very secondary school of his coworkers to do it that way. Someone pored over this writing and of course no one expected it to be perfect, not even the author. But there was something so ugly about red ink marking up something that your blood, sweat, and tears went into.
Harry would quit writing if he saw even one smidge of red ink on his work.
Which is why he edited and didn’t publish his own work.
Harry had been a senior editor for four years, now. He loved his job. It was everything he hoped for: he read so many good stories and felt he was still learning so much. He was promoted from junior editor to senior editor after two years. He still hoped to own his own company one day.
“Yeah,” his boss rolled his eyes. “Who else would I send? Someone from the business administration team will attend as well,” he explained.
Harry smiled; he knew the second the title left his mouth exactly who would be attending the conference with him. She was going to hate it. “I would love to go,” Harry nodded excitedly. “But between you and me, I don’t want anyone t’get jealous that m’going. D’you think y’can keep it a secret?”
“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged. Harry loved this office. It was so carefree. When he had his own company, he would want it to be exactly like this. If he could own this one, he would. He liked all of his coworkers and would want to keep them alongside him.
Including the girl from the admin team that constantly glared at him during work parties, meetings, and office breakroom run ins. If she wasn’t there, then it wouldn’t be worth it.
When Harry saw her interact with their coworkers, he couldn’t help but fall more in love with her. She was so utterly beautiful, funny, and of course, absolutely brilliant. There wasn’t a question she didn’t know how to answer. There wasn’t any advice she couldn’t give. She was never condescending and was extremely helpful. Even when Harry needed her help—which was so rare he only recalled it three times in the entire seven years they worked together. She didn’t sigh, didn’t roll her eyes although he was sure she wanted to.
So, nothing made him happier than annoying her to pieces.
He told everyone he had known her since Year 2. Left notes for her on her cute little lunch box in the fridge, would constantly send random items to her office (his favorite was the look on her face when he sent her a bouquet of balloons. It didn’t do anything, but people said Happy Birthday to her all day, and she had to say it wasn’t). He would tell people they were best friends and watch her blush bright red trying to get out of it. There were so many fake secrets he told the person he was near making direct eye contact with her, just to piss her off.
It worked every time.
He worshipped her, honestly. How could he not? She was brilliant and beautiful. The whole package. Even when she was a bit crabby, he thought she was simply the cutest and went on adoring her from afar.
Harry couldn’t imagine how fun a work trip would be with her.
*
She hated flying. It was necessary but she hated it. The space was almost too small. It was stuffy and gross in a lot of ways. The seats were cramped, and it was just awful. She had her headphones in place, a relaxing, quiet playlist, a good book, and her travel pillow around her neck. She was more than ready to begin the flight. The conference was a treat, it was shorter hours than her regular workday and then she could meander the town as much as she pleased. It was going to be a great trip and she had been looking forward to it for the last two weeks.
But then Harry sat right beside her. “Hey beautiful,” he smiled sweetly. She stared at him. This had to be a joke.
“You’re kidding?”
“What?” He smirked impishly stowing his bag beneath the seat in front of him. “Excited t’see me?” She flushed that beautiful shade of red that he loved so much on her cheeks. “Ready for our vacation?” He asked. “Bring a good book?”
The plane was suddenly even smaller. She thought she was going to be sick. A whole five days with Harry. Five. She was going to lose her mind. She closed her eyes as the plane jolted forward. Harry was doing all the things he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Fidgeting with the tray table and the like. She wanted to scream.
How could she possibly get stuck with him?
*
Harry didn’t say much to her throughout the flight. At least not after asking if she was comfortable, which was objectively nice if she couldn’t stand him so much. He grabbed her bag from the bin overhead, made sure she didn’t get lost on her way to baggage claim, and held the door open for her when they reached their Uber. “Business or pleasure?” The driver asked.
She stated “business,” immediately. Whereas Harry said, “a bit of both,” with that devilish smirk of his and looked at her with delight in his eyes. He seemed to get more enjoyment out of his comment as she glared at him.
She really wished Harry wasn’t so goddamn hot. It should have been a sin to make someone so alarmingly attractive. Soft brown curls that looked like they were made to slip between her fingers. He had green eyes—how was that even fair? Those dimples made her stomach flip. He was incredibly tall and so fit; she thought about falling at his feet every day she saw him at work and just ending her silly grudge.
But she never forgave him for that day in Year 2. Call her stubborn, call her stupid. She didn’t care. It ruined a huge chunk of her young life and made her miserable.
Four days and twenty-two hours. She could survive.
“Me and the missus need a place t’eat, do y’have any suggestions?” he asked, reaching for her hand like they really were a couple. She yanked it out of his grip. She wanted to kill him. More so because she hated the way her heart took off when he touched her and the idea of being “the missus” was...ugh.
She was worried Harry wouldn’t survive the next four days, twenty-one hours, and fifty-eight minutes.
*
They arrived at the hotel and Harry was once more a gentleman, even though she didn’t want him to be. He grabbed her suitcase and sweetly pushed it through the lobby to the front desk. “Hi,” Harry said cheerfully. She wanted to shower, get out of her plane clothes, and get away from Harry. His chipper attitude was making her grumpier than normal. “I have a reservation under Styles,” he explained. “Here for the convention,” he added.
The man behind the desk nodded, smiling pleasantly as he tapped away on his computer. “It says two guests for your name,” he informed him. Her heart dropped to her feet.
“No, it doesn’t,” she murmured, but she knew it was right.
Harry was smiling like an idiot. This was too good to be true for him and his endless bouts of annoying her. “That’s correct,” Harry nodded.
“Are there any other rooms?” She asked. She already knew the answer, but she would kick herself if she didn’t at least check.
“No, I’m afraid we’re really booked with the convention.”
She didn’t dare ask if there were two beds because she already knew that answer too.
“It’ll be fine, lovie, don’t worry,” he promised. Part of her thought he really meant it too, sensing how upset she was. She was so overcome with frustration; she almost didn’t notice the new name he gave her. That it wouldn’t be torture for her to be in the same little space as Harry for the entire five days. Her heart started erratically beating at the thought. It felt like the sides of her brain were caving in like the walls surely would be when they got to the room.
She would lay ground rules. She would go buy a roll of tape and cut the room in half. Harry wasn’t going to ruin her little reprieve from work. He continued to be kind and pulled her bag to their room. “I would like to shower,” she told him as she eyed the single, king-sized bed in the middle of the room, mocking her. He settled the bags on opposite sides of the room. He chose the side closer to the window for her.
“I’ll be right in,” he winked at her.
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, which she knew was exactly what he wanted. “What if I don’t want the window side?” She asked instead.
“Well, that I don’t really care, lovie. M’taking closer t’the door in case someone breaks in. Wouldn’t want you t’get hurt.”
She just wanted to annoy him the way he always annoyed her. Maybe make him move the bags around and then move them again which she informed him she did want the window side. But she didn’t expect him to be so nice. Didn’t think he would give a reason that was kind enough to care about her well-being. Even when she was grumpy toward him.
If her cheeks were going to be red the whole week, she was going to lose it. “Don’t come in the bathroom or I’ll murder you,” she rolled her eyes.
“I would never do that,” he rolled his eyes right back at her. “I was jus’ kidding.”
Unfortunately, she believed him. He seemed genuine, as much as she wanted to kill him.
*
The shower helped her relax marginally. At the very least she got the feeling of the plane off her. “I ordered some pizza. Y’like peppers and onions on yours, right?” Harry, knowing exactly what she liked, furthered her agitation.
“Yeah,” she mumbled.
“I’d like t’shower too. D’you think y’can get the pizza when it arrives and actually get mine too?” He smiled at her knowingly; like he thought she might not take his pizza from the delivery guy in protest of the whole situation.
She rolled her eyes but had to hand it to him because it did sound like her. “Yes, Harry.”
“Hey beautiful?” he said softly. She hated that she looked up, answering to his pretty pink lips calling her ‘beautiful.’ She shouldn’t have. First and foremost, she thought he was wrong. Maybe it was because of all the drama of Year 2 but she never had boys of any age fawning over her after the slide-incident. Not the way they ogled and adored her friends. It did a number on her self-esteem. While she tried to put up this front that she didn’t care about whether she was beautiful or not, it was hard to believe someone like Harry would recognize her as even pretty.
Secondly, it made her stomach flip when he said it and she hated that. It was unfair he was pretty and unfair he could make her crazy with just a word. “M’not so bad,” his face looked apologetic—like he felt bad for existing. “I promise, it won’t be that bad this week with me.” She nodded sullenly, ran her brush through her hair. “’Ve left some notes on the table there for the pizza,” he tilted his chin toward it.
“You don’t need to pay for me.”
He smiled. “Course I do, lovie. S’my treat.”
She hated the way she answered to ‘lovie’too.
*
She sat in comfortable silence while she ate her pizza. While eating, she looked at the itinerary on her phone. Made plans in her mind and thought about some of the things she wanted to do during her free time.
“Oh good, m’starving. Smelled it while I was showering.”
She did a double take, her jaw falling open instinctively. She nearly dropped her pizza on her lap and then her phone right after it. Harry was hurrying across the room to get to his pizza. A towel low on his hips showing off glistening, taut muscles. Her heart hammered against her chest. “Jesus,” she whispered to herself looking away.
“Did y’say something, beautiful?” He asked, taking a bite of his pizza. She shook her head. Once more, angry she answered with the word ‘beautiful’.  His hair was dripping, and she followed the little droplets as they slid down his broad shoulders and across his defined pectorals. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to hate him easily. But his pretty tattoos and his gorgeous body were making it so difficult.
“I’m think I’m going to sleep on the floor,” she told him. He frowned around a bite of his pizza. When he finished chewing, he had a bit of grease on each corner of his mouth. She wanted to reach out with a napkin and wipe it away.
Or lick it away, along with the rest of his body.
“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he promised. “M’not gonna let y’sleep on the floor, lovie,” he rolled his eyes. “If you’re that uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She couldn’t help but feel bad that her awkwardness, her annoyance for Harry, would have him sleep on the floor. He didn’t truly deserve that. This was a work trip for him as well, after all.
Maybe if he was fully clothed, she would have taken him up on his offer. Accepted him sleeping on the floor in her place. But her modern-woman, intelligent brain that she had spent years cultivating so she was independent, and worked so hard to make sure she didn’t go ga-ga over a man was malfunctioning from travel...and knowing she was stuck with Harry in such close quarters for almost a week.
Plus, Harry had the prettiest stomach she had ever seen on a man.
Her primal brain, the one that seemed to be screaming from between her legs, couldn’t help but feel bad for him.
“It’s…fine,” she mumbled focusing on her pizza and phone again.
“Are y’sure, beautiful? I don’t want t’make y’uncomfortable.”
She believed him. He seemed so eager to please her and ease her worries. She nodded. “It’ll be fine,” she was telling herself in hopes it would be true. “But I’m making a pillow wall.”
He smiled around his pizza.
*
“Would y’prefer I sleep with or without a shirt?” He asked. Harry went to use the hotel gym and then took another shower. She used the time to read her book and sit on the balcony while the sun was setting. It wasn’t a picturesque view or anything, but the sky was a bunch of beautiful hues of pink, blue, and orange.
When Harry exited the shower, it was awkwardly silent for a bit. Harry tended to his after shower-care. She was looking at her book but not reading. She yawned, and that was when Harry asked his question. The inquiry felt like a double-edged sword. If she said with a shirt, it might imply she wanted to hide him from her view because she couldn’t help but look at him. If she said no, it would make it seem like she wanted to see him. “Whatever makes you comfortable,” she decided on.
He smirked and pulled his T-shirt off. “‘Fraid you’re not privy t’that sleeping habit, lovie.” She wondered if anyone had ever been murdered with a hotel phone cord. She felt extremely self-conscious about her t-shirt and leggings combo. “Feel free t’do the same, beautiful,” he grinned wickedly at her as he slipped into his side of the bed. She had two pillows under the blankets and two on top. She was certain that even if she had her own room, it wouldn’t be enough distance between them. “What if I want another pillow?” He asked mischievously.
“Go fuck yourself, Harry,” she grumbled.
He frowned. “C’mon, lovie. S’not so bad.” She didn’t say anything in response and turned to her side facing away from him. She scrolled mindlessly on her phone. “D’you want t’watch something together?” He asked.
“No, thank you,” she murmured quietly. “You can though,” she shrugged. “I’ll sleep through most anything.”
He nodded. “Okay...well...good night, beautiful. Sleep well,” he said sweetly.
She didn’t fall asleep right away. Instead, she imagined the nice museum she saw online. The picturesque street about a mile away with cute little shops. There was the coffee shop she wanted to go to. All the things that Harry couldn’t ruin with his annoying little remarks.
Or his stupid hot body.
Other than some gentle laughter, she didn’t hear or worry about Harry sleeping less than six inches from her own body. The pillows provided the perfect barrier between them so that she could sleep easily knowing that he wouldn’t bug her.
Only four days until it was over. She could do this.
*
Harry heard her phone drop from her hands to the floor about an hour later. He hurried to her side of the room and made sure her alarm was set, locked her phone, and placed it on her nightstand. He saw the way she seemed to shiver in her sleep. Probably because she was right under the vent. The space between her brows puckered due to her discomfort. He draped the blanket that was at the end of the bed over her. Almost immediately, the skin between her eyebrows smoothed back out. He wanted to kiss her in the very same spot but of course would never do that without her permission.
The movie Harry was playing was funny and he enjoyed it immensely. True to her word, she slept through his laughter and the sound of the movie itself. She was wiggly when she slept. The pillows and blankets balled all around her and Harry wondered how she slept like that each night. It looked nearly painful at times.
Of course, the movie came to an end, and she was still sound asleep when Harry finally turned the TV off and hunkered down into his side of the mattress. He tried not to disturb her pillow wall, but she had managed to throw all of them every which way. He smirked to himself, shaking his head at her.
Harry must have gotten only an hour of sleep under his belt when he woke up to her kicking and mumbling under her breath. The light coming through the window allowed for his eyes to adjust a bit to the darkness against her figure sprawled in the sheets. He shook his head glancing over at her in complete disarray.  Her body was still twisted around the pillows and blankets. Harry was left with just the sheet. He smirked at her.
He threw his arm over his eyes and ignored her fitful movements. But they kept going and going. The mumbling too. He felt bad about whatever she was dreaming about, but he didn’t dare touch her. If she woke up to him touching her, even if it was for comfort, he was certain she would kill him.
Harry was a pretty heavy sleeper himself, so her fussy movements didn’t bother him in the slightest. Whatever she was dreaming about had to be a kick for sure and for that he felt bad.
But then Harry heard small whimpers coming from her and he felt his stomach knot. It felt like he was dying at the mere sound of her discomfort. The anguish he felt coming from her was brutal and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and fix it. “Oh, hey,” he hummed, sitting up against the headboard. He looked her over and thought incurring her wrath would be well worth it if he could stop her from whimpering miserably. “Lovie? Y’okay?” He gently shook her by the shoulder. She seemed to be fighting whatever she was dreaming about, and the blankets were keeping her trapped. Harry grabbed the pillows that were on top of her. Her arms were nearly swaddled against her body with the blanket wrapped around her and pulled up to her neck tightly.
Harry flicked the light on his nightstand so he could get a better look at her.
The poor thing was glistening with sweat around her hairline, tears were leaking from her closed eyes, and that space between her brows was cinched together like she was in pain. “Oh, no,” he murmured and crawled out of his side and came around to her side. “Hey,” he cooed. He crouched in front of her and began tossing the pillows to the floor. He unraveled the blankets from around her. “Lovie,” he murmured. He called her lovie at the start of the evening and he couldn’t stop. He loved to call her beautiful and enjoyed how readily she answer to it. But something about her sweet face just made the word ‘lovie’ roll right off his tongue. It was effortless; like it was the only thing he should call her. Once she was without the swaddle of blankets, and the pillows attacking her, she was practically gasping for air in her sleep. “Lovie, you’re having a bad dream,” he gave her a good shake causing her eyes to flash open. Harry gazed at her in alarm. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to hide from Harry. But it was far too late for that. “Are y’okay, beautiful?”
She ignored him. Her breathing evening out. She turned away from him. “Lovie...”
“Would you stop calling me cute names?” She asked, the exasperation thick in her voice. But she was still distraught. He could tell. He was quiet for a minute letting her work through whatever just happened. “Please don’t tell anyone about this,” she whispered.
He blinked. He felt so sad she believed so little of him. “I would never tell anyone anything ‘bout you—”
“You whisper about me all the time,” she snipped.
His mouth fell open in disbelief. “Lovie, you have t’know I don’t whisper anything ‘bout you. M’telling them how pretty I think y’are and how you’ll get all flustered that m’whispering nothing ‘bout you. They know I adore you and think nothing short of wonderful things ‘bout you. Y’seriously don’t get it do you?” He felt so utterly annoyed by her, himself. He thought she was lovely and yes; she was fun to annoy but he would never say anything about her that hurt her reputation. He was sad she thought he would. It never made sense for her to dislike him so intently. He never really cared and turned it into a joke. But knowing she truly didn’t like him made his heart heavy.
She refused to look at him. It was silent for several beats. Harry stared at the back of her t-shirt, her shoulders trying to find an easy rhythm. He wanted her to explain it. Right now. In the middle of the night when they were stuck in a small hotel room together. “Why did you trap me in the slide?” She whispered.
Of all the things he expected her to say, that was not one of them. “What?” He shook his head.
“In Year 2? You and your friends trapped me in the slide, now I’m embarrassingly claustrophobic. If I have anything covering my face, I have a meltdown. It feels like I can’t breathe. If someone...holds me the wrong way for too long, I get overwhelmed. It’s ruined so many relationships and it’s...” she sniffled, her shoulders staggering a bit at the effort.
He frowned. “Is that why you hate me?” He whispered. She didn’t answer him. “Lovie, I had nothing to do with that.”
“Well, they blamed you.”
He sighed. “So, all this time you’ve hated me, and it wasn’t even my doing?” He asked.
It seemed to appeal to the logical part of her brain. She was still for a moment longer, her breathing evening out. But then she rolled to her other side and stared at Harry. He hated the tears that stained her cheeks. That little crease between her eyebrows. He reached out and pressed his fingers there to smooth it out and she let him. It didn’t even bother him that she hadn’t liked him for so long.
Her lips rolled into her mouth as she thought over the last twenty-something years of their lives. It may not have bothered Harry but now it bothered her. “Why have you liked me even though I’m so...crabby toward you?”
He smiled excitedly. Like he was getting a Christmas present or told he won a raffle. “What isn’t there t’like ‘bout you, beautiful?” His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb gently rubbed at the stain of salt on her cheek. The back of her head was warm with sweat and if it wasn’t so late at night, she would feel more self-conscious.
“You’re a glutton for punishment.”
It was progress though because she didn’t push his hand away from her face. “Can I get back on the bed? I won’t touch you, but I don’t want you t’have the pillows and blankets attack you.”
“You can touch me,” she mumbled.
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh yeah?” He rose from the floor to head back to his side of the bed.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I hate you.”
“I don’t think y’do, actually,” he said smugly.
“Are you going to annoy me the entire time?”
Harry turned off his bedside lamp and crawled under the sheet. “Probably.”
She sighed; he imagined her pretty eye roll the way she always did. Harry put his arm behind his head, closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. “You really didn’t trap me in there?” She asked.
Harry turned to his side and looked at the shadow outline of her staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to reach out and trace the shape of her profile, follow it down her arm and hold her hand. “Even as a six-year-old, lovie, I couldn’t hurt you. If...I knew...I would have gotten y’out of there so fast,” he promised. “Poor baby,” he murmured and bravely reached out and grabbed her hand. She didn’t pull from him. She let his fingers fit between the spaces of hers, gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know why you were mad,” he shrugged.
“You were really just going to let me hate you for the rest of our life?”
“Hate and love are very close together in the brain,” he said knowingly. “Given y’said the rest of our life,” he smiled excitedly, “I had a feeling y’couldn’t keep it up forever. And I’d wait forever for you, beautiful.” He sounded so arrogant she wanted to hate him just to spite him. But she couldn’t argue with him. It was exhausting hating him. Being in the hotel room with him—especially when he was in a towel—was ruining her grumpy front. Even with sleep still on her brain, she couldn’t help but think about how gentle he was with her and her anxious mind. He was so utterly accommodating and kind to her. He would have slept on the floor if she asked. But she rather enjoyed the feel of his fingers holding hers. “Do you have nightmares a lot?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She shook her head. “Not anymore...Only when I get all twisted like that. I usually sleep better with a weighted blanket to help my anxiety about it. It also keeps me in place, mostly. I’ve had a lot of therapy to help cope with it and the blanket usually helps but obviously y’can’t really travel with a fifteen-pound blanket.”
“Can you snuggle?” He asked.
She blinked at the darkness in front of her. “Can I what?”
“Can you snuggle with someone?” He repeated.
She bit the inside of her lip. “As long as my face isn’t covered,” she muttered. “But it’s definitely been a problem in past relationships if that’s what you’re asking me ab—”
Harry had his arms looping around her and he pulled her toward him so quickly, she barely had time to process. His body spooned behind her, one arm snug beneath her neck and the other draped around the front of her hips. Her heart rate had to be approaching a hundred and fifty. “Is this alright, beautiful?” He murmured into the back of her hair. She was speechless, truly. Harry holding her like...like she didn’t just have a major meltdown. Like he adored her still. “Lovie?” He said, nearly releasing her when she didn’t answer. Worried that her heart rate was too high—he could practically feel it through her back pressed to him. Maybe this was too much.
But right as he started to pull away, her arm pressed against Harry’s. She sighed softly. “No...m’fine,” her voice was quiet.
“Are y’sure? I don’t want t’upset you,” he promised. “Been dreaming ‘bout snuggling with you... but not at the expense of your comfort or anxiety,” he assured her.
“You dream about cuddling with me?”
“Among other things,” he spoke to the back of her hair, his lips smiling against her head.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“I really didn’t think y’could hate me forever, lovie.”
She was quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was the first time she ever apologized to him. His heart skipped a beat.
“I know, beautiful. How would y’have known, though? I wish y’told me, but I know why y’didn’t.”
More silence. Harry’s bare stomach was touching her t-shirt, his legs were crooked up against the back of hers. They fit like puzzle pieces. She bit the inside of her lip feeling exhaustion pull over her mind. How was she supposed to sleep knowing Harry was sleeping right next to her?
“Good night, lovie,” he murmured.
She sighed, relaxing, and drifting to sleep almost immediately.
*
The first day of the conference went by quickly with not much to really show for it. Harry enjoyed it immensely and had a thousand new ideas that he suggested to her over their lunch together. She enjoyed it as well but after her night snuggled up to Harry nothing else seemed remotely important.
“Hey, lovie?” Harry said, trying to retrieve her attention. “Did y’have plans this afternoon? M’gonna catch up with a friend,” he nodded toward another table. The idea of Harry leaving her alone actually saddened her, but of course...they’d have the night.
Unless the friend was a girl. In which case he very well could not come back to their shared room. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Have fun,” she encouraged.
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Keep the bed warm for me, yeah?” He winked at her as he pulled away.
She thought maybe killing him would still be an option.
She perused the little picturesque street taking a whole bunch of pictures and stopping in nearly every shop on the street and making a purchase in almost every single one. It was actually really nice. Not too hot, not too cold. She even sort of wished Harry had gone with her on her little adventure. She thought he would have liked some of the shops as much as she did.
It was precisely when she wished Harry had gone with her that she realized she really liked him. All this time.
Maybe he was right, and her brain mistook her affection for him as hatred. She wasn’t ready to say love yet. Even if her subconscious was screaming about how lovely he was.
Even last night when Harry was comforting and gentle about her phobia. He didn’t make her feel bad...in fact he made her feel normal and wonderful. The new information about the slide was a revelation. She had spent so many years with ill-harbored feelings toward Harry. It seemed wasteful after last night. He was kind, understanding, attractive—
She was not in love with him.
She couldn’t be, right?
He was annoying. Even if he wasn’t whispering about her, he was still making her feel grumpy. The constant gag gifts and deliveries were vexing beyond compare.
But those dimples when he smiled? They could undo all those negative emotions she felt. She was certain that there was some pheromone or chemical released in the air when he smiled. One that made her mind momentarily forget that he had been the cause of the slide thing.
However, that wasn’t true anymore.
So...
No. It’s like meeting someone for the first time. You don’t love him.
Not when he called her beautiful or lovie. Not when he openly flirted with her or held her against his warm body in the middle of the night and kept the nightmares away. She did not love him.
But maybe she just really, really, really, really, liked him and wanted to spend all her extra time with him now and show him the little shop she found because she smelled three different kinds of soap that she thought he would enjoy.
Obviously, that wasn’t love.
She looked more like some shopping bag monster than girl, when she made her way into the hotel elevator. Harry was already in the room when she got back. “Have fun?” He asked, putting the new file he brought with him and his pencil aside. His smile was so bright she really wondered how she could have ignored him for so long.
“Did…you catch up with your friend?” She asked. She was gone for almost three hours, she worried that she would come back to find Harry with someone, or someone in the shower...
Or in our bed. One part of her mind was grumpy at the thought. Not our bed. The one brain cell left on the rational side of her mind shouted back.
Harry began untangling her wrists and fingers from the bags she held while her brain had its own conversation. The bags left angry red marks on her skin. He nodded, placing the bags on the floor. “Yeah, jus’ had a quick stop at the pub for a drink,” he gently massaged the inside of her wrists. “I missed you,” he said cutely. She stared at him almost suspiciously. Like maybe all of this was a trick. Her distrust seemed palpable because he frowned. “I did, beautiful. Really missed you,” he brought her wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss on the soft inside skin. She missed him too. Even before she went to the shops, she was dreading leaving his side, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Her face must have softened a bit because the left side of his face turned up in a gorgeous half smile. It made her wonder how Harry had decided on editing and publishing and not modeling. “Would y’like t’get dinner with me?” He asked.
“Like a date?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Yes, lovie. Like a date,” he rolled his eyes.
She frowned. “I don’t really have anything...date-worthy to wear.”
“Well, y’could go naked, but they might throw y’out.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Y’look beautiful now. I’d take y’out in the sexy pajamas y’wore last night.”
She wondered briefly if Harry had ever been hit in the head over the years and suffered irrevocable brain damage. “Sexy?”
“Your leggings?” He smiled mischievously. “M’almost jealous of ‘em touching all of your legs.”
Definitely hit in the head.
“Can I just...have a few minutes to touch up?” She asked, ignoring his comment.
“Course, beautiful. Not that y’need it.” He was good. She would give him that. He was very good at making her feel gooey and pretty. Harry said all the right flirty things. Dinner would be fun, and she was quite hungry.
She exited the bathroom after touching up her makeup and switching out her casual business blouse for a tank top with a cardigan. She swapped her slacks for a pair of jeans. The flats she wore stayed to complete her outfit.
“Will you marry me?” He sighed dreamily as she exited the bathroom.
He was going to give her an aneurysm.
“Shut up, Harry.”
“Ve’been waiting for this date for...” he smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, lovie. Least since university.”
Harry had to have a death wish. “You’ve...liked me? Even though I was mean to you?”
“A glutton for punishment, as it were,” he winked bringing her words back.
She grabbed her little cross body bag and Harry followed her out their hotel room door. Since the slide incident, she had been to at least four different therapists to help alleviate the worry and fear she had. In all honesty, she was much better than she used to be. The airplane was a little daunting during takeoff but that could have been due to a fear of flying, not claustrophobia. Her small attic or the cramped closet in the hall of her place didn’t bother her any longer. Being on a train in public transport rush hour—even when the train came to a standstill in the middle of the dark tunnel—didn’t really bother her anymore. It was only when her face was covered for too long without her ability to get out quickly, sleeping, plagued with nightmares, or swaddled in her blankets too tightly that she felt the waves of anxiety suffocating her like that day on the slide.
Or when the elevator clanged to a stop and jolted her so hard, she nearly fell into Harry.
It was three seconds of pure silence before she realized what happened. Before Harry realized.
“Shit.” Harry whispered.
“Oh no,” her pulse quickened. Her head started to ache, and it felt like the elevator was suddenly the size of an Amazon box and she was crammed inside. It took her a moment to realize the wheezing was coming from her.
“Hey, hey,” Harry quickly grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes welled with tears, and she was heaving on her breath. One of his hands reached for the emergency button causing a monotone ring to take over all sounds in the small space; the volume was louder than her heavy breathing. “Lovie, tell me what t’do,” he begged. “M’sorry,” he whispered. She felt lightheaded and scared. So scared she obviously was having trouble breathing. She worried that she would pass out right into Harry’s arms.
“M’scared,” she croaked.
“I know, beautiful,” he squeezed her shoulders. He held her away at arm’s length afraid to bring her closer in case it would make matters worse. All he wanted to do was wrap her close and console her. “But...s’okay,” he promised. “Really, s’okay.” It wasn’t; he wasn’t trying to make light of her fear either. He knew how bad it was because he had spent the last twenty years waiting for this moment. For her to say she didn’t hate him. For the last ten, he longed for a date. One measly dinner to change her mind. But the broken elevator was going to ruin it all. Honestly, that didn’t even matter to him. All of it didn’t matter. He had to try something to ease her worry. Something to help her scared mind. “I would never let anything happen t’you. Would never let anything hurt you,” he was gazing right into her eyes. He definitely didn’t cure her, but she could feel how devastated Harry felt. He meant it; he wouldn’t let anything harm her as much as he could possibly control. “Deep breaths? Does that help?” He asked. She nodded. She tried but it was hard, the air she sucked in and released was shaky and not very deep. It was hard to think about breathing deeply when all she could think about was dying in this tin box. “Easy, lovie. S’okay,” he squeezed her shoulders again.
The alarm was plain on his face, and she wondered if he wanted to hold her. She wanted to be held but wasn’t sure it would work. Her stomach felt so knotted. Thought maybe she would throw up and she couldn’t imagine a worse first date with Harry than throwing up in an enclosed space. She sank to the floor, her legs scrunched up so she could rest her forehead against her knees. Harry crouched in front of her, clearly still nervous and unsure of what to do. The one part of her brain that still had some rational thought left thought it was a travesty that she would lose Harry from this. She thought if she made it out, she would have to just go home. She couldn’t share a bed with him.
“They’re probably getting someone t’help right now, beautiful. S’okay,” he placed his hands on her ankles. It seemed like the safest option. He was so mortified this happened. To her of all people. The ringing of the elevator seemed to die down with the ringing in her ears. “Lovie?” He asked; he felt anxious that she was breathing so hard. She looked at him, her vision blurred by the tears. “Tell me what t’do,” he begged. He felt so useless. So worried that she was going to pass out or have a meltdown that she would inextricably link to him and never forgive him. After he just made some progress.
He thought about her six-year-old self. Trapped in that slide, her little brain all terrified. He wondered if that little version of herself still existed inside her. It hurt him to think about that poor little girl scared to pieces. He leaned forward and pressed his lips on her forehead and kept pressed there for a moment. That moment in time seemed to stretch on for eternity. But, as he kept his lips on her skin, he noticed her breathing slowly calmed. Her muscles seemed to relax.
“That feels nice,” she murmured almost serenely. He smirked against her skin. Slowly, he pulled away. Her eyes watched Harry with worry, but he slid beside her before he moved too far away. The shaky breathing picked up just a little. Her heart still fluttered with anxiety. She rested her cheek on her knee facing him.
“I...I could...do it again if y’want. If y’think it would help,” he suggested, turning toward her a little more head on. She lifted her head, it felt so achy and heavy. Harry cupped her face and pressed his lips on her skin again. She sighed softly. The ache seemed to ease at his touch.
Ugh. Harry was medicine that she didn’t know she needed. He dragged his lips across her skin, peppering her hairline with soft little presses. She wondered if he would always be this gentle with her.
She still wasn’t sure how she felt about her mind thinking about things like always with Harry. She was fairly certain she would die of humiliation the moment her brain returned to normal once they got off the elevator. There wouldn’t be an always after this. Harry would think she was nuts or ridiculous. There wouldn’t even be a sometimes.
 “Are y’okay, lovie?” He hummed against her skin. “As y’can be right now?”
She nodded, feeling utterly safe with Harry beside her. She enjoyed the way his hands felt on her skin. His lips on her face. It was too bad she didn’t know all these years he had nothing to do with her childhood trauma. She thought she really could be in love with him.
*
It took an hour, but they were finally freed of the metal tin. The moment she had fresh air, she felt infinitely better. Harry could see it on her face and in her body language. She was entirely at ease. Back to normal. After a flurry of questions and the hotel offering a few extra nights, they left for a nearby restaurant. Harry held her hand, fingers twisted together. He didn’t say much, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say after that. He knew she had to have felt so exposed and vulnerable.
“We...don’t have to go out, if you don’t want,” she mumbled.
Harry frowned and stopped the pair of them in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do y’want t’go back?” He asked.
She bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry.”
He blinked in surprise. “For what, beautiful?”
“For being crazy?” Did he forget what just happened?
“Crazy?” He repeated in surprise. “Lovie, s’not your fault. M’glad you’re okay.”
“You’re not...you don’t think I’m...weird?”
His heart felt such sadness for her. “No, lovie. Course not. Think you’re lovely. I was so scared y’were going to hurt yourself in all the worry. M’so glad you’re okay. M’sorry y’had to—why are y’crying, beautiful? Are you alright?” He asked, her eyes spilling with tears. He thought he might cry right with her. Harry had a good six or seven inches on her and he bent his knees a bit so he could be eyelevel with her teary gaze. His hands cupped her face just like on the elevator and he looked pained that she was crying.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t know why she was apologizing. But he let her and pulled her toward him, careful not to cover her face with his embrace. She sobbed into his chest. Harry kissed the top of her head. “S’okay, beautiful. Don’t know why you’re apologizing. But s’okay.”
It felt so embarrassingly awful that she and Harry would never be.
*
They ordered takeout, had a drink while they waited—barely speaking as they did, and headed back to the hotel. Of course, they took the stairs. She didn’t even feel like eating as she sat across from Harry on the balcony. He ate his veggie stir fry quietly while she poked at the pasta in her takeout box. “That’s pasta, you remember?” He smirked at her. “You’re supposed t’eat it,” he encouraged. Trying to joke so she would feel a little better.
She couldn’t even muster an eye roll for him. Ending before they started...after a whirlwind of one night and day of the convention seemed utterly unfair.
“Lovie?” He asked quietly. She didn’t respond. She was worried she would cry. “Beautiful,” he murmured setting his food aside, crouched beside her seat and pushed her food to the side as well.
“I...I think I really like you,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Well finally, lovie. But y’don’t have t’cry ‘bout it, m’right here,” he gave her knee a gentle squeeze. Like he was consoling her.
She shook her head. “S’not fair to you or all that time I wasted. And I’m so weird.”
“You’re not weird, lovie,” he promised.
“Yes, I am, Harry.”
He shook his head. “Y’seriously going t’continue pushing me away when m’literally on my knees in front of you, beautiful? I don’t care if y’weird or not. I don’t care if y’cry on elevators or if y’sing in the shower. You’re m’favorite person t’annoy and I want t’do it, knowing I can kiss you after every joke,” he looked up at her eyes from his crouched position. “Y’don’t have t’waste any more time, lovie. M’right here.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, worried she was going to say no or something just because she was so nervous about all of it. It was twenty years of disliking Harry (well, not really, but yes really). That was twenty years of hating small spaces of getting nervous in crowds and explaining to boyfriends that she couldn’t attend some events even when she wanted to.
But Harry didn’t care.
And she believed him.
She should have begged him to leave her alone because it wasn’t fair to him, and she truly believed that. Harry was so much kinder than she ever, ever imagined. Now he was right, of course. He was right here. Right in front of her. Literally on his knees telling her he wanted her. Despite everything. So instead of opening her mouth where she might say no, she nodded slowly.
He sighed with relief and wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her toward him. He carefully squeezed her rubbing his hand up and down her back so soothingly she wanted to cry some more. Harry had the gentlest touch, and it was melting her—inside and out. She sighed into his chest, arms wrapping back around him. She even pressed her face right into his T-shirt and didn’t feel the creeping sensation of doom surrounding her. Instead, all she could smell was the scent of Harry’s laundry detergent and the very essence of Harry.
“Thank you, beautiful,” he sighed into the top of her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. He pushed her away from his body but kept her in between his arms. He really loved touching her face. “Can’t wait t’join you in the shower, now,” he winked.
She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to quit, that much was certain. “You should be better than that detachable shower head,” she murmured.
He stared at her fully for at least half a minute, unable to speak. He cleared his throat after what seemed like a lifetime and then kissed the center of her forehead followed by the tip of her nose. Right before he kissed her lips for the first time in their lives, he whispered, “that I have t’see, lovie.”
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By: Chloe Cole
Published: July 28, 2023
On Thursday, her 19th birthday, Chloe Cole testified to Congress with a “final warning” that medical treatments to change the gender of confused children is horrific. Cole, who was given surgery as a teenager to become male and soon regretted it, said what she needed most was therapy, not a scalpel. Here is what she told lawmakers:
My name is Chloe Cole and I am a de-transitioner.
Another way to put that would be: I used to believe that I was born in the wrong body and the adults in my life, whom I trusted, affirmed my belief, and this caused me lifelong, irreversible harm. 
I speak to you today as a victim of one of the biggest medical scandals in the history of the United States of America. 
I speak to you in the hope that you will have the courage to bring the scandal to an end, and ensure that other vulnerable teenagers, children and young adults don’t go through what I went through. 
Deceit & coercion 
At the age of 12, I began to experience what my medical team would later diagnose as gender dysphoria.
I was well into an early puberty, and I was very uncomfortable with the changes that were happening to my body. I was intimidated by male attention. 
And when I told my parents that I felt like a boy, in retrospect, all I meant was that I hated puberty, that I wanted this newfound sexual tension to go away.
I looked up to my brothers a little bit more than I did to my sisters. 
I came out as transgender in a letter I sent on the dining room table.
My parents were immediately concerned.
They felt like they needed to get outside help from medical professionals. 
But this proved to be a mistake.
It immediately set our entire family down a path of ideologically motivated deceit and coercion.
The general specialist I was taken to see told my parents that I needed to be put on puberty-blocking drugs right away. 
They asked my parents a simple question: Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living transgender son? 
The choice was enough for my parents to let their guard down, and in retrospect, I can’t blame them.
This is the moment that we all became victims of so-called gender-affirming care.
I was fast-tracked onto puberty blockers and then testosterone. 
The resulting menopausal-like hot flashes made focusing on school impossible.
I still get joint pains and weird pops in my back.
But they were far worse when I was on the blockers. 
Forever changed 
A month later, when I was 13, I had my first testosterone injection.
It has caused permanent changes in my body: My voice will forever be deeper, my jawline sharper, my nose longer, my bone structure permanently masculinized, my Adam’s apple more prominent, my fertility unknown. 
I look in the mirror sometimes, and I feel like a monster.
I had a double mastectomy at 15.
They tested my amputated breasts for cancer.
That was cancer-free, of course; I was perfectly healthy.
There is nothing wrong with my still-developing body, or my breasts other than that, as an insecure teenage girl, I felt awkward about it.
After my breasts were taken away from me, the tissue was incinerated — before I was able to legally drive. 
I had a huge part of my future womanhood taken from me.
I will never be able to breastfeed.
I struggle to look at myself in the mirror at times.
I still struggle to this day with sexual dysfunction.
And I have massive scars across my chest and the skin grafts that they used, that they took of my nipples, are weeping fluid today, and they’re grafted into a more masculine positioning, they said. 
After surgery, my grades in school plummeted.
Everything that I went through did nothing to address the underlying mental health issues that I had.
And my doctors with their theories on gender that all my problems would go away as soon as I was surgically transformed into something that vaguely resembled a boy — their theories were wrong.
The drugs and surgeries changed my body, but they did not and could not change the basic reality that I am, and forever will be, a female. 
Depths of despair 
When my specialists first told my parents they could have a dead daughter or a live transgender son, I wasn’t suicidal.
I was a happy child who struggled because she was different. 
However at 16, after my surgery, I did become suicidal.
I’m doing better now, but my parents almost got the dead daughter promised to them by my doctors.
My doctor had almost created the very nightmare they said they were trying to avoid. 
So what message do I want to bring to American teenagers and their families?
I didn’t need to be lied to.
I needed compassion.
I needed to be loved. 
I needed to be given therapy that helped me work through my issues, not affirmed my delusion that by transforming into a boy, it would solve all my problems. 
We need to stop telling 12-year-olds that they were born wrong, that they are right to reject their own bodies and feel uncomfortable with their own skin. 
We need to stop telling children that puberty is an option, that they can choose what kind of puberty they will go through, just like they can choose what clothes to wear or what music to listen to. 
Pseudoscience 
Puberty is a rite of passage to adulthood, not a disease to be mitigated.
Today, I should be at home with my family celebrating my 19th birthday.
Instead, I’m making a desperate plea to my elected representatives.
Learn the lessons from other medical scandals, like the opioid crisis. 
Recognize that doctors are human, too, and sometimes they are wrong. 
My childhood was ruined along with thousands of de-transitioners that I know through our networks.
This needs to stop. You alone can stop it. 
Enough children have already been victimized by this barbaric pseudoscience.
Please let me be your final warning. 
Thank you.
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Might as well call her a murtad and kufr.
"The medical industry mutilated me, maybe don't mutilate other kids," shouldn't require bravery or renouncing an ideology.
Reminder: A minor under the age of 18 is too young to agree to a cellphone contract. 🤦‍♀️
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writesleah · 6 months
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not a chance ✰ m. riddle
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➻ pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader
➻ genre: angst/fluff
➻ summary: you and mattheo are sworn enemies, but everything changes when he becomes your tutor
➻ warnings: swearing (not loads, but a good few times), my writing lmao, one sex reference, 14 year old hormones :) - that’s all i can really think of, so if you find any more, let me know so i can fix the list!
➻ word count: 1.9k
➻ a/n: this is way longer than i was planning on making it but once i started writing, the words just flowed. this hasn’t been proofread either so i apologise if theres any mistakes that slipped through. i’m also fairly new to writing mattheo, but i’m so obsessed with him right now that i just had to do it for my first published fic!
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enemies should never spend time together - that’s just a fact - and mattheo riddle was your worst enemy. you had never met someone more infuriating in your life, someone so incredibly cocky that it made you want to pitch yourself off the astronomy tower. he did all of that for you, and more.
you were in your potions class, watching the hands on the clock tick by every second, every minute, waiting to finally be released from the hell professor snape held you in for a full hour every tuesday and friday.
potions was never really your strong suit, so you knew doing your O.W.L for the class wasn’t going to go so well, but your friends convinced you to go. of course they did.
your eyes darted to the door as you heard it swing open, a boy with curly, brunette hair stalking in.
“you’re late, mr riddle.” snape glared at mattheo, his voice it’s usual stern tone. “forty-five minutes late.”
“sorry, professor. i was helping professor moody with something for defence against the dark arts.” he sneered back, emphasising the fact that mad-eye moody was teaching the class and not snape, who gave him a sharp look before continuing on with his class.
“surprised to see you here.” the familiar voice scoffed as he took a seat on the table next to yours, where all of his friends were conveniently sitting. how pleasant.
“riddle.” you murmured, eyeing him as he took his seat and pulled out his quill.
“awh, greeting me?” he smirked, his head tilting just slightly in a way that was so incredibly frustrating. “did you miss me over the summer?”
you scoffed at the idea, rolling your eyes. “miss you? not so much.”
“ouch. that one hurt, not gonna lie to you.” he laughed to himself, scribbling down the date on the top of his parchment.
“cute.” you spat. you never really bothered to give him full replies, not in the way that he did, unless you felt it was absolutely necessary. “why’d you even turn up? the lesson ends in fifteen minutes.”
“i was going to just skip, but then i remembered my favourite person would be here.” he smiled warmly, though it was laced with that familiar sarcasm you knew all too well.
you give him a small glare, quirking a brow at him. “yeah? who’s that? me?”
“is that a joke?” he scoffed, his expression turning serious as he glared at her. “no, daphne.” he motioned to the girl on his right. you had noticed they had grown closer over the last few weeks of third year, but never really thought much of it. he wasn’t really the type to get into serious relationships, more just little flings or girls he would snog and then never speak to again.
you felt a pang of emotion in your heart, but you weren’t sure why, or what it was. a smirk slowly made its way onto his face as he watched your nose screw up, his brows raising in amusement. “why? you wish it was you?” he laughed again, sarcastically, as always.
“course. whatever will i do now that i know i’m not mattheo riddle’s favourite person?” you scoffed, shaking off the feeling and giving him the glare you always did. why did you care? you didn’t, right?
he gave you a small chuckle in return, before the conversation quickly ended, along with the lesson not so long after.
“miss (y/l/n), mr riddle, please stay seated when everyone else leaves.” snape demanded, causing you to roll your eyes and let out a quiet groan.
when everyone else had left, the professor stalked towards the two of you, eying you both up cautiously before he spoke.
“as you both know, you begin to prepare for your O.W.Ls in fourth year, this year.” he began, the mention of the tests making you want to curl up in a corner and never think again. “given miss (y/l/n)’s frank inability to brew a single potion over the last few years, she will need a tutor to give her any chance of passing the test.”
you screwed your nose up at the slight dig, but continued listening to him nonetheless. “now, mr riddle has proven himself to be quite talented in my class, so he will be your tutor. i trust that i can leave you two here for the hour to begin your first session?”
you groaned loudly, watching a smirk spread on mattheo’s stupid face, but nodded in defeat. “yes, professor.” you mumbled, your head in your hands.
snape swiftly left the room, leaving the two of you alone.
“you reckon we can just lie and say we did the hour?” you murmured, your eyes peeking through your fingers to look at the brunette.
he scoffed quietly. “kind as ever.” he retorted, shaking his head. “you might as well do it. we all know you’re hopeless when it comes to potions, so it might do you some good.”
“myeh, kind as ever.” you mimicked, rolling your eyes. “fine. hurry it up, though.”
he moved to sit next to you, beginning to ask you questions to gauge where you were at with your knowledge in potions. of course, you managed to get every question wrong, or do something that put him off.
“you don’t know anything?” he groaned, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “you’re so fucking stupid, merlin. i’ve never met a fourteen year old girl as dumb as you.”
you furrowed your brows, a small pout on your face. “i’m not stupid. it’s the subject. it doesn’t make any sense.”
“i’m going through first year stuff right now. you’re ridiculous if you think you’re going to pass your O.W.L.” he scoffed, waving his hands around frantically as you laid your head on the table, your tongue between your teeth as you held back a snarky comment.
“whatever.” you groaned. “i give up. i’m expecting myself to fail at this point. i know i will. there is no point in us doing this.”
“i mean… you’re probably right, but you should at least try.” he shrugged slightly, his tone still full of annoyance. you watched his fingers brush through his dark curls, your head tilting just slightly as he did so. his brows furrowed as he looked at you, muttering a small “what?”
“why are you so insistent that i stay with you right now?” you blurted, voicing your thoughts before you could take it back.
he didn’t say anything, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you, his eyes tracing your body just long enough for you to notice. you squirmed slightly at the sudden tension between you, shooting him a dirty look.
“stop looking at me like that. it’s weird.” you spat, attempting to shake off his gaze, if that was even possible.
“like what?” his eyes shot back up to yours, his nose scrunching slightly, his smile frown lines more visible than ever.
“like i’m one of the girls you try to snog up in the astronomy tower. stop it.” you had witnessed and interrupted his shameless make out sessions far too many times, the tower being a place you both frequented, though for reasons of the complete opposite. you went there to be alone, he went there to have company.
his hand shifted to your thigh, landing on top of your pleated school skirt the uniform required you to wear, a smirk on his face. “do you want to be?”
your gaze was fixed on his hand, squirming slightly at the sudden contact, though not making any effort to stop it. “uh, no. not really. what the fuck?” you let out a half-laugh as you looked back up at him, seeing his brows furrow slightly. “what? was that not the right answer? want me to get on my knees and beg for you to make out with me under the stars?”
he scoffed to himself, rolling his eyes. “yeah, you’d definitely do that.” he retorted sarcastically, giving you a small glare.
“you have the wrong idea of me.” you shook your head, biting your lower lip just slightly as you felt his thumb move to the hem of your skirt. “what are you doing?”
“showing you how much i want you.” his voice took on a low and serious tone, before crashing his lips into yours. you didn’t move for a moment, before quickly coming to your senses and shoving him off.
“are you high or something?” you looked him up and down, rubbing your lips together in an attempt to make the strange sensation they held go away.
“no. completely sober. i don’t smoke weed.” he laughed quietly, looking at you in amusement. you gave him a small huff, knowing that he wasn’t exactly telling the truth. “was that your first kiss?”
your lips parted in amusement, the tip of your tongue held just between your front teeth. “what?”
“was that your first kiss?” he repeated, his eyes tracing every inch of your face. “because, no offence, but if it wasn’t, you’re a pretty shit kisser. i doubt you have experience.”
you scoffed at his words, shaking your head with a small pout. “no, it wasn’t my first kiss. it was just ‘shit’, as you so elegantly put it, because i didn’t fucking kiss you back, idiot.” you felt the overwhelming urge to spit as many swear words and insults you could muster at him, but held back when you saw the look in his eyes.
“wanna actually kiss me, then?” he huffed, rolling his eyes, before they settled on the pillowy, pink flesh of your lips.
you hesitated for a moment, before leaning in to give him a small kiss. his lips were soft, and the slow motions gave you a better feel of him than the first kiss. it felt safer, more intimate.
the second you went to pull away, he pulled you in closer, the kiss growing slightly more aggressive. you felt the edge of his fingertips slide just slightly under your skirt, going no further than the edge of the hem. the movement was enough for you to pull away, though.
“riddle…” you whispered, your eyes shooting down to his hand. “look, i don’t know what you get up to with half your little girlfriends, but i don’t wanna, like, do anything, so…” you shrugged slightly.
he looked at you with a furrowed brow for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle, which just confused you further. “oh, wait, no.” he shook his head, which tilted as a sly smirk came across his face. he removed his hand from your thigh and let out another short laugh. “i wasn’t trying to- sorry. yeah, no, i’m in the same boat as you. i may get with a lot of girls, but i’m still fourteen at the end of the day. i’m not really doing anything other than make-outs yet.”
you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding at his words, a small smile settling on your face. “okay, good. i was panicking a bit there.” you added with a single laugh.
it was silent for a while as you both relished in each other’s company, or rather, didn’t know what else to say.
“so…” you spoke up after a couple minutes, your eyes darting back to his, “do we still hate each other?”
he raised his brows in amusement, a small, almost disgusted scoff coming from his mouth.
“not a chance.”
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user2772636 · 2 months
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Douzième Fille
12th girl
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××《☆》××
Having to be in pairs for a group project, two people with mixed feelings work together to create a presentation. Going into eachothers houses is easy until a certain cat wants to play cupid. Feelings erupt, and miscommunication has to be endured. A soccer game in the rain might prove that Descamps listens more than he should.
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Joseph Descamps x Reader
Warnings: bullying (poor pichon), boys being boys, very confusing feelings, angst bcs of achilles and patroclus (maybe even joseph and reader???), miscommunication in the enemies to lovers department, swearing
This chapter has references to The Song of Achilles book (ik its not the right timeline, but we have to do this for the angst so bare w me)
===
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Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say
===
The scores of our exams are being published. I sit in my seat, eyes scanning the numbers and fingertips smoothing out the paper. Most of them are in the ranges of 12-16, which is good enough for me.
"As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods. Next week, we are going to try a new approach." I look up from my papers, interested in the proposal of something new.
"You're going to prepare a presentation, working in pairs. You'll be working with the classmate sitting next to you, and then you'll present your work in class together. And for a sense of free will, you can present about any subject. How does that sound?"
I look to the girl next to me. Her name was Louise. She's quiet most of the time and keeps to herself. I smile softly. She smiles back.
The teacher clears his throat, eyes on Descamps and Dupin. "You two, of which I already expect a chaotic presentation, will be paired with someone else." His eyes land on me and Louise. Please, no.
"Descamps and Pardine, Louise and Dupin. Please remember your partner." I internally groan, placing my head into my hands. I look to my side, already seeing Louise and Dupin waving to each other, Louise giggling. I groan again. I don't look at Descamps. He doesn't, either.
Pichon raises his hand. "What if we're sitting alone?" The class laughs. I look at Pichon in pity.
"Well, you can work with Ms. Sabiani." The teacher says in response.
"Look. Pichon is blushing. He's turned pink like a pig." Dupin says, and the class laughs again. Even Louise giggles. She likes him, it's obvious, but what is there to like? I roll my eyes.
"That's enough, Dupin." The teacher shouts at him, the smile on his face gone. Annick raises her hand.
"Do we really have to work in pairs?" She asks.
"That's the whole point." He answers. "And I'm warning you, half a pair's work will result in half the grade."
××《☆》××
As I walk down the stairs, I look up when I hear pigs oinking. I wasn't wrong. Descamps' group of friends are pigs.
When I spot Simone and Michèle in the bench under the tree, our usual spot, I make my way to them.
"Help me gain some decency to go up to Descamps and not punch him in the face." I groan as I sit on the bench with them.
"It's unfortunate for you. Our teacher could've picked anyone else." Michèle says, pity in her voice.
"Should I go talk to him now or later?" They don't answer because they see Descamps make his way towards us.
I fight the urge to start an argument with him. About anything, really. Just to get him to stay a bit longer. I clear my throat at the thought.
"Your place?" He says, now standing infront of us, hands in his pockets. I nod once, and he walks away.
"Thank god that was over quick." Something deep inside me knew I didn't mean that.
Jean Pierre walks towards us with a book in hand. I look at Simone with a teasing smile, but there's something in her eyes I can't really tell. Like she knows something.
"Here, this is yours." He hands Michèle the book. "I put it in my bag by mistake." Michèle thanks him. He walks away with a 'see you later'.
Michèle continues to complain to us about her grades. Simone sighs, mind floating away. I look at her confused. I'll ask her about it later.
I look towards Applebaum. We make eye contact, and I smile. He looks away, fear in his eyes. What's up with everyone today?
××《☆》××
In one of those rare moments, my parents are home for dinner. We sit in the dining table, enjoying our food.
"Someone's coming over tomorrow. I know you won't be here, but I thought it'd be better if you knew." I tell them, handing small bits of food to George.
"Oh? What will you be doing?" My father asks, cutting his food into smaller pieces.
"Group project. We'll probably just stay in my room." I pet George as he eats his food.
"Are we going to meet her even after the project?" My mother says, looking up from her food.
"He, actually. And no." This makes them pause, silence surronding the room. My father clears his throat.
"A boy? And both of you will be in your room?" He says, placing his elbows on the table.
I take time to process this. "Papa, no. It's not like that." I turn red in my seat. "Trust me, it's just a project. Nothing else."
"Of course we trust you. It's just, you know. You're a teen, and teens go through... stuff." My mother says, stuttering a bit. I cover my face with my hands.
"Mama, please don't make it weird." I groan.
"No, it's perfectly normal for your age. If you want, we can forget about it-" I cut her off.
"Yes, please. Forget about it." I cut my food aggressively, face as warm as my plate.
We stay quiet as we finish the rest of our dinner.
××《☆》××
"The league of nations, L.O.N..." I fade the rest of the discussion out, watching the way the sun rests on the trees leaves, the birds tending to themselves. Last nights conversation clouds my mind, and I catch myself smiling for no reason.
I sigh every time, biting my lip in my own embarrassment. I glance at Descamps. He's focusing on the lesson for once. Nothing will happen at my place, right?
He feels my gaze on him and gently turns his head. His eye meets mine, and there's a small quirk on the corner of his lip.
"Quiet at the back." Ms. Giraud calls out suddenly.
Descamps looks away. I purse my lips, something stirring in my chest. My breathing is faster, and I feel warmer. Have I gotten sick already?
Annick walks into the room, hair tousled and frizzy. Ms. Giraud shouts at her, and my ear drums are about to explode.
Ms. Giraud gives Annick detention, and with every word Annick said back, an hour or two more.
Ms. Giraud continues to piss me off every second of the day with her strictness and very clear jealousy towards Annick. She finally continues the discussion, and I (annoyingly) decide to finally listen.
××《☆》××
I wait right outside the gate for Descamps. He comes running to the gate but slows down when he sees me, acting like he wasn't just leaping to get here.
"Hey." He says, acting nonchalant. He even has his hand in his pocket.
"Hi. Let's get going." I keep my face blank as I lead the way to my place. We walk in silence, listening to our footsteps next to each other.
Once we make it to my flat's building, I go up the steps, stopping in front of my door and unlocking it.
We step inside, the flat looking warm with the sunlight entering through the windows. I lock my door and drop the keys on my kitchen counter.
"Your coat?" I reach my hands out. He throws his coat to me, the heaviness of it making me stumble. I scowl but hang it anyway.
"Head to my room. Down the hallway to the right." I say as I grab a few supplies from my father's office.
"Want me in your bed already?" He calls out once he's inside. I hear a yelp.
I run to my room. "Descamps, are you okay?" I ask worriedly. He stares at George.
"What is that?" He points to George, who's currently walking toward me. I bend down and pet him, planting a kiss on his head.
"This is George." I carry George and craddle him like a baby. I walk towards Descamps with the furball in my arms. I rock him slowly.
"You can touch him if you want. He doesn't bite." I smile at the orange cat, then look up at Descamps. He's staring at me with the most soft look I've seen him wear. My heart thumps in my chest.
He clears his throat, hand going up shakily to pet George. George purrs when Descamps pets him. There's now a smile on Descamps face, as warm as his stare.
I bite my lip at the proximity. I memorise as much as I can about him.
The way he was breathing, like he was on a bed so soft he could sink into it. The way he smelt like faded cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The way his bones moved under his skin as he bent over to take a closer look at George. The number of times he's blinked, the number of times he's laughed under his breath.
I dive deeper into my trance as he looks up at me. The way he stared now is so different from the way he did all those times before. Like we knew something that we haven't acknowledged yet. Or chose not to.
Something falls in the kitchen, and we snap back to reality. My face warms up, the lighting from the windows making it clearer.
Descamps walks away from me, clearing his throat again. "The cat's ugly." This makes me snap my head to his direction.
"What did you just say?" My brows furrow, defensive of the cat sleeping in my arms.
He rolls his eye. "Nothing. Let's get the project started, I guess." I glare at him for a couple more seconds, then I gently place George down on the bed, excusing myself to get more stuff from my father's office.
When I'm halfway to my room, I hear whispering. I peek at the slit on my door, wondering what was happening behind it.
Descamps is petting George, whispering words as if he's hushing a baby to sleep.
My aura softens, and my heart bursts with admiration. I accidentally drop something and curse to myself. Descamps hears the thud on the floor and pushes himself away from George. George continues to sleep.
I open the door then close it gently. "Let's get started."
××《☆》××
"Do you have suggestions?" I ask Descamps. He doesn't answer, his head turned to the side. I sigh.
Before I could say anything, he talks. "What's that?" He nods to the book on my shelf. It was a copy of the story of Achilles and Patroclus, with a notebook strapped on the front.
"It's nothing important." I shake my head. He purses his lips in thought.
"Can I see it?" His question catches me off guard, his head finally turning to look at me. No one's ever showed interest in my books or notes. I stay quiet, then after a while, I nod.
He gets up from the bed and grabs the book. He takes the string that attaches the notebook to the copy off. He scans the back of the book and hums.
"We can base the project off of this, if you don't mind." He holds up the paperback and the notebook. I'm stunned in my place.
"It's really not that interesting-"
"It must be if you had a whole notebook dedicated to it." There isn't even a teasing tone when he said that. He meant it genuinely.
"Fine." I sigh, grabbing the notebook from his grasp.
"Good." "Great." "Amazing." "Piss off." "Whatever."
"Mind if you read it to me?" He says. "I have a feeling I'll understand better when you say it, since it's your work."
I nod, hesitantly. I opened the first page of my notebook. Most of the stuff I've written in it is a summary and a review of the book.
He leans back on my pillows. I let him. I started to read.
"Patroclus was a young prince, exiled from his kingdom for accidentally killing a boy, and was taken in by their neighbouring king, King Peleus."
George purrs as I pet him. I shift to a more comfortable sitting position. Descamps' eyes are on me.
"When Patroclus first saw Achilles, it was in a competition run by Patroclus' father. He described Achilles as if he was looking at a painting made with precision and grace." I flip the page. George walks over to Descamps' lap. I huff, ignoring it.
"When they met and officially talked, Patroclus thought he'd hated Achilles. Achilles and his beauty, his speed, his perfection. In the years that pass, they grow to be attached to the other." George meows. The meow that indicates he wants petting.
I pause my reading, and Descamps looks at me confused. "Why'd you stop?"
"George wants pets." Descamps makes an 'oh' sound and pets George. He meows again.
"Maybe he wants you." Descamps says, petting the fur baby on his lap. I sigh and lean in close to pet George. With the uncomfortable position, I shift to sit beside Descamps on the bed. I clear my throat and pet George. I continue to read.
"They knew everything about each other. What they'd prefer, like how I like the rain too much to cover it with an umbrella, but know I'll get sick without it. That's how the two worked. They knew every detail, every routine, every habit, every movement. A love you'd have to fight the gods for."
A page is flipped, smoothing out of paper echoes in the room.
"Achilles and Patroclus loved each other with every inch of their heart and soul. Quoting the book, Patroclus states, 'He is half my soul, as the poets say'. Along with the famous paragraph." My eyes switch to the next page.
Descamps shifts in his place, leaning back on the pillows, looking at the pages where I'm reading off of. I start to relax, leaning back, too. George purrs.
"I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."
I take a glance at Descamps, and he's already looking at me. George snores in his sleep, making the aura of the room warmer. More comfortable.
His eye dropped to my lips, and I could've sworn I was hearing a heartbeat as fast as the wind at fall. I glance at his, pink and soft, like a cushion ready for rest.
When we lean in, slowly, too slow, my heart drops as he pulls away and stretches. I furrow my eyebrows, a dread of realisation. He's been toying with me. I close my notebook and gather my things.
"Where are you off to?" He asks. I don't answer him.
"Hey," He grabs my arm. I take it back from him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." I say coldly. "I'll finish this project myself."
"What? No. This is a group project remember?"
"I can't keep doing this. You're too hard to work with." I stack the books and materials in my arms.
"We haven't even gotten anything done yet." He flops his hands in the air.
"Exactly. You're too distracting."
"What did I do? I've been quiet the whole time."
"Yeah, well, that's the problem. You're too quiet. You aren't suggesting things."
"What does that have to do with anything?" He raises his voice.
"Just shut up, okay? Just leave. I told you I'll finish the project by myself." I get up from the bed, heading to my father's office.
"But I don't get why you're suddenly mad!" He stands up, following me.
"You don't have to know. Just leave me alone, okay?"
"Fucking fine. You're being too stubborn anyways. Do all the work. Getting pissed off for no fucking reason." He grabs his coat from the rack, putting it on. He doesn't even glance at me, opening and shutting the door with a loud slam.
I even out my breathing. It was going fine. Then I think to myself, what was? Me and Descamps, going fine? I laugh at the thought. I hated that boy. I hated him with my whole heart. My mind travels to the notes I was just reading.
Patroclus had thought he hated Achilles in the start, too. I shake the thought out of my head, slipping against the wall to sit on the floor, knees to my chest.
I hear tapping on the floor boards. I look to my side to see George, meowing softly. I take a deep breath in, then reach my hand out to pet him.
I hate him. And I know I do. He lingers in my mind like a fog in the mountains. The way his aura had softened, his smile, his warmth. I hated the thought of him, but then he smiled, and like Achilles, his face was like the sun.
××《☆》××
Night comes, and I lay in my bed, windows slightly open for the wind to come through. I'm restless, not getting a blink of sleep. I'm halfway through the project already. If Descamps had helped, it'd take longer, I think to myself, trying to still feel angry.
I don't feel angry at all anymore. There's a sort of regret in me for pushing him away. But at the same time, it's what he deserved. We had leaned in, and I didn't even know what I was expecting. I should've expected him to pull away, but what was he going to do in the first place?
Was he going to whisper in my ear? If so, what would he whisper to me? Was he going to say something about how I write, how I speak? A thought so blurry pops up in my head, and I brush it off. But it felt warm, so safe, so soft. There was a scent stuck in my head as I reminisced on the thought, trying to figure out what I was thinking.
I fall asleep in the process, dreaming about the thought instead. Limbs touching, bending, adjusting. I taste cigarettes and strawberries. I smell smoke and expensive perfume. I feel something soft against my lips, hands cupping my face, my neck, my head, and my waist.
He felt warm, tall, and heavy against me. I hold onto the dream, relaxing.
××《☆》××
I wake up, sweat coating my skin. George sits on the window sill, the sun making him shine like gold. I sit up and stretch. I get off my bed and head to my bathroom.
My hair is messy, and I have a bit of dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I wash my face to give myself some energy. I take my clothes off lazily, tying my hair up and getting inside my shower.
Once I finish, I comb and fix my hair, head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, grab my things for school, including the unfinished project, and head to the front door.
A stack of paper tied with string greets me. I furrow my eyebrows. There's no note. I squat down and pick it up. I instantly know who it's from.
It's an essay about Achilles and Patroclus, detailed and opinionated. Written on the last piece of paper, sitting at the bottom of the stack, it reads, "I bought a copy. Finished it for you."
I stood still, processing the words, flipping through the papers to double check if they're authentic. I let out a scoff of surprise. My head snaps to a nearby clock. I'm going to be late if I don't start walking now.
My feet carry me to the front gates of Voltaire, the familiar faces and light chatter calming me. I spot Simone and Michèle, and I make my way to them.
××《☆》××
Rain starts to fall. The rain always brought me comfort. The different sounds it made when hitting different objects, the way it sways with the wind, the smell it gives the grass after.
I lag behind Simone and Michèle as they make their way to the field. I look for my satchel, then remember I'd forgotten my umbrella. I curse to myself, finding the satchel. It felt heavier than usual. I look inside, then see a clear umbrella. I open it and twist it around, gaping in awe. There's a note in the bag. I open to read it.
"Don't get sick from what you love." The note said.
There's only one person I've told about my love for rain.
I head outside, hiding my red face once I see a drenched one-eyed boy. I smile to Simone and Michèle, spotting them seated on a bench. I glance behind me as I sit down, finding an eye already looking at me with a small smile. His smile drops, and he looks away when I catch him. I purse my lips.
We watch the match, getting my mind off of the boy with ash brown hair. Once the match finishes, we all make our way home. I look up, seeing the rain pattering against the clear umbrella. I smile, watching the water droplets slip off the plastic, hearing the pattering of rain.
××《☆》××
The next day, I repeat my routine. I thoroughly read through Descamps' essay, rewritting it to fit in with mine. I should be thankful, and I am, but Descamps is making my head hurt with the way he acts. I walked to school, going subject after subject, until our presentation finally came.
Earlier, I'd slipped him the script, tucking it in his bag. I hope silently that he's memorised it.
Annick and Pichon are presenting in front of the class. I smiled softly, impressed by the presentation, and refreshed with the dynamic of the two. If only things had gone differently with Descamps, we could've been good friends. But we aren't. I don't think we ever will.
Once they finish, our teacher calls me and Descamps to the front. My anxiousness radiates off my body. Simone and Michèle give me a reassuring look. I nod at them slightly.
My eyes meet Descamps, and we're standing at the front of the class. They're quiet, and my eyes scan all of them. Surprisingly, Descamps starts.
"Me and Pardine are going to present the story of Achilles and Patroclus and the debate of their relationship; romantic or platonic?" Descamps looks at me, his hand hovering at the small of my back for support.
I start, and faster than I thought, I finish the presentation. The room claps, as they do with the others. I glance at Descamps but see him already walking back to his seat. My smile dropped slowly, remembering I was still on his bad side, and vice versa.
I walk back to my seat quietly. I don't even hear the score because my mind is too occupied with the thought of him. Would we stay angry at eachother always? At the same time, it shouldn't matter. I hate him. Right?
I shake my head. I hate him, surely. I should. I dig deep in my head for a reason. Bullying Pichon and Michèle, toying with my feelings (feelings I'm not aware whether it's good or bad), the way he acts, and smells, and feels when he's near.
I fucking hate him. I really do. I hate him, I repeat in my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Then, like earlier, something inside me knows I don't mean it.
At the end of the day, I make peace with solitude. My mind wanders, and I notice that every time it does, they always end up with the face of a one-eyed boy.
Sure, Descamps gave me a finished essay for our project, and sure, he gave me an umbrella that was clear so I could see the rain. So what? I still hate him. Maybe just a little less now.
××《☆》××
End- Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say.
Next- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines
××《☆》××
End of chapter three. Rollercoaster of emotions this one. It's a bit shorter than usual because i took out a bunch of the scenes in the series to focus on the emotions of reader and hopefully u guys get what im trying to give. Thanks for reading, requests r open, and see u next chapter!!!
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thethirdromana · 7 months
Text
I'm generally a fully signed-up member of the Mrs Westenra Sucks Club, but I've found myself pondering more sympathetic ways to interpret her character and actions.
I think the most important thing to remember is that Mrs Westenra is dying, and since she has a 19-year-old daughter, she's probably dying young. If she's around 45, actuarial tables for the 1890s suggest that she would normally expect to live at least another 25 years, probably longer (which I'm mentioning since people normally underestimate Victorian adult life expectancy).
She was expecting to be around to see her daughter securely married and to help with her grandchildren; now there's a question mark over whether she'll even see her daughter's wedding. She's experiencing end-stage heart failure: she's probably in a lot of pain (which in her culture she is supposed to bear with quiet fortitude) and may have other symptoms such as fatigue, depression, nausea, insomnia and cognitive impairment. She's probably not able to think clearly a lot of the time. It's not surprising that she makes some bad decisions.
Is that enough to justify her treatment of Lucy? Maybe not. But on that point, I think it's worth noting that while Mrs Westenra is the worst offender in treating her adult daughter like she's a child, she's not the only one. When Mrs Westenra confides details of her illness to Mina, Mina doesn't seem to push back on the idea that this should be kept a secret from Lucy, even in the privacy of her journal. The idea that things should be kept from Lucy for her own protection is one that nearly everyone who interacts with Lucy shares.
In the novel as it stands (not in deleted sections, admittedly) we also don't see Lucy herself pushing for greater independence. In fact, what she wants from her mother is not more freedom but more comfort, in being allowed to share a bed with her.
A final thought on that. Victorians turned against the idea of bed-sharing because they believed that sharing beds spread diseases:
In her housekeeping guide published in 1892, Mrs. Elizabeth F. Holt warned readers that “the air which surrounds the body under the bed clothing is exceedingly impure, being impregnated with the poisonous substances which have escaped through the pores of the skin.”
(from this article)
In other words, Mrs Westenra might worry that sharing a bed would risk passing on her own illness to Lucy. I think denying Lucy's request could be seen as protective rather than dismissive.
I imagine I'm still going to be really annoyed when she [spoilers redacted]. But I think she could be seen as a tragic and sympathetic figure, not a malicious one. This novel has several characters who want to do the right thing but make mistakes (Seward, Van Helsing) and Mrs Westenra could be interpreted as one of them.
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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months
Note
Yautja males x female reader. Reader is sent to the hunting grounds by mistake, she ain't a fighter and has a faint heart, the minute the Yautja ambush her, she faints.
Like, drops to the floor unconscious and the yautja are wondering what to do, like they were expecting a big hunt and she faints, pathetically, not real prey.
Lighthearted
Pairings: T'a'yta, Con'tei, Dai'stbaen (All male Yautjas) x Reader
Word Count: 2993
Summary: When you first come to, this wasn't the sight you last saw. A vast, towering jungle that looked ready to swallow you whole with no remorse. The humidity and heat was a killer as you were forced to move your way through. But it never ended. Like time itself, it seemed to have no beginning nor no ending. When you thought things couldn't get worse, don't count your eggs before they hatch.
Author Note: So, those names may sound familiar. They are from a story that was never publish and I abandoned. It will never be written though but I do love the characters.
Masterlist
Ao3
Pain raked across your body. Your eyes fluttered open only to be blinded by light. A rough, jutting stick pressed into the sore flesh of your back. With a groan, you covered your face with a hand and sat up. The muscles all along the entirety of your back protested at the movement. They screamed as you rested heavily onto your elbows and thighs.
An unrelenting headache pressed behind your eyes while you tried to gather your thoughts. Finally, you opened your eyes and took in the surrounding area.
Lush greens and dense foliage graced your blurry vision. Humidity stuck to you like a second skin, clothes following the same suit. You shuttered at the feeling and sat up higher, as if that would allow you to see better. You were still squinting to allow your pupils to slowly adjust to the sudden change from dark to light.
Once you were able to open your eyes fully and take in the sight, your jaw dropped. This… this wasn’t your bed, your room, let alone your home! Where were you?! You scrambled to your feet only to collapse back down to the ground. Everything ached down to the very bone. A grunt surpassed your lips. Then, you realized, something was secured around your torso.
A harness of sorts was locked into place. You fumbled with the belt for an embarrassing long minute before pulling it off. It crumbled onto the ground at your feet. From there, you slowly pull yourself into a standing position and kept glancing around.
Maybe this was a bad dream; a waking nightmare to be stuck in a jungle. A weird dream in all honesty. You clutched at your head then pinched yourself, ready to wake up in the safety of your room.
The jungle didn’t fade to black. Everything stayed the same. So, you tried again. And again. And again. Nothing changed. All was the same. You furrowed your brows, chest starting to heavy with panic. “No, no, no, no,” you muttered to yourself and began to pace around. Your feet crunched under the dead foliage that covered the ground.
The longer this peristed, you felt dread and doubt fill your lungs. How were you going to do this? Why and how were you out here? Where is out here?! A broken whine sounded from the back of your throat as you plopped back down on the ground. Leaves crunched underneath you as the new weight. You cradled your legs closely and started to rock back and forth.
Once the sun finally touched down to the horizon, sending beautiful oranges and pinks to streak across the sky, you rose again. The darkness felt heavy, as if it attempted to suffocate you in it.
Your heart was already beginning to thunder in your ears but grew worse as the night fell. Your throat was dry, lips on the verge of cracking no matter how many times you wettened them. At this time, you began to wonder through the darkness and explore the new grounds.
Somewhere down the road, something in your gut told you to stop. And you listened. The hairs on the back of your neck rose with the rate of your heartbeat. Your black pupils blown wide to consume any and all light the area might provide. It did little to offer any sight more than five feet in front of you. But you tried to peer through the haze of darkness only to come up empty handed.
Yet, the feeling refused to dissipate. Your hands trembled while clutched close to your chest. You couldn’t tell if this where you were going to die. Was it a predator? A tiger? A leopard?
In the middle of your thoughts, a thundering form dropped down before you. A scream surpasses your lips. Then, nothing.
.
The youngest of the trio had stalked this lone ooman since it first appeared from the dropship. His energy was craze, wild and barely tamed as he watched in rapture for the perfect moment to pounce. Yet, he came to notice the blinding difference between this one and the few he’s hunted before. He huffed before leaping to the next tree.
Down on the ground, the ooman stopped, tense and petrified. Its scent of terror filled the space around him. His upper mandibles crinkling with disgust underneath his plain biomask.
Something was wrong.
Without the proper time to internal discuss his next actions or the consequences afterwards, the male dropped down from the trees before the ooman. An ear shattering screech sounded from the prey then it was cut short.
The creature dropped lifeless to the jungle’s floor. For a moment, he believed he somehow brought upon its death or maybe one of his hunt brothers got to it first. It’s not unlike Dai’stbaen to swoop in at the last second and take the kill.
When he scanned the trees and surrounding area, Con’tei came up empty handed though. Not a large enough heat signature to be the larger male. His focus returned to the crumpled ooman before him. He toed closer to it then knelt down at its side.
A heartbeat, slowed fluttered. The male reached out and cautiously pushed the ooman onto its back. It wasn’t dead. Now, his curiosity got the better of him. He scooped up the limp body and flung it onto his shoulder. From there, he leapt back into the safety of the trees and began his pathing to camp.
Both his older companions were found preparing their tools for the upcoming hunt of the next day. T’a’yta lounged against a log, a knife and whetstone in hand. The nearing elder sharpened the blade with precision. Dai’stbaen, a rival to Con’tei, was consuming meat of sorts while reading on his gauntlet.
Con’tei landed near the group, not silent enough for T’a’yta. Said Yautja shot him a disapproving glance then did a double take. “Con’tei, the hunt isn’t until tomorrow. What have you done?” T’a’yta scolded without needing to get up from his spot on the ground. Con’tao himself pulled his mandibles tight though they were hidden by his biomask.
“Elder, I may have found something interesting with this one,” he explained and strutted over to the duo. The ooman on his shoulder was simple dropped onto the ground in heap, still not awake. Con’tei found this bizarre. “Look at it. It won’t wake. It even fell asleep when I leaped in front of it.”
T’a’yta gave the male an unamusing look, as if Con’tei was the idiot here. “That’s called fainting. Oomans faint but…” the dust colored Yautja finally climbed to his feet and stalked over to Con’tei and the ooman. “To faint from fear?” A question that hung heavy in the air as the elder attempted to examine anything out of sorts with the prey. He came up empty handed.
The elder huffed and looked at Con’tei. “This-“ a groan brought his moving mandibles to a stop. T’a’yta’s bright eyes snapped down to find the ooman beginning to move, squirming around in their spot. He didn’t move though. He stayed knelt down besides it and watched as it woke up groggily.
.
Confused, your eyes fluttered open to find the night sky shining down on you. You sat up, clutching at your head for a moment then scanned the area.
A scream tore at your throat. A massive and lumbering form was sitting on its haunches at your side. You scrambled away only to knock into something warm. Your head whipped up to a humanoid creature leaning over you, hands on its hips. Metal covered its face, leaving you only to stare in terror at a blank expression.
Petrified at the two creatures surrounding you, you curled up into a protective ball and cried. Your whole body shook with each sob that echoed back at you. Pathetic, meek but you didn’t care. All you care about in the moment was if this was how you died.
When no harm came to you for the first minute, you timidly pulled your head free and submissively looked at the towering creatures. The orange one, lean and smaller than the other one, still stood where you last saw it. The other one had picked himself and gazed down at you with little care.
“Are you… are you going to hurt me?” For whatever reason you could scrounge up in that shaken brain of yours, you asked them a question. It was stupid in the moment but you hadn’t realize why it would be.
The figure closest to you huffed, glancing at the only other like it that you could see, then shook its large head.
Your whole body jolted at the deep grunts and clicks coming from the larger one. It must be communicating with the one nearest to you. Well, that was your first thought until more of the same sounds, different range voiced from outside the edges of your vision. You accidentally knocked into its shins yet it didn’t react.
From the shadows, this hunkering giant, taller than the dust colored one marched out, hands balled into fists. You were frozen in place. No matter how loud your mind screamed for you to move, you couldn’t.
The newest one, a dark color, possibly a red, seemed to argue with the lighter one. At this time, you decided to give them color coordinating names. Dust, Red, and Orange. At least, you think it was orange. With the lack of light, it was hard to tell. You made do with what was given.
Red growled at Dust and pointed harshly at you, body tense. Dust, on the other hand, stood there with little movement besides its shoulders moving with each breath. When Red realize it wasn’t getting anywhere with Dust, it stomp over to us. You scrambled back and knocked into Orange’s legs again. A minute part of you prayed it would protect you.
A harsh snarl tore from Dust’s throat that had Red stopped in his spot. It clicked in your head who was the leader amongst them. Red whipped around and began to berate to Dust that had to do with you.
In the midst of the commotion, Orange knelt down behind you and patted your head. You yelped but the sound didn’t interfere with the two arguing creatures. It reached towards the metal mask that covered it face and stopped where its mouth would be. A sharpened claw tapped at its mouth area. All you could do was furrow your brows.
The creature finally realize you weren’t following along in its game of charades and called out to the disputing duo. Both whipped their heads at Orange and growled. Orange only huffed and motioned towards you yet speaking in the same language. One you didn’t understand. Dust rolled its eyes before strolling over to the two of you and kneeling a respectful distance away. You stayed semi pressed against Orange, finding little comfort in it.
“Ooman-“ you felt yourself about to faint again but somehow kept it together. “You are not supposed to be here,” it spoke a very deep, vibrating voice that was hard to even understand.
Despite the terror that filled your veins, you timidly looked at it in those bright eyes that nearly glowed in the darkness. “Where, where is here-here?” you sputtered and clutched both hands tightly to your chest.
Dust held up its arm, bent at the elbow, and pressed a button on the metal gauntlet that hugged its forearm. As if out of a sci-fi movie, a hologram floated inches above the gauntlet. It was of a planet or sorts. With its free hand, it pointed at the sphere. “Here. On a planet. Not Earth.” It struggled to say the word ‘earth’ which Orange snickered out. Dust just glared at it.
This had you sitting up straighter and slightly leaning closer to Dust. “What?!” you shouted at the top of your lungs then slapped a hand over your loudmouth. “Sorry, sorry.” You took a deep breath then focused on Dust. “Where am I? And, and how did I get here?” Your voice took a turn towards silence as you tried not to sob your heart out.
Red clicked its mandibles together and gazed at Dust with a harsh look. All Dust did was nothing to Red. “You were an accident. You are not what we hunt. It would be pointless to kill you, not a trophy worthy to take,” it explained nonchalantly. Its body was at ease, eyes partially hooded and each blink slow.
Your head swirled with the new information, chest beginning to heave once more with rapid breaths. Red scoffed and muttered something out loud. Neither creature reacted to it. “Kill me?” That was mainly stuck in your head now. Kill? “What is going on?!” you snapped at them, acting out for a fleeting moment before curling up again and leaning against Orange’s shins without noticing.
The creature before you sighed and shook its bowed head then returned its vision back on you. “We are hunters. You are prey. Though, not worthy prey. We won’t kill you. There must have been a mix-up and they nabbed you instead.”
Dust motioned around him. “This planet is a game reserve where we capture and drop off prey we see as worthy enough to hunt. We hunt said prey. This includes a few ooman as yourself.”
The pieces to the puzzle were finally put together but the order wasn’t something you enjoyed. Especially when it meant you weren’t in your place nor your bed, somewhere not your home. “Wait! Does that mean you’re aliens?” you asked suddenly. Red rolled its eyes and glared at you.
“Yes, primitively,” Dust answered then stood up. “Since we have no reason to hunt you nor can we return you back home, you are now… what that called? Stuck between a rock and a hard place?” Orange began to converse in what must be their language. Dust raised a singular brow at Orange. Red spat out. “Tei does have a point. We are at fault.”
Red’s mandibles flared out with roar as he faced off Dust. You shoved yourself further against Orange for protection at the sight. Orange seemed to snicker and patted your head again. This must be a normal occurrence if Orange was at ease at the sight.
Neither made move or went for the other’s throat. Thankfully. You didn’t know if you would survive the brawl if it had made its way over to you.
A growl echoed from Red’s chest before about-facing and marching away into the darkness. You whimpered and stayed exactly where you were until a dust colored hand entered your vision. “Come along, little ooman. You are now under our supervision due to this accident,” Dust spoke calmly and tugged you to your feet after you took his offer.
“I have not been around a ooman for quite some time. You will have to remind me your dietary requirements.” Dust left your personal space to roost in a spot on the ground and against a fallen log. It picked up a knife and some sort of stone.
You swallowed and licked at your cracking lips. Dietary requirements. These things must eat differently. “Well, um, meat is a good start. Vegetables are good as well. Um… Water, I guess.” It felt strange to list these things to it but if it kept you alive, that’s all that mattered.   “But… I do have a question if that’s okay.”
Dust shrugged. Confused, you decided to take your chance. “What are you guys? And what about names?” If you were to be around these aliens, you wanted to know the basics. Like their names.
Orange sprung up from behind you to stand before you and grabbed at your shoulders. The alien whipped its head to look at Dust and sprout out some nonsense by the sounds of it. Dust used a hand to slow down Orange’s speech before letting it continue.
At the end, Dust shook its large head. “He wants to tell you our names but he hasn’t even learned the basics of ooman language,” Dust explained the situation. “As for our names, I guess that is something we can relent since it’s our fault you are here.” He cleared his throat then continued. “I am called T’a’yta. The excited youngling is Con’tei. The grump who had just walked off is Dai’stbaen. Don’t be frightened by him. He’s just grumpy.”
T'a’yta. Con’tei. Dai’stbaen. The first two were easier to remember and hopefully pronounce. But the last one, it threw you into a twist and a growing headache. “Thank you,” you spoke of your appreciation to… T’a’yta. The alien dipped his head.
“For food, Con’tei can retrieve it for you. We have a database on what is safe for oomans on this planet.” God, you hadn’t even thought about that! Different planet meant different foods.
“Lastly, water.” T’a’yta held up a pouch that looked to be made from the skin of an animal to you. “It is clean, I promise. I know how oomans are frail when it comes to bacteria or something along those lines.”
Timidly, you tip-toed your way over to him and took the bag from him. It took you a moment to figure out how to untie the knot around the tip and sip from it. Once finished you handed it back to him then stood there awkwardly for a moment.
“Find a place and rest,” T’a’yta spoke up while he worked on sharpening his knife. You jumped slightly at his words then nodded to yourself.
Through the darkness, you found a comfortable spot a little ways away from the last remaining alien. He paid no attention to you while you sat down and hugged your knees closely. A deep breath filled your lungs but didn’t ease any of the tension that constricted your body. This had become your new life.
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discopaddock · 6 days
Text
THE MAIN CHARACTER FROM MY BOOK - SEBASTIAN VETTEL
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SUMMARY: reader is only a fantasy and romance writer and a huge fan of sebastian. he's fan of her book. when he reveals that to the public there's no way their fans are going to lose an opportunity to have them meet.
PAIRING: rbr!sebastian vettel and author!reader
GENRE: smau, fluff pure fluff!!!
WORD COUNT: +/- 1K
WARNINGS: none
AUTHOR'S NOTE: hiya! this was based on this request! also if you see any similarities to one of @hrts4scarr ’s recent works, that's because we got the same request! also go check scar’s work, it's so cool! once again, english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes!
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“You’ve checked Twitter recently?” Senna, Y/N’s manager from the publishing house, asked extra happily. The author only shook her head between drinking water, exhausted from another day of signing books for long hours.
Of course it wasn't that she didn't like it! She loved it! But if she was doing it for eight hours six days a week for two months now it was getting boring.
“Then do it!” Senna said, almost shrieking.
Y/N only gasped but opened her laptop and searched Twitter to see her whole feed in Tweets of Sebastian Vettel talking about her book.
That Sebastian Vettel she had the biggest crush on and created him in her book series.
The author looked at the other girl with opened mouth and she only said:
“You're gonna see him tomorrow, we've already arranged it with Red Bull. Sign some books for him with special dedications baby”
Y/N only started smiling like a stupid teenage girl.
Oh what she was gonna do in front of Sebastian?
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Nice is beautiful.
And so is Monaco.
Sebastian found himself in a car in the passenger seat. He wasn't sure where he was going. He only understood that there will be books? Like a lot of books.
He entered the library with his PR manager and some photographer and when he saw that one book on the poster, he immediately knew why he was there.
There weren't a lot of people.
The queue to the author desk wasn't too long, only five people before him.
Sebastian knew that the author of his beloved book was pretty attractive. He had seen her photos on her website.
But in real life she was even a hundred times prettier than in photos.
He was close to saying she was beautiful in that interview. So close but he didn't for his own sake. Now he could say it to the first person that walked beside him.
Finally the queue ended and he was standing in front of the girl.
“Hi, I'm Sebastian” he said only with a smile on his face and she quickly stood up from her chair and fixed her hair.
“Hello, I'm Y/N” she answered with a shy grin and shook his hand.
“I can say that I'm a fan of your writing,” Sebastian announced with a laugh, making her blush.
Mein Gott, she looks so pretty with rosy cheeks – he thought. My God
“Great, because I have something for you” she said and showed him all of her books excluding “Young and beautiful”. “For you, for the longer flights to Australia” she added.
Oh, Sebastian was speechless. He didn't expect to get anything from her, especially since he found out about meeting her like half an hour ago.
“Oh, thank you so much!” he said with a big smile and looked at all the books. The covers were pretty, just like her.
“I don't know if fantasy is your favorite, so I put here most of the romances I have” Y/N laughed a little, looking at him as he carefully watched all of the books.
“I actually like it a lot, even if I don't look like it” he answered, holding in his hands the book where he was in as the main character.
He read the text at the back and when he saw a review from a Twitter user he couldn't believe it.
“Book is great, especially since Hugo gives me major Sebastian Vettel vibes”
“Haha, what is this?” he asked, showing her the review and she only blushed and shrugged.
“Well, I can say that I was lacking in character personalities” she wasn't, he put him in that book on purse. She was writing that book on Wattpad years ago before it was published, when she was watching him in Formula 3.5 and was dreaming of him.
As if she wasn't doing it now.
“Okay, I'll remember that,” he said and laughed. Oh, she loved his laugh. His laugh on TV wasn't as good as in real life.
She was in love with him.
She thought to herself that she was crazy.
But did he care? No, he didn't. Not at all.
“Can I get your number? I want to do something for you as a thank you” Sebastian asked and Y/M speechless and in shock, nodded and grabbed a pen and one of the books to write the number next to the dedication. “I'll text you, don't worry” he winked at her and left with his team and all the books in his hands.
Getting Paddock Passes for the European Grand Prix didn't sound wrong, did it?
And with that Y/N ended in the Red Bull garage in Valencia, extremely happy since it was her first Grand Prix in real life ever.
Also when the fans saw the photos of their little meet up in Nice they went crazy. She had never seen anything like shipping her with someone before that but did she like it? Yes, because Sebastian seemed to like her too.
And now he looked so hot in post race glow and champagne.
“Hey Y/N, I was thinking if you would want to join me at dinner after the whole post win thing?” Seb asked when he came back to the garage, covered in sticky alcohol.
“I don't want to intrude on you-”
“You won't! I'm the one who's asking you to join me” he smiled at her shy personality. She was adorable as hell.
“Okay, I'll go” Y/N said and Sebastian grinned widened and he left a kiss on her cheek.
“See you soon, pretty girl” he said and left to take a shower. She was just standing here without any words, red on face and with butterflies in her stomach.
Oh the thing that she had for Sebastian was big, very, very big.
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masterlist
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dreamersparacosm · 1 year
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austin butler - clumsy
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warnings ; none
prompt ; in which your celebrity crush causes you to become a flustered, blubbering mess.
a/n ; a little something fun i wrote during the fall but never published! it’s basically anxious!reader and honestly how I imagine myself reacting to meeting aus so enjoy xoxo
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Okay, don’t panic.
Do not panic.
It’s just a man. A man with blonde, curly locks, blue eyes, over 6 feet tall… but still, a man. Nothing special. You could probably find ten of him walking down Rodeo Drive.
Except that’s probably not true either.
It is Austin Butler, after all.
You hike the tail of your dress higher as you descend up the stairs to the red carpet, inhaling as much oxygen as possible to tame your nerves. It does nothing for you beside provide a placebo effect of calmness. Your publicist, Jane, stands next to you with her eyebrows furrowed in permanent worry, a crinkle she’s had since the day she took you on. “[Y/N], did you get a chance to look at your seating arrangement?”
“Uh, no, not yet,” You respond slowly, wincing slightly as you brace yourself for her reaction. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning towards you.
“You know what, that’s fine, sweets. Just go stand on the carpet so we can take these pictures,” She goes back to her clipboard full of tedious things like timing and interviewers and stupid seating arrangements, and you’re trying to stay focused, but how can you do that when Austin Butler is standing 8 feet away from you, posing on the red carpet?
You’re pretty sure you’re drooling.
Whoever keeps leaving his shirts unbuttoned is a menace to society and needs to be locked away for endangerment to the general public.
This whole idiotic schoolgirl crush began relatively long ago, when he was still deeply in love with Vanessa Hudgens and playing a teen heartthrob on The Carrie Diaries. You weren’t even famous at that point, just a mediocre commercial actress trying to get her big break. Once you finally booked your first big role, the crush faded away (only the tiniest amount) but that all came crashing down like an avalanche when you saw Elvis with your best friend.
They probably could’ve posted the entire movie on a porn website and made the same amount of money. And, thus, your crush ensued, full throttle and invading your every thought at the worst moments. Including this one.
Jane kicks the back of your leg, cursing under her breath as you tear your eyes away from him. You’re not new to this scene, you’ve been in major leading roles and you’ve been nominated for Oscars. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that at your core, you are a complete and utter mess. A klutz. A loser with some money in the bank.
So, you take the pictures, with not too many mistakes as you expected, just a few shots of you blinking while smiling. You’re sure they’ll end up on Twitter where your fans will laugh about it while saying how much they love you.
This part always goes by fast. It’s camera flashes, smiles that are strained under the bright lights, talks with interviewers that always go far longer than expected, and then before you know it, you’re being ushered into a tight room with celebrities you had only dreamed of seeing in real life. Jane is glued to your side as you wait for your turn to enter the theater.
Despite the cool temperature of Los Angeles, you’re somehow drenched in sweat. You’ve done this before, you know that. But that doesn’t stop your entire body from going into fight or flight mode, teetering towards flight.
“What’s the hold up?” You hear a female’s voice yell out, and you almost think it’s Jane before you hear her chuckle beside you.
“Speak that truth. I am so sick of these fucking Oscars dimwits wasting my time,” Jane says loudly enough for the girl to hear it, and before you know it, they’re enthralled in a full-blown conversation. If you weren’t trying to fan your armpit sweat, you might’ve joined.
Maybe it’s a good idea to find out where you’re sitting. Probably will need to know that before you enter. You can only assume they’ll sit you next to your last co-star, Timothee Chalamet. What a delight that would be (and that’s not sarcasm, he always smells like cashmere and some type of forest.)
You turn your body slightly, eyeing Jane and the girl she’s talking to. She’s a redhead, also wearing a suit and clearly another publicist that has been in the position for far too long to enjoy it.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a male figure standing next to the redhead. Hm. A black suit. Your eyes trail over his body, a soft black lace shirt that is half-unbuttoned peeking over the hem. How nice. You love that look on men.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Your body freezes. Mouth runs dry. Sweat shrivels back up into your body only to start forming at impossible speeds. Heart palpates so quickly you think you might be going into cardiac arrest.
In front of you, is Austin Butler. And he completely, totally, entirely, caught you checking out his entire body, head to toe.
There’s a smirk on his face that is undeniably directed towards you, eyes glimmering with amusement. You can’t even believe that you’re looking directly at him. He can’t be real, he has to be a figment of your imagination.
“Come here often?”
You did not just speak.
No, you didn’t. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have been what you just said. After years of dreaming about this moment, that can’t have been what your brain and tongue agreed on.
He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles through his chest, and says, “I try not to make it a habit. You?”
You entangle your fingers with each other, hoping the sweat that has gathered on them just slides right off. “Me either. Trying to cut down on my presence and all that.”
He raises his eyebrows quizzically, that soft smile that curves upon his lips widening a little, “Well, can’t say the Oscars is the best place to do that.”
“Yes, well…” You trail off. Thoughts empty. Brain just a shallow void with nothing but dirty, filthy fantasies about him floating around. Oh god, get a grip.
And he should end the conversation right there, then back around and not acknowledge the weird girl who clearly hasn’t had enough media training. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and says, “I’m Austin. Austin Butler.”
“I know,” You say almost immediately. His facial expression contorts into something unreadable, and your lips flap again to try and salvage the rest of your dignity. “I’m [Y/N].”
You shake his hand, praying to some otherworldly creature above that he won’t feel the sweat on your hands. It’s a little weird, when you touch his hand. Feels like you’re envisioning yourself with him, like you’re some kind of wizard that can tell it won’t be the last time you see him. It feels a little like something out of a rom-com, with the electricity zap and the sounds of your hearts beating erratically.
You both pull your hands away, smiling to the ground. You really, really, really hope he’ll keep talking to you.
“Nervous?” He asks, taking note of the way your thumbs twiddle and the sidestep you keep doing with your heels.
“A little. Kinda. Maybe,” You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not really the most organized.”
“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be great,” His grin widens just enough to show off his pearly white teeth that glimmer under the remaining sunlight that California has to offer.
“Thanks,” You smile back. “How about you? Nervous?”
“Always,” He responds, almost taken aback by the transparency he’s having with another celebrity. He’s never had a conversation about nerves, never felt validated enough by someone to open up about the fear that comes along with being at this level of fame. “It’s my first Oscars.”
“Right,” You say, “Well, I’ve been to a few, and honestly, I’ll let you in on a secret. Even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself a little when the nominees are announced.”
He lets out a laugh, a real one, one that sounds like all good things in the world and you would be more than happy to capture it in a jar and keep it on your bedside forever. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” He switches gears, shifting his body around a little. “What afterparty are you going to?”
It’s a simple question, one you’ve been asked numerous times by other people in the industry. It usually offers a sense of dominance over who got the better invite. “Er, yes, that would be a question for my lovely publicist, Jane, because I don’t have a rat’s ass idea of where I’m supposed to go.”
He laughs. Again. Part of you is enthralled, part of you is confused as to why he thinks you’re a comedy show. Maybe he thinks you’re a joke. Yes, that makes good sense. “That honestly makes me feel better because I don’t really know where I’m going either,” He admits.
“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously. “You look like that and you don’t know where you’re going? I think the President of the Academy Awards has a personal invite waiting for you.”
Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But really, it has to be blamed on the fact that there are a swarm of murderous bees flying around in your stomach that are making you feel woozy.
His cheeks turn a crimson glow, “Like that?”
“Oh, you know…” You trail, slowly laughing to brush off the fact that you basically just admitted your undying love to him. “Just…. That’s a great black shirt. I’m gonna buy one for my brother.”
His lips curve upwards a little more, blue eyes sparkling like little oceans. “Thanks. And, you know, you don’t look bad yourself.”
You blink twice. Did he just say that?
Before you even whip up a flirty comment, or even a funny one that’ll have him doubling over in laughter and proposing to you by tonight, you feel Jane gripping your forearm tightly. “Stop dicking around, [Y/N]. We need to go in.”
“Right, yes, totally,” You smile awkwardly over to Austin, and he returns it. You feel soft and warm and glowy inside, like you might levitate off the floor.
And then you really are levitating off the floor, because your feet miss the step and you’re falling before you even have a chance to stop yourself. Your arm extends to try and delay your inevitable fall, but it doesn’t work and you’re really sprawled out. Immediately, Jane rushes down to try and drag you up, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.
You nod slightly, balancing yourself on your knees. Thankfully, you think the vast majority of people have entered the theater and missed out on your embarrassment of epic proportions.
Well, maybe not everyone.
Suddenly, like a light peeking from beyond the clouds, you see an outstretched hand to your right. It’s tan, a male’s hand for sure. You look up to see who could possibly be nice enough to help you up. Maybe it’s God telling you it’s time to pass away.
It’s Austin. And he has a really worried look on his face that you’re shocked by, but his expression falters once he sees the look on your face. You’re smiling, a real big goofy one, because it’s so ridiculous and he’s so ridiculous and you’re pretty sure one of your heels is broken.
You place your hand in his, and his other hand wraps around your waist to help you up and steady yourself against him. Once you’re finally standing, he grins, leaning into your ear, “Remember, even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself at the table.”
You don’t even realize his arm is still wrapped around your waist until you notice the absence of it. You giggle lightly, biting your lip. “Of course. And I think I saw Brad Pitt throw up in the bathroom last year.”
“Austin, we gotta go,” His publicist grabs his hand, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You almost think he does too, his blue eyes turning grayish as he looks back at her.
“Right,” He clears his throat. “Well, good luck tonight, [Y/N]. I hope you win.”
“You too,” The smile on your face is probably permanently tattooed on. You feel Jane’s hand on your back, slowly moving you away from him although your feet beg to stay.
“Oh, and [Y/N]?” You turn back around to face him, “Big fan of your work.”
With that, he turns away with his publicist to go and find his seat amongst the crowd. You watch him disappear, an indescribable feeling washing over your entire body. You’re also being whisked away to your table, greeted by familiar faces and friends. But it’s pretty clear that’s not the reason why you’re smiling.
Some part of your brain decides on one thing: this won’t be the last time you see him.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
You decide that you like California. Not a whole lot, but enough to make you sign a contract for a new film. Normally, you believe that Los Angeles and all its surrounding cities are a dreadful structure that encapsulates all the worst features of privileged Southern California lifestyle. But the food is undeniably tasty, and your new apartment is decorated with high ceilings and well-lit rooms, so you’ll make do. You’ll be filming in sunny Calabasas, where the houses are painted a perfect shade of white, where time stills a little and every cloud is just the right amount of fluffy.
The Oscar’s had came and went, and you won, to no one’s surprise but your own. With that accomplishment came offers. People really, truly wanted to work with you, and although it baffled you, Jane was having the time of her life coordinating auditions and interviews.
Everything was truly perfect.
You flip through the pages of your fresh script, your manicured nails turning through the warm pages, the black ink bleeding onto the sheets. Jane sits across from you, feverishly scribbling something, negotiating your pay for your new film. She’ll deliver. In the end, she always does.
She hangs up her call, sighing from relief. You’re about to ask her how it went, if you got the price you wanted, before her phone blares again with that god awful ringtone she refuses to change. She answers it, a cheerful tone in her voice, “Kate? So good to hear from you! What’s going on?”
You tune out of her conversation, focusing your eyes back on the mass of paper in front of you. A new story to be told. A new character to embody. A new chapter of your life. It’s all very emotional and sappy and you almost want to cry tears of happiness, but you’ll save that for later, once you get home and crack open a bottle of wine.
You hear Jane place her phone down, and your eyes flicker back up to her. There’s an expression on her face that’s unreadable, and you’re unsure of how to process it. Oh, no. If you didn’t get the price you wanted, that would suck. Or, maybe you did and she’s just unsure on how to process emotion. You always thought she was a robot.
“I just had the weirdest phone call,” She finally speaks, scratching her forehead quizzically.
“What’s up?” You ask mindlessly, certain she’s going to tell you something personal like her cousin getting married to a farmer.
“That was Austin Butler’s publicist. She said he’s been asking about you since the Oscars.”
There’s no fucking way. She’s pranking you. Any second now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out behind the doorframe and say “You’ve been Punk’d!” and then maybe he’ll also bring out Austin to further your embarrassment.
“Excuse me?” You blink.
“Yeah,” She seems just as baffled as you are. “She said he’s been trying to find a way to get in contact with you, but turns out, you guys don’t have a lot of mutual friends.”
Well, that makes sense.
She continues on, “Anyway, she gave me his number and then said he wants to ask you on a date. So, do with that what you will.”
She unlocks her phone, slides it across the table to you, and you see a phone number typed into her notes. Your hand trembles as you pick up the iPhone, copying the number into your own contacts. You feel woozy, just like you did on that red carpet, just like you did the moment you locked eyes with him.
“Right, well,” You clear your throat. “I’ll just step outside and call him real quick.”
She nods, raising one eyebrow. There’s a small grin that appears on her lips, a knowing one, and you slide out the door into the hallway.
You don’t know what comes over you, or what demon compels you, but you click the number. You hear the ring. There’s a pause. Your heart drops as you think that he might not answer.
And then you hear him. His voice.
“Hello?”
“Uh, h-hi. Hi. This is, um, [Y/N]. Your publicist gave me your number.”
It almost sounds ridiculous.
“[Y/N]. You know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you but turns out you’re not an easy person to reach,” You can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, you know me and my presence. All time low,” You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.
“Right. Well, congratulations on your win. Very well-deserved,” His voice is deeper than you remember. There’s a slight desire that pools between your legs for a moment before you snap yourself back into reality.
“You too. Some would call it the performance of the year,” And you can’t even believe it’s happening. You’re really flirting with him.
“Thank you,” He says so softly, so charming. He’s always grateful and humble, and it makes you even more attracted to him. If that’s even possible at this point. “So, do you think there’s a chance you would allow me to take you out to dinner? Somewhere lowkey, you know, for your presence and all?”
The question is so unbelievable that you can’t even take it in. You make a few sounds, splutter over your words and trip over them like you did your own two feet at the Oscars. Your heartbeat travels up to your eardrum, pounding with every ounce of blood that travels through you. “U-uh, umm… well, you know, let me go ahead and check my schedule.” There’s a pause. You cover the reciever and scream a silent yell into the void, jumping a few feet high.
Clearing your throat, you say, “Hm. Seems like I’m free tomorrow.”
“You can’t do tonight?”
The question takes you aback. Surely, he can’t be asking that because he wants to see you. “Oh, why? Are you leaving California tomorrow?”
“Not at all,” You hear him shuffle. “I just really want to take you out.”
“Right, yes, of course.” You let his question hang in the air. You know your answer, but you like letting him think there’s a possibility you might reject him.
“I am free tonight.”
“Great,” His voice is upbeat, a newfound excitement peeking through. “Well, text me your address. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
“Yup, totally. Super duper cool. Looking really forward to it,” You babble on, pacing the hallway you’ve trapped yourself in.
He lets out a low laugh, “Me too. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, [Y/N].”
You say your goodbyes, leaning against the wall for stability before you collapse into a puddle. Later, a janitor might come to find your lifeless body glued to the wall. Cause of death? Man built like a Greek god asks woman on date.
But, everything is fine. You’ll somehow make it.
There’s a ridiculous feeling in your heart, a warmth that spreads to your toes and fingers. Now, everything is perfect.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
masterlist + request
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httpskuzuu · 6 months
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Softer
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hola :D fyodor is alive - fyodor esta vivo I was thinking about making a masterlist or something like that, I don't know if when I upload this I will have it published or how I will do it
anyway, I really liked this and enjoyed writing it, it's longer than I usually post but Idk, by the way, I hated translating this, it was a pain in the ass, but that's what I get for joining a mostly English community ññññññññññññ-- well, this is mostly inspired by Sinner by TheBloodySadist, you can find it in Ao3 if you want to read it, I had an obsession with it a few months xd
jaja this has gone on too long, well, adiós adiós :p
Yandere!Fyodor x Reader
English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes
sumary: You tried to escape and now you have to take the consequences, but you make something change in Fyodor... (juju, mistery >:p) Pt.2
tw: yandere behavior, kidnapping, failed escape attempt, explicit punishment, explicit violence, blood, broken bones, humiliation¿, manipulation, brainwashing, stockholm syndrome, reader needs therapy, stabbing, nudity, sedative, Fyodor is a fucking tw
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You tremble under the weight of the boot on your ribs, you swear that at some point you hear them cracking along with an agonizing pain throughout your body.
The pressure on your body makes it impossible for you to breathe properly, which is a serious problem considering you are hyperventilating. Every breath burns your exhausted lungs and aggravates the pain.
You'd ask Fyodor to kill you already if it weren't for the fact that your throat is in a terrible condition from so much screaming and pleading.
"Well, I see I can't trust you, can I?" Despite the situation, Fyodor's tone provokes you inner anger, sounding so sarcastic. Something deep inside you tells you it's not sarcasm, it's concern, but you can't believe it, especially not coming from Fyodor.
You imagine that, if you had the strength at this moment, you would kill him with your own hands. You know well you wouldn't be able to, but it's pleasant to think about it.
"I do everything for you, and still you try to escape." He puts more pressure against your ribs and you've never felt as much pain as you do now. "You spoiled brat." He growls and his Russian accent becomes much thicker.
He removes his foot from your body and you can breathe. Relief courses through your veins and, out of pure instinct, you thank him for that act of kindness. He could have stretched it out longer, put more pressure on you and broken your ribs more, but he was merciful and gave you a break…. A break, you know that your punishment is not yet over.
You don't know yourself and your thoughts. One thing you have to hand it to Fyodor is that his training is really effective, but you're tougher than that, or at least you like to think so. Realistically, right now, you just want to curl up against him.
A kick in the side snaps you out of your thoughts, you moan and cry from the pain, your throat burning with fire. You never want to utter a sound again in your life after this.
"Aw, you poor thing… Does it hurt? Now you know how I feel every time you leave me." He's lying, you know that, but that doesn't take away the guilt that settles in your head free-form.
You shouldn't have run away, Fyodor isn't even that bad if you behaved: no gratuitous physical harm and he takes better care of you than you could ask of a kidnapper. You were an idiot, you deserved all this for not appreciating your life with Fyodor properly. God… Why did you try to escape in the first place? The Russian would always would catch you, you were just causing trouble.
Ignoring your destroyed throat, you decide to speak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't try to escape again. Please give me another chance, I'll be good…"
Fyodor kneels down next to your agonized body. He puts his hand against your tear-stained cheek, at first you flinch, thinking he was going to hurt you more, but then you lean almost automatically against his cold hand.
You cry harder as you feel Fyodor's gentle touch, you don't quite understand what's wrong with you, you just know that you want to melt against his hand. You close your eyes and tremble. You want a hug from him, you know you shouldn't want that, that it's disgusting, he kidnapped you and hurt you, but at a time like this, when you've been disobedient, he's still showing you affection….
"Shh, it's okay, милый." He catches the falling tears with his thumb. "I know you're sorry, but your punishment isn't over yet." You automatically tense up and slowly open your eyes to look at the man in front of you, there is a smirk of superiority painted on his face, observing your pathetic appearance.
You don't dare open your mouth to complain because deep down you know very well that you deserve it, you deserve the pain for being so bratty and causing inconvenience to Fyodor. You accept what lies ahead of you and let Fyodor pull his hand away from you.
With his grip firmly on your hip, he guides you to turn around. You keep the cheek that was previously receiving the loving touch against the ground a thousand times colder than Fyodor.
You concentrate exclusively on the Russian's hands, it's just an idiotic attempt to ignore the pain all over your body. He pulls up your shirt, leaving your back bare against the cold, why is everything so cold all of a sudden? Fyodor is too, in a way he brings you peace of mind, it's like he's everywhere, even in the air…. What the hell are you thinking? You firmly believe you're delusional at this point, these are not your real thoughts, it's clear to you, he put all these idiotic ideas in your head and now you can't get them out. It's agonizing in a certain way.
The only thing you hear is your irregular breathing, if it wasn't for Fyodor's hand clamped on your hip, you would think you were alone right now, and you don't know if you would like that more or less.
Something sharpening presses against your upper back. Everything breaks down in a moment as Fyodor makes a straight cut across your entire back. It hurts horrendously, especially as the blood starts to spurt out. You start to feel dizzy and for a few moments you convince yourself you're going to pass out, but no, your body is still holding on, focused solely on Fyodor's hand.
"Breathe, моя любовь. It's just a cut." You repeat Fyodor's last sentence in your head like a mantra: it's just a cut, it's just a cut. He could have done it much worse to you, you were fine, just a cut.
You take comfort in closing your eyes hard and imagining that you are once again a child at the doctor's office, that you are simply having blood drawn for a blood test because you have not been feeling very well lately. You make a fist with your hand and clench it, digging your fingernails deep into your palm, it's as if you are clutching the hand of one of your parents for comfort. There is no more pain, it's okay, it's all right-
Another cut, this time horizontal, creates a cross on your back. You don't care, you're at the hospital, and you're safe, nothing will happen to you. It's just a cut.
Fyodor stabs the weapon into your side. You open your eyes wide as a torn scream comes out of your mouth.
Fuck it all, do you really deserve this? Have you been so horrible? You assume that Fyodor simply hates you, that he wants to torture you.
Fyodor pulls the weapon out of your body, you look out of the corner of your eye and the wound doesn't seem to be that bad, you thought it was deeper because of the pain, but no, it was something apparently superficial. You didn't want to know how much it would hurt if he had really stabbed you deeper.
Fyodor's voice right next to your ear startles you. "Sorry, was that too much? Did I hurt my little one too much?" That mocking tone again, but you hear a hint of love and concern, or so you assume. No, it's impossible for Fyodor to hate you, if he hated you there wasn't that hint of love, was there? If he hated you, he wouldn't say to you like that: my little one, his little one.
"I can't take it anymore! Please, Fyodor!" He leaves a chaste kiss on the back of your neck, and you cry disconsolately, you don't know why, but you do know it's not because of the pain, the pain doesn't matter anymore.
"You can." Fyodor's voice is the ultimate authority right now, and if he says you can take it, it's because you can. "You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"
After those words you instantly panic, you desperately shake your head, of course you don't want to disappoint him! You have to accept your punishment, it was your fault in the first place.
"Brace yourself, dear." Fyodor leaves a trail of kisses from the nape of your neck all the way down your back, above the vertical cut. You assume he's filled his lips with blood and hate yourself at the thought of how attractive he'd look like that.
A new cut interrupts your hatred. You scream, but nothing more, you can take it, for Fyodor….
It's just one cut.
You don't know how many cuts there are next, you are not able to count them. You don't feel your throat anymore, but miraculously it still works, your screams are still coming out of it, you are relieved because you still want to keep your voice to talk to Fyodor, to ask him to hold you.
Fyodor removes your shirt completely and lays it aside on the floor. He holds you firmly and helps you sit up, any movement is hell for your ribs, but you endure it by concentrating on your kidnapper, on his loving but steadfast touch.
You look at him dizzy, teary-eyed and shattered. He is smiling, you have not disappointed him. Your head hurts as you cry disconsolately against his chest again.
"What's wrong? Why are you crying now? Your punishment is over, I won't hurt you anymore."
"You…" You're unable to speak, it's too much at once, the pain and your thoughts coming together in a ball of discomfort. You shake your head and hug him tightly.
"Are you afraid?" You weakly shake your head. It's true that Fyodor scares you, especially on these occasions when he punishes you, but you're not crying about it now.
Funny, you don't know why you're crying, but you do know what you're not crying about.
Fyodor is silent, thinking about why you're crying. "Is it about the pain?" You deny again.
Fyodor hums thoughtfully. "If you don't tell me what it is, I can't help you." You ponder on that: does he want to help you? Is he serious?
You make the feeble attempt to gather your thoughts and speak. "It's just- I don't know" Your voice comes out shakier than you wish it would. "When you touch me… It feels so good, I don't deserve it, I don't-"
"Oh, I see… Aren't you crying because of something bad? Is it because it feels good?" You nod quickly, yes, that's as close as you feel. You're happy when it touches you, when it's good to you. Were you crying out of happiness? Well, you guess so, although it feels more depressing.
"It's okay, relax." He leaves a kiss in front, and it breaks you inside. "You've taken the punishment very well, come on, you deserve to be taken care of."
The process of getting up from the floor is horrible, not only because of the pain all over your body and your numb legs, but because your mind doesn't stop spinning around Fyodor's last sentence. It feels horrible and so good at the same time that your mind is only around one specific person.
He helps you up and you let him lean your useless body against his. He guides you through the house, being patient with your slow pace. He's mostly silent, except when he tells you how well you're doing or that not long to go. Since when did Fyodor know how to talk so pleasantly?
You reach the bathroom, he sits you on the toilet and turns on the bathtub faucet. While it is filling, Fyodor takes some pills out of a drawer that you have always found locked. You don't know what the pills are or what they're for, but he hands you one and you take it without question.
You let your head fall against Fyodor's stomach, even though he is standing upright he doesn't move an inch and lets you be comfortable, he strokes your hair and you sigh lovingly. You don't deserve it, but you need more of this Fyodor, the soft Fyodor who takes care of you and makes you feel good, what did you have to do in the future to keep it in this shape? If you need to be damaged for that, well, you are willing to do it.
"The tub is full." He warns and moves a little away from you, causing you to raise your head. You miss a little that he's touching you, even though he's only been separated of you for three seconds. He holds you under your armpits and helps you up. "I need you to stand up on your own, can you, дорогой?"
You try not to focus so much on Fyodor asking you if you could do it instead of just sending you the order, and focus on standing on your own.
The Russian undresses you completely, his hands are soft, and you feel them all over your body. They are so cold, and you are so cold too now that you are naked. You are vulnerable, now more than ever, and Fyodor's fixed gaze on you disturbs you. You are simply an easy prey to hunt, his prey.
He doesn't look like a hunter now, as much as his gaze is like knives stabbing through every spot he focuses on, you think he's not doing it on purpose. Fyodor doesn't know how to be nice, he never has. He knows how to be neutral: he can keep you alive and give you necessities, but he can't kiss you and keep you warm.
But there's something wrong with all this, he's being warm because since when are his hands so soft against your battered body? You need him, you need him so much it hurts, is this his way of being nice? Okay, fine, you accept it without complaint.
When he puts you in the tub you want to die, the cuts on your back burn at the contact of the water. You don't dare say a word at that or ask Fyodor to pull you out, you're afraid you'll upset him, that he'll get tired of you being so weak and whiny and stop being gentle. Fyodor could have left you lying on the cold floor, bleeding, but he didn't. You can't be an unbearable child to him.
The Russian starts washing your body, putting special emphasis on your cuts and the wound on your side. You look at his serious face with need, why were you only now realizing how handsome he was? Mmmh, you must have been blind before. He notices obviously your shy look on his lips and he smiles, that smile indicating that he was superior to you and despite that, he was still keeping you alive and forgiving of everything you did.
He approaches you and gives you the only thing you needed to be satisfied for today: a kiss. It reminds you of all the good things, strangely enough in those memories Fyodor also appears and disturbs you minimally.
You question yourself that, maybe, Fyodor does know how to be gentle.
This is the proof you need to know that now this was a new version, right? He kissed you. You feel a warmth spreading throughout your body, now it is warm, and his hands are warm too. There is a big change in temperature and it feels like heaven.
After that, Fyodor continued to wash you with special care, ignoring how your face might explode from how red it was.
The only thing that could crush the heat was tiredness, you almost fell asleep a couple of times, but you didn't want to fall asleep because it would be like wasting time with this soft Fyodor, what if tomorrow he returned to his serious and impassive face? You can't waste this time or you would regret it.
"Go to sleep, take it easy. I'll take you to bed when I'm finished." You looked at him as the most merciful being in the world. He cared about you…
You hold back your sobs for these acts of kindness, you don't want to cry anymore, not only to avoid possible discomfort in Fyodor, but for yourself, the headache is unbearable.
You let yourself fall asleep, with your head supported on your knees and Fyodor's soothing touch.
You had a nightmare which you don't remember, or don't want to remember. You wake up with your body held in Fyodor's arms, warm and gentle.
Since when did everything become so homey? Homey? Would that be the right word? Describing any situation involving Fyodor with that word doesn't feel natural to you.
You find it hard to feel your body, and your thoughts don't flow as quickly and aggressively as they used to. It's like being enveloped in a cloud, full of comfort and calmness.
You just feel something on your side, at the site of the shallow stab wound. You think maybe it's some bandage, but your limbs are asleep and too comfortable against Fyodor to move them to check. Otherwise, you feel nothing, only someone else's hand on your lower belly, it's extremely intimate in your perspective.
You turn your sleepy head and glance sideways at Fyodor. He seems calm, looking at you, his face is emotionless again and it scares you. You come to convince yourself that he is still the soft Fyodor, if he wasn't his hand wouldn't be on you, he still hasn't changed, you repeat that to yourself until you believe it.
"… Fyodor, do you know what?" Your voice comes out weak and hoarse, you wonder how soon your throat will heal. You're thankful you can't feel it well, so there's no pain anymore.
"Mmmh?"
"I think I love you."
"Do you?" There is a change, minuscule, but a change.
You nod and look away from his face, you can't stand it, no. There has been a change, you don't know in what. There's been a change, a change! Is it good or bad? You want to think it's a nice thing.
"You're different."
"I am? In what way?"
"You're softer, something nice."
"You're drugged, you don't talk sense."
"But you're different! Seriously, you never take care of me."
Silence rules the room and it hurts. Why did you talk? What idiocy, it's your fault everything that happens now, all your fault.
"You cried with happiness when I helped you sit up." Your gaze returns to the other.
"I know, so what? You want me to cry again?" There are no bad intentions behind your comment, there really aren't. You feel your brain empty, and you can't quite interpret the situation, what is Fyodor trying to tell you? Is he angry? Is he going to punish you again? It's exhausting to use your brain in this state, so you just give up and go with the flow.
"No, I don't want that." The silence stretches a little longer and, for just a few seconds, Fyodor looks away. He looks away. "I just… I thought maybe you'd be happier if I treated you good."
"Ah…" He wanted you to be happy? Really?
"I know I hurt you, but you know I only do it when you deserve it, don't you?" You nod and the cuts on your back burn for a few seconds. "Good. I really want you to be happy, with me."
You feel like at any moment the old Fyodor will appear through the door and say something like it was all a test, and then punish you for failing it. It's a horrible feeling, but you come to believe that it will seriously pass.
"So… Are you still going to be soft?"
"Yes, only if you are obedient in return."
Yes, yes, yes. He's going to keep being gentle. For some reason your chest hurts, and you sob, Fyodor has a few drops of surprise in his expression. You hide from his gaze and just focus on the yes, it's like releasing a horrible burden out of your body. You weren't afraid he was lying, something told you he wasn't, his expression maybe, or his voice, or….
"Are you crying with happiness now too?"
"I like the soft Fyodor…"
"Mmmh, that's good, isn't it?" He pulls you a little closer to his face and leaves a soft kiss on your forehead. You'd like to kiss him in return, but you can't move. "I'll keep being soft then."
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I swear all I could think about while writing this was to to send it all to hell and make these two fuck
maybe I will make a second part
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micksslut · 1 year
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all i want for christmas is you
charles leclerc x fem driver reader
summary: charles thinks he's good at hiding he's your secret santa.
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word count: 1.9k
warnings/mood: just fluff, reader is a driver, relationship established between charles and reader, charles being the best bf. also, I'm not really sure if secret santa works like this, so I hope it's well put, but if it's wrong, correct me without problem!
if you read my previous one shot, you know that english is not my first language, so this is a google translator shit (a bit modified based on my knowledge ), but that's a real warning, so please don't hesitate to tell me if there are mistakes of any kind in the one shot 😭 (i think that's all, but tell me if I forgot something pls!)
notes: hI. this was supposed to be published before christmas, but i had no inspiration at all and only came this. I don't consider it to be my best writing, but I hope you enjoy it!
i hope you like it, please don't be a ghost reader!!!
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Finally all the drivers knew who they should give a gift to for the christmas swap.
You were Sebastian's Secret Santa, and honestly you had a problem because you hadn't been with the German long enough to know what to get him, but if there was something you couldn't stand: they were the bad gifts (the ones used to be given by Formula 1 drivers).
The first thing you did was tell your boyfriend, Charles, about who you got at the Christmas swap, knowing he wouldn't say anything and hoping he would tell you too.
But that didn't happen, instead you got a very nervous Charles who refused to tell you who he should give a gift to.
But your boyfriend was terrible at lying to you and you were very smart, so when you asked Carlos if he knew anything and he refused to tell you, you got closer to the truth. But even so, you weren't completely sure, so you decided to go for your last option.
"Char, would you like to come with me to buy the gift for Secret Santa? Lando canceled and I don't want to go alone" Charles was sitting in the cream-colored chair in the hotel room they shared, so you sat on his lap and he put down his phone to pay attention to you.
"Sure amour, just let me put my coat on" he gave you a chaste kiss on your lips and stood up, leaving you carefully on the couch.
You smiled, and immediately texted your best friend Lando, confirming that your plan was off to a good start.
So there you were, in a mall, thankful that your relationship with Charles was no longer a secret and the media didn't blow up seeing you and your boyfriend holding hands.
"Why don't we also buy the gift that you will give?" you asked when they had entered an eco-friendly store in search of what he thought was only the gift for Seb.
"I still don't know what to give as a gift, amour" Charles rambled nervously "Look, a bamboo toothbrush" he smiled showing it. You narrowed your eyes.
"Why don't you want to tell me who got you at the christmas swap?" you approached him.
"It's secret mon amour" he justified himself.
"Yeah, but I told you"
Charles was going to answer, but a female voice behind you interrupted you two.
"Excuse me, do you think I could get an autograph?" the girl asked shyly and you sighed discreetly, but both smiled.
Charles knew he had just been saved, so he was the first to nod.
"Sure! Where?"
She took off her Pirelli cap and held it out along with a permanent marker towards the two of you, apparently it was already prepared, so you deduced that the fans already knew where you and Charles were.
"Thank you! Good luck on the weekend!" you and your boyfriend thanked and the girl left.
"We'd better hurry, they won't be long in coming anymore" the monegasque murmured and you nodded, giving up on your boyfriend.
In the end, you ended up buying more things for you and Charles than for Seb, but you had found the perfect present for him, so you left the mall happy.
Soon, the day of the Secret Santa arrived, and most of the drivers were opening their presents.
You were hiding watching Seb open his present, and you almost ruined everything by laughing when Seb opened the bag and saw a pair of scissors along with the note you had left.
I'm sure you have more hair than me now, so in case you don't want to go to a hairdresser, here is a simple device to cut your own hair!
Sebastian let out a loud laugh and looked at the camera.
"I don't think that's going to happen"
Then he took the paper that talked about the Maple Tree that was your true gift, one that would be planted according to the needs of Switzerland so as not to alter the ecosystem of the region.
Sebastian had guessed who the gift came from and you soon came out of hiding with a smile on your face when Seb saw you.
He came up to you to hug you and thank you.
"I know, I'm the best at giving gifts" the driver laughed "But already cut your hair, Rapunzel"
They parted from the hug laughing and he shook his head.
"You're just envious that I have better hair than you" you opened your mouth falsely offended.
"Ok, I'm going" you turned smugly and started walking.
"Sorry! You know it's true!"
You laughed softly, shaking your head and you arrived where the Formula 1 social media team was waiting for you.
You couldn't help but get excited, if Charles really was your Secret Santa, what would his gift be?
"Ok, the present looks pretty" you commented nervously, looking at the box wrapped in decorative paper. You already knew who the gift was from (or at least you suspected), but you had no idea what it could be, you hadn't seen Charles buying anything, so you really didn't know what I could have given you; although he already knew everything you liked after four long years by his side.
You brought the box to your ear and moved it slightly trying to figure out what it was, but you only heard some things moving.
You opened the box, and the first thing you could see was a photo frame decorated by hand with Formula 1 stickers, your team, the Friends series, and of course, Taylor Swift. To be honest, it looked like something a five-year-old had made, but that's how you knew it was Charles's, and you couldn't help but almost die of cuteness.
You showed it to the camera with a huge smile on your face.
"Well, clearly I will put a photo here with the person who gave it to me. I wonder who it will be" you muttered the last with a smirk.
You gave the frame to your physical therapist to hold while you took out the other presents. Because yes, they were several presents.
"Ok... These are... Oh my god, these are Taylor Swift's The Eras Tour tickets!" you let out a squeal of excitement "Guys you know how much I love Taylor, this is the best present ever" you said ecstatically, showing the tickets and making a mental note to remind them to black out everything on the tickets except for the name of the tour.
"Well, from the frame with the things I like on it, I already knew, but this confirmed it for me and... I'm pretty sure these are from Charles" you looked at the team and they nodded "Yes?" You laughed "I knew it! Lando, you owe me ten bucks" you pointed at the camera and everyone laughed.
"Okay, just one last thing apparently" Olivia, your physical therapist took the tickets and the gift box while you took a smaller box out of it.
It was small, also wrapped in decorative paper and a bow at the top, so you carefully opened it. Most likely it was earrings or a necklace, Charles knew you loved jewelry.
Carefully opening it until only the black velvet box was left, Olivia gasped in surprise as she brought her hand to her mouth to cover it when you looked at her.
You opened your eyes even more when you noticed the reaction of others and you realized why.
You opened the box with now trembling hands and your eyes almost instantly filled with tears, you brought your palm to your mouth as it opened in surprise too.
It was a ring, a beautiful gold ring.
It contained a diamond obviously, not too big, not too small, the perfect size. The ring had carved leaves around it and the shape that surrounded the diamond gave the effect of being a rose.
You looked around in search of your boyfriend, and you saw him addressing you timidly.
"Is it a...? Char, is that what I think it is?" you approached him smiling.
"That depends..." He gently took the box from your hands and making sure he was far enough away from the other people, Charles dropped to one knee on the ground and extended the box towards you, he spoke:
"I know we're still very young... I've been your friend since we went Karting together, and I've been your boyfriend for four years, but i've loved you ever since we met" By that point both of their eyes were already full of tears and you were sure that you were falling more in love with each word that he said "You know I'm not good with words, so... would you let me celebrate our wins together forever? Would you let me fall in love with you more and more each day? Would you let me accompany you the rest of our days, be the happiest man on earth and become your husband?" he asked you, running out of breath at the end.
"My God, Charles. Hell yeah! Yes, yes and yes!" You laughed excitedly and shed some tears of happiness as he stood up and you rushed to hug him, listening to the applause of the others.
He grabbed your waist to hug you even tighter and spin you in the air while you two laughed.
When you touched the ground again, he hastily removed the ring from its box and placed it on your ring finger, and then leave a kiss on your knuckles.
You looked at the beautiful jewel and then back at him, certain that his eyes were even more beautiful than the gift he had just given you. Sure that what you had just given you was the best gift of all, and that even without it, Charles was everything you wanted for Christmas.
You kissed him tenderly, loving every second of that moment. When you separated, you put your foreheads together and you whispered:
"All I want for Christmas is you" both smiled remembering the song and kissed again until you were interrupted.
"That's not fair, you give me scissors to cut my hair and you get an engagement ring?" Sebastian spoke from behind, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, falsely disappointed, you laughed with the others and saw him approach "Not true, congratulations guys" he hugged you and then Charles "I look forward to my invitation to your wedding!" he exclaimed when he had gotten far enough away from the two of you, making you both laugh again.
"You will have it!"
"Ok, but who will you choose as the groomsman?" Lando suddenly appeared behind you, scaring you two slightly.
You were going to speak but Carlos speaking behind Charles interrupted you.
"Of course me, right Charles?" The man from Madrid rested his arm on your fiancé's shoulder and looked at him.
"When did they appear?" you asked puzzled.
"Groomsman Powers" Lando mumbled and you and Charles laughed.
You pulled your fiancé back to you and kissed him again, knowing that the two drivers would drive off in disgust.
They laughed in the middle of the kiss when they heard the "Ewww" from Lando.
"I love you Charles. Thank you for this" you murmured as they broke away from the kiss and he smoothed one of the unruly strands of your hair.
"I love you too, thanks to you ma belle" he hugged you and this time you finally heard the camera flashes, but far from bothering you, it made you smile.
At least you already had photo options to place in the photo frame Charles had given you.
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rin-fukuroi · 6 months
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𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐨 [𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧]
Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.
The originals of my works can be read here
Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail Pairings: Jing Yuan x Fem!reader Warnings: just fluff, events after the battle with the Phantylia
Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq 
Throughout the story, I wanted to hug this man tightly and wrap him in a soft blanket. He's so sad and so in need of the warmth that he deserves<3
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You sigh heavily, sorting papers on your lover's desk. General Jing Yuan won't be able to return to work for a while yet, and it's the least you can do to lighten his burden after he fully recovers. Knowing him, you could say with confidence that he would have run away from any paperwork even faster than usual when he saw what a mess had formed at his workplace in his absence.
Your soul was restless. Although you visited him every day and Jing Yuan was always smiling and sticking to you the same way as always, you felt that he really needed a rest. Of course, you couldn't question Miss Bailu's skill, but what kind of loving girl would you be if you weren't worried about your irresponsible General?
— God, I should at least deal with what I can do, — you mumble to yourself, taking a thoughtful pose, looking at the endless stacks of papers. Another doomed sigh leaves your lungs before you grab the key from the table. — However… It can wait until tomorrow.
When you go outside, you are greeted by the night sky and lights illuminating the almost deserted Lofu.
— Oh, it obviously took longer than I planned… — you grab the belt of your bag slung over your shoulder and are about to proceed towards the house when someone's hand wraps around your wrist.
You shudder, turning sharply, ready to draw your, albeit small, but still a sword. Jing Yuan usually forbids you to carry weapons with you, preferring to send a couple of Cloud Knights to accompany you, but you never liked to attract too much attention to yourself and stand out from the crowd, so you rarely listened to his lectures about the dangers of weapons for inexperienced fighters, especially such clumsy ones like you. The main thing for you has always been a sense of security and comfort, which could well be provided by Jing Yuan himself or a small blade that will not harm you, but can injure the enemy if you are unlucky enough to be in a situation where you have to use it.
And it seems that this day has come.
You put your hand on the scabbard hidden under the blouse on your belt, turning abruptly to meet face to face with someone who had the audacity to touch a strange woman on the street at such a late hour. The General would be proud of your grace and speed. It seemed to you that now you can cut off the head from the shoulders of this brazen pervert, but by making too sharp a turn on your heels, you stumble over your own foot, almost losing your balance. But everything started so well.
You're desperately trying to stay on your feet, balancing on the heel of one foot, but a pair of strong arms instantly encircles your forearms, forcing you to squint in fright. That's all. Is this ridiculous mistake going to cost you your honor and dignity now? Jing Yuan definitely wouldn't be proud of that…
— Jing Yuan?! — your eyes open wide with genuine shock, your lips open wide, and there is not a single censorious thought in your thoughts when your gaze meets golden eyes depicting poorly feigned guilt, which is instantly replaced by curiosity and mischief inherent in the General.
— Oh, where were you reaching for, m? — one of the General's palms slides down your waist until it is on the belt, catching the edge of the blouse and lifting up the thin fabric. — Tsk-tsk, I think I already told you that I don't want my future wife to carry a sword with her.
— And I think I said that I don't want to marry an idiot who can't just stay in the infirmary until his wounds heal! What are you doing here? — you nervously pull his palm, defiantly pouting and crossing your arms over your chest.
— Miss Bailu exaggerates my incapacity too much. I'm healthy enough to go out for a little airing.
— Rlly? And I think you just wanted to see me, even though we saw each other this morning and would have seen each other again in just a few hours if you hadn't run away like a naughty child.
— Ah, you see right through me, darling, — the General grabs his chest resentfully before laughing softly, placing his palms on either side of your thighs again. — I can't help myself, I needed to hug my future wife now and not a second later.
You sigh in frustration, shaking your head in displeasure, but eventually you give up, wrapping your palms around his neck. No matter how many stupid things he does, no matter how childish, you can never resist his incredible charm. The velvety voice, the soft look, the warmth emanating from Jing Yuan's body — these are all things without which you cannot imagine any of the days of your life. You would be blatantly lying if you said that you didn't miss him even when you parted for some miserable half a day. But your concern and care for the irresponsible General outweighed your longing for him, so you resigned yourself to the fact that you would have to part for some time, which you purposely filled with something related to him, so as not to feel lonely until the next meeting.
Your facial expression softens, your gaze fills with tenderness, and the corners of your lips lift in a warm smile. You tiptoe up, pressing your lips to Jing Yuan's cheek, catching him off guard with a short kiss. You catch a glimpse of his eyebrows lifting, and the once playful expression turns to surprise before you bury your face in his neck, pressing your body against his. The General is so big and strong, and whenever you have the opportunity to just hug him, you feel really safe, wrapped in care, love and his warmth.
You can feel Jing Yuan's chest vibrating with loud laughter as he wraps his big hands around your back more tightly, squeezing you even tighter in his embrace.
— Did someone miss me too?
— I'm still mad at you and I'll tie you to the bed as soon as you get back to the infirmary, — you grumble in displeasure at his fluffy hair tickling your face. — But I missed you, Jing Yuan…
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leothil · 6 months
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fic recs: archive edition
So earlier this week I was lightly complaining about how there are so many good fics I read back in 2021 (the good old 5A days. Christ.) that I never se recommended anymore, and @shitouttabuck asked if I could make a rec post of some of those fics.
Now, I still think of myself as somewhat new in the fandom - I joined within the first episodes of 5A - but it is true that a lot of people I see on my dash nowadays came into it much later. Fandom in general has a big recency bias when it comes to fics, and trying to find older fics can be a daunting project, unless they've ended up on the first page of most kudosed/commented/bookmarked on AO3 or you have a lot of time and patience on your hands. There are currently over 21600 fics in the buddie tag on AO3, so I don't blame anyone for not having the energy to go through all of that.
Side note - calling fics published during or before S5 old feels fucking weird. I already gave some friends crises when I mentioned reccing "older fics (aka 2020-2021 ones)" so all of you who have been here longer than me - I know, trust me, I know. It was yesterday. We are withering away.
There's no way I could fit all fics I want to recommend into one post (I want to keep it kind of short so people actually have a chance to look into all the fics on the list), so I might do this as a weekly thing for a while. I quite enjoyed going back to some of the fics I devoured in my early days of fandom, so this might turn into a proper nostalgia trip for me personally!
Without further ado, some fics published in 2019/2020 that I think you should read:
falling by @elisela Buck and Eddie take a walk up to an overlook and share one of the softest moments I've ever read. 1.3k words, rated G
Work Husband by hideeho (@agentlemuse) Chimney messes with Eddie's phone and changes Buck's contact to "husband." Eddie doesn't change it back, for some reason he can't articulate to himself. 1.4k words, rated T
four a.m. by asgardiun (@kitchenscene) Buck follows the rain up to the roof of the firehouse. Eddie follows Buck. 2.9k words, rated G
Medicine Man by @lovelylittlegrim Buck hits his head at work, and Eddie kisses his forehead to make it better. Buck gets stuck on it and thinks he'd like Eddie to do it again. 4.1k words, rated G
like a revelation by throughfire Maddie watches Buck and Eddie's casual intimacy and is confused by what their relationship status is, until she gets help realizing she doesn't need to be. 5.2k words, rated G
the meaning of the words you see by @florenceandthemachine Nurse!Buck gets a text from an unknown number who thinks it's someone they talked to in a bar, but they keep texting even after clearing up the mistake (and proving it with selfies), and things evolve from there. 8.6k words, rated E
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myouicieloz · 8 months
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Nightmares
Huh Yunjin x reader
Synopsis: your friend had told you to talk to someone whenever you had a nightmare, to keep it from coming true. But what happens when it’s the middle of the night and there’s only one specific person to listen to your thoughts?
Warnings: …nightmare description i guess? Nothing too deep though (at least I don’t think so). slight hint of smut maybe…?
Word count: 1.9k
Notes: this is not the first time I publish something, but it is the first time I’ve written something K-pop related, as I’m kind of new into this world and there are still many things I don’t quite know about (I’m working on it tho!). So please be kind and lmk if there are any mistakes or things you’d like me to alter or improve on. (also i didn’t check for any mistakes bc if i reread it I’ll just delete all of it so…)
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Water.
It was the only thing you truly felt, lingering all over your skin as the molecules invaded your body without permission. They occupied every single inch of yourself, assaulting your nostrils until it got to your lungs and all you could feel was a sickening burn, slowing crippling through your organs, depriving you of any kind of relief. You tried breathing, but all you got was more water instead. Desperate, your hands found a cold, harsh wall that kept you from the outside world, and no matter how hard you tried pushing and beating onto it, it simply didn’t falter. It was only then you realized: you were trapped inside a frozen lake, without air or any shot of escaping. The glacial waters welcomed your soul as you closed your eyes, finally accepting the lost battle. With one last thought, you sighed, allowing the rest of the waters to finally rest in your lungs, so you could be in peace.
Suddenly, you woke up. The upper-half of your body rose from your bed as you took deep breaths, appreciating the simple act of inhaling and exhaling. It was a gift, you’ve come to the conclusion: sometimes we forget how lucky we are to be able to do the simplest things, such as breathing. Such as living.
Running your hands through your hair and your face, you noticed how drenched in sweat your body was —your pajamas were wet from it. However, you were too busy trying to calm yourself down to do anything about it. Your mind didn’t seem to know it was all a nightmare. Sure, it felt so real… but it wasn’t, so logically there was no reason for you to be so shaken, trembling hands, rapid heart-beating and all. A few minutes went by, and you were still in the same position, not getting any better, so you’ve decided to get some fresh water to cool your thoughts.
You sighed in defeat when you noticed you weren’t going back to sleep so soon, picking up your phone and pushing your covers aside. Careful as to not wake up your roommate, Kazuha, you’ve made your way through the dorm, jumping at the slightest noise.
Now, sitting on the kitchen isle with a glass of water in your hands, you suddenly remembered something your friend, Yeji, had told you long ago. With that in mind, you glanced at the fridge’s clock before sending her a message. 3:28 AM.
Yeji unnie <3
heyy
you up?
Ive j had a rlly awful dream
You sighed when the messages weren’t even delivered, even though it was to be expected; the girls were busy promoting their new song and probably had a busy schedule tomorrow. It was only natural for Yeji to be sleeping, as you should be too. You and the girls have performed on the first shows of the tour, and your schedule is also as busy as ever. However, here you were, sitting at the kitchen counter, hands still trembling and mind replaying the previous nightmare in your head.
“Hey. Is everything ok?” A voice coming from behind startled you, making you jump in your seat and almost fall to your side. Luckily, a pair of hands steadied you, lingering seconds longer to make sure you weren’t going to slip.
You knew who it was without even looking back; her touches were too unique, made you too hot to go unnoticed. Indeed, Yunjin presented herself to you, making her way into the kitchen as she stared in your eyes with worry etched in her face. You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture so you wouldn’t look as fragile as you felt in front of her, at least. You hated looking fragile in front of anyone, let alone… her.
Likewise, you and Yunjin were close, as you were with the rest of the girls. But with her, it was just the way she portrayed herself that got you completely enamored. You’ve lost count of the times the girls teased you for losing focus at rehearsals because of her dancing. The way she was constantly trying to be the kindest version of herself, her passion for music, her care for others... it was hard not to be completely captured by her, truly. Which is why you were always awkward around her, specially when it was just the two of you, alone.
Like now.
“Ahn, no, unnie.” You said automatically, making her raise her eyebrows at you. Clearing your throat, you corrected yourself. “Yes, I meant yes. Everything’s ok. Sorry.”
Obviously, she wasn’t convinced. You drank from your water, trying to calm yourself down, but stopped when her soft hands kept you from drinking all of it in one go.
“Calm down, Y/n. You’ll end up drowning this way.” Her words were meant to be playful, but they reminded you of your nightmare, and suddenly the kitchen felt cramped, and you were there again, with the water making pressure to invade your lungs and the ice barrier and-
“Hey, look at me.” Yunjin’s voice was soft as she got closer, reaching for your arms and placing them close to her. “All is good; just breathe with me. That’s it, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…” You focused on her face, ever so delicate, and her breathing rhythm, following her commands. After a few minutes, your breathing had evened and you were feeling much calmer. “That’s a good girl.” She praised, making you face the ground in embarrassment, taking your hands off her as you muttered. “Thanks, unnie.”
The words got to you, much to your dismay, and you could feel your face growing hot by it. Yunjin noticed it too, chuckling slightly.
“Cute.”
You faced your hands, embarrassed by your turmoil, and the two of you stood in an awkward silence until the sighed, taking the seat beside you.
“So… does this have something to do with Yeji?” She asked, cutting the apple you didn’t see her getting for herself, a cautious tone leaving her lips.
You frowned at the question. Why would yunjin think about Yeji? Seeing your confusion, she tapped on your phone over the balcony, still unlocked at the conversation with your friend. “Sorry for lurking. It’s just… you seemed really frightened, and I couldn’t help but look.”
Your bandmate was embarrassed to be caught, too, and you couldn’t help but giggle. Still, you reached for your phone to lock it; you couldn’t have Yunjin reading the messages you had sent Yeji about her. “It’s okay, unnie. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”
She hummed in response, still eyeing you attentively.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She seems to ponder her words better, as she adds, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s just that you’ve seemed really shaken. You still do, actually.”
Your hands flicker the empty glass nervously, unsure of what to do. You didn’t want Yunjin to think of you as something fragile or weak. Being only a few months older than Kazuha, you always tried your best to not be labeled as a maknae to any of the older girls, always trying to take care of them too, as you knew they needed it. But she was looking at you with such caring eyes, and the whole thing had just felt so real. You sighed in defeat, not quite looking at her face.
“It’s stupid, really. Just a stupid nightmare.” You toyed with your phone, doing anything to not stare at the older girl beside you. “About Yeji-unnie... she’d told me once we have to tell someone about your nightmares, to prevent them from coming true. That’s why I messaged her, but she’s sleeping, for sure.”
Now that the words left your mouth, you felt even sillier. And stupid.
“Well, want to tell me what the nightmare was about?” She asked just as quietly, a faint smile adorning her face. “We can’t have it come true, right?”
She wouldn’t judge you. Never judge you.
Your eyes finally met hers, and you got to look into the beauty that was her almond orbs. You took a deep breath, getting ready to live those moments again. Yunjin listened attentively as you talked, leaning on her hand to have her full attention on you. When you finished, you felt surprisingly lighter, no longer trembling or wanting to cry.
“It’s not stupid.” She said, after you were done talking. Her nose was adorably scrunched, and it made you want to kiss it. Yunjin touched your arms, offering you some comfort. “It sounded really traumatic, actually. I’m glad it was just a nightmare.”
You nodded, secretly relieved yourself, too.
A small breeze went through the room, making you shiver a little, even though you tried your best to suppress it. Yunjin noticed your reaction, and her gaze dropped to your pajamas. You cursed yourself for choosing such a small pair for the night. The fabric was still a little damp, and it partially clung to your chest. You weren’t even wearing any panties, because you’d never bothered to sleep with them on anyway, but you were suddenly hyper aware of it. As she scanned you whole and her eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever thought about it too. Of you.
You’ve certainly had thought about her. An embarrassingly amount of times.
“You’ll catch a cold this way, Y/n. It’s cold outside.” Her voice made you feel as as if your body was filled with tiny needles, along with the familiar butterflies in your stomach.
“It bothers me to sleep with too many clothes, unnie. You know it.” You said, not intending to suggest anything, but biting your lips when the words came out of your mouth. It was another habit the girls always teased you for: you’ve often said things with double sense without thinking. Yunjin merely arched her eyebrows, smirking like she knew something.
“I know.”
You got up, forcing yourself to smile at her despite the awkwardness.
“I, ahn, I should go to bed now, we need to sleep. You should too, unnie, we have a busy day tomorrow and I’d hate to see you tired.” Your words brought her attention back, and she returned your smile with her beautiful one, getting up herself.
“Sure, sure, you’re right. Sleep well, Y/n. I hope you have good dreams, this time.” She looked like she wanted to step in and say something else, but decided otherwise.
“I will, unnie.” You’d surely remember how she had comforted you, and there simply wasn’t a possibility to have any nightmares after that.
You two walked the short hallway side by side, and since your room was first, you stepped by the door to bid her goodnight again. She was too close, and it made you weary of how you could see her so clearly, and even kiss you if you wanted to. If only you had the courage. “Thanks again, by the way. For listening and... well, for helping me calm down.”
“It’s nothing, Y/n. Remember I’m just down the hall if you need me, okay?” She was the one who broke the invisible barrier between you, shuffling your hair. She was close, too close as she whispered to you. “Sweet dreams.”
And as she left, you hoped she couldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating.
You got back to bed, but no matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn’t stop replaying the events of earlier in your had. It was so natural, how her presence made everything lighter. Your head was so cluttered with your thoughts you barely registered the weight on your mattress, only realizing you had an extra visitor when she whispered.
“...Y/n?”
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garagesesh · 4 months
Text
intertwining your soul with somebody else
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pairings: anakin skywalker & (f!)reader, anakin skywalker & padme amidala
summary: what has started as comfort has now spiraled out of control.
warning(s): sexual content, depression, pregnancy, affair
a/n: i wrote this two years ago and never published it
␛ to masterlist
✦ looking for more star wars stories? check out my planetarium series! ✦
˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦     ˚     . ★⋆. ࿐࿔    .     ˚     *     ✦   .  .   ✦ ˚      ˚ .˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .              
It started years ago.
You were both still young, both on the precipice of the line, teetering between Padawan and Jedi Knights. Naïve and immature and both agreeing that it wasn’t hurting anyone.
It had began as a comfort, a coping mechanism after the loss of your master. Delving deep into the forbidden feelings of sadness, anger, hurt, desire. Finding only release within each other.
A mission on Daiyuu had gone wrong. It was supposed to be easy. In and out, collect the hostage and get out of there, but the force had other plans for you that day. Count Dooku had arrived and everything went to shit.
Devastation had enveloped your entire being, encapsulating you into being unable to move or eat for days. Cooped up inside your dark, messy room after given some time off by the Council. The Jedi weren’t being sympathetic, they were more afraid of you doing something stupid out in the field than actually giving you time to grieve.
So instead you watched.
You watched as life flourished and continued in the metropolis of Coruscant. Peering through the slats of your window from the confines of your mattress wrapped up in the standard issue duvet.
It was cruel, you thought watching as a family laughed in their speeder heading off to home, or a party, or anywhere. It was cruel that the galaxy could keep living, that you could keep living after someone is no longer breathing.
It wasn’t fair.
It had been two weeks before you remembered you were alive.
When he came to you first.
Making sure you were okay and had eaten something. It was what best friends did, right? Come to you in a time of need when you need them the most.
For hours there was silence between the two of you. A blank sheet of nothingness as he held you, as you both now watched the outside. Laying in bed for hours, the tears rolled onto his shoulder as he patiently sat and said nothing.
You weren't sure if you had made the first move.
Was it you laying your hand on his thigh or was it he making you laugh through tears for the first time in weeks?
He was good at that. Making you feel good.
Anakin looked down at you, surprised but not entirely by the gesture. The warm flesh of your hand against the thin fabric seeped through to his skin. You both knew then what was going to happen.
And you let it.
It was slow. Warm. Sweet, sincere, and innocent.
He stormed out of the room after.
You didn’t talk for two standard months before both agreeing that it was a mistake, hormones and sadness playing a part in the clash. Rendering you both not able to think straight.
He wanted to comfort you and it had worked.
A one time thing that would never happen again.
Until it did.
Again and again, until became a nightly occurrence. He would always come to you, never to his room. It’d always be the dead of night when you heard the door slide open, letting in the dim light of the hallway before it closed as fast and quiet as it had opened. He didn’t lead up to it anymore as he had in the early beginnings of the affair. His hand would no longer caress you. No hesitation when he took off your clothes.
It became primal.
Dirty.
Needy.
And most of all, it wasn’t love.
He’d constantly remind you of it. The impossible idea of love with him was something he screwed into your brain for the last three years.
Love was a bad word.
You knew of him and Padmé. It wasn’t so secret as he thought, as those close enough to him all knew about their own affair, but he was always worried you would say something to her. Tell her about your affair. Tell her about the way he would kiss you. Tell her the ways he would make you come undone. The way he had been inside you more times than he had been inside her.
And now the datapad in front of you held the weight of the galaxy in front of you. Eight small words crushed your entire being. Eight small words changed everything.
You were fucked.
“Not tonight.” You shrugged him off in doorway of your cabin on the Republic Cruiser you both were on, heading to Kamino for the oversight of extra troops to both of your legions.
“Why?” Anakin knew something was off, pushing himself into the small room.
“I’m not feeling up to it.” You sat down on the bunk, undoing your shoes, ready to put your swollen feet to rest.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired.” You waved him off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Anakin.” He could never just take no for an answer.
“There’s something wrong. I can feel it."
“I’m fine.”
“You can tell me."
“I said I was fine.”
“Well you’re obviously not fine.”
“I really don’t feel like talking about it.”
“Why not? I’m your best friend.” You laughed at that.
“Best friend?! Anakin, you haven’t been my friend for years!”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!"
“You never do!” Standing up from the bunk, you went to confront him in his face. Giving him no leeway.
“I care about you!”
“You have never cared about me!”
“I’ve always cared!”
“No.” Your voice now barely above a whisper.
“No? You’re denying my feelings? Invalidating them?”
“That’s thick! You have invalidated me as a person for years!”
“How?”
“You have used me, my body, for three and a half years! Coming to me almost every night! Telling me it isn’t love, that I am just a device for your pleasure!”
“You enjoyed it too!”
“For a while, yes! But then you came back to me married, Anakin! You continued to go behind your wife’s back. Telling me that it was okay, that she’d never know! It kills me to even look at her because of what I've done to her!”
“What we have is good.” He quieted, his voice choking in his throat.
“What we have is you clinging on to a constant release and me clinging on to you because I’m scared that I’ll lose you completely if I stop letting you fuck me every night!” You headed for the door, trying to escape him before the tears you felt rising could fall.
“What?”
“And congratulations you’re a father.” You thrusted the datapad into his chest, storming out of the small cabin.
˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦     ˚     . ★⋆. ࿐࿔    .     ˚     *     ✦   .  .   ✦ ˚      ˚ .˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .              
␛ to masterlist
✦ looking for more star wars stories? check out my planetarium series! ✦
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