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smutmind · 1 month ago

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Terms of Surrender

Winter X BBC

Cuckholding. BBC. Oral Worhip

The apartment smelled of old radiator heat and lemon floor cleaner.

Winter stood in the narrow hallway just off the living room, white dress a deliberate contrast against the scuffed wood beneath her boots. Her boyfriend, Jason, lingered near the window, arms folded, trying not to look like he wanted to vanish. The blinds were drawn. The light in the room came from a single overhead bulb, soft and yellow, giving everything a strange, intimate glow.

Mr. Smith filled the threshold. Six foot four, at least. Dark as oil, built like a slab of night—shoulders broad, stomach flat, suit open at the chest to reveal skin the color of shadowed mahogany. Fifty-two, maybe fifty-three. Winter had asked once. He didn’t answer. Just looked her up and down and said, “Old enough to know what I like.”

“You two got the money this time?” he asked, voice low and rough like someone clearing smoke from their lungs.

Jason cleared his throat. “Not yet. I, uh, get paid Friday, but—”

Mr. Smith’s laugh was slow and quiet. “But rent was due last Friday.”

Winter stepped forward. “We didn’t forget,” she said. Her voice was light, careful. “We just… came to ask for a little time.”

Mr. Smith’s eyes moved down her body like a finger tracing every seam. “You wearing that dress to ask for favors, girl?”

She let the question hang.

“Does it work?”

He didn’t answer. He stepped inside instead. Jason took a reflexive step back.

“Funny thing about favors,” Mr. Smith said, letting the door swing shut behind him. “They usually cost more than rent.”

The silence stretched, full of something unspoken. Jason looked to Winter. Winter didn’t blink.

“We could make a deal,” she said.

Mr. Smith’s eyebrow lifted. “You offering me a discount?” His gaze dragged down her legs, lingering at the crease where her thigh met suede. “Or a different kind of currency?”

Jason flinched. “Come on, man—”

“She’s talking,” Smith said, cutting him off. “You hush.”

Winter took a breath. Her dress fluttered with the motion, cotton lifting just enough to hint at the tops of her thighs. “What if I gave you a night instead of money?” she asked, eyes steady. “Right now. Right here.”

Mr. Smith leaned against the wall, arms folding. “Go on.”

Her fingers brushed the hem of her dress. “I mean it. No games. Just me. I’ll make it worth it.”

Smith didn’t move. “And the boy?”

Jason stiffened. “What about me?”

Mr. Smith’s smile was slow, patient. “He gonna stand there while I make use of what’s mine for the evening?”

Winter turned to Jason. Her voice dropped. “Would you?”

He didn’t answer at first. His jaw worked. He looked at her, then at Smith, then down at his shoes.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” he said finally.

Mr. Smith pushed off the wall. His presence filled the room. “You got a choice,” he said. “But she only gets to pay this way if you watch. Eyes on the whole time. Otherwise, no deal.”

Jason didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Just moved to the couch and sat, spine rigid.

Winter exhaled. Her hands went to her bracelet, slipping it off with a click. The metal caught the light for just a second before it disappeared into her pocket.

Smith stepped closer. The air changed.

“Show me you mean it, girl,” he said. “I don’t do charity. I want intention.”

Winter stepped into the middle of the living room and lifted the hem of her dress. Slowly. Her thighs were bare. She let the cotton settle at her hips, not pulling it off yet. Just letting the shape of her frame speak.

“Let me convince you,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “Let me make it feel earned.”

Smith’s smile was approval and appetite wrapped together. “Then get on your knees, little thing. I want to see how much you want this forgiveness.”

Winter lowered herself to the carpet. Her boots creaked as she knelt. She looked up at him, lips parting, eyes soft.

Jason sat motionless on the couch, hands gripping his knees, face pale.

Winter kept her spine straight, hands resting on her thighs, dress bunched high enough to bare the soft undercurve of her ass. The air smelled like dust, sweat, and something else now—something sharp, male, thick with the scent of leather and heat.

Mr. Smith stood over her, belt already loose. The heavy silver buckle clinked once, slow and deliberate.

“You know how to ask for forgiveness?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Words, girl.”

“Yes. Daddy.”

He reached down and pressed two fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up. His skin was warm, rough, fragrant—something spicy clinging to it, like vetiver and wood smoke.

“Then say it.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered. “Let me make it up to you.”

From the couch, Jason made a sound—low, like swallowing something he didn’t want to taste.

Smith’s zipper slid down with a soft rasp. He didn’t guide her. He just watched. Expecting her to move first.

And she did.

Winter leaned in slowly, breath feathering hot against the dense heat of him. The scent—dark musk, leather, skin—flooded her senses before her lips ever made contact. She parted her mouth without pause, wrapping around the thick head of him, tongue slick and patient as she eased him in.

The sound was immediate—wet, intimate, shameless. Her mouth worked shallow at first, letting him feel every inch of pressure as she adjusted, then took him deeper with a slow moan that vibrated through her throat.

“Shit,” he muttered, breath catching. “You feel that, girl? That tight little throat clenching around me?”

She hummed again, the vibration making his thighs tense.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Drooling all over my dick like you missed breakfast. You hungry, baby?”

She pulled back just enough to speak, lips swollen, chin slick. “Starving.”

“Then don’t hold back,” he said, fingers curling in her hair. “I want you messy. Loud. Like you’re trying to suck the rent out of me.”

She smiled around him, then went back down—deeper this time, throat stretching, spit spilling past her lips as she took more than she should’ve been able to.

“Yeah,” he growled, hips barely flexing. “That’s it. Show him what it sounds like when you really want it.”

He let out a low grunt, the sound rough with approval. His hand settled on her head—not pushing, just resting there like a claim. She didn’t need direction. Her body understood the assignment.

“Mm,” he rumbled, voice stretched thin with pleasure. “You got a mouth built for sin.”

She pulled back with a soft pop, breath sticky between them, spit already tracing a glistening path from her lips to the base of him. A string clung from tongue to tip, catching the light like silk. She didn’t wipe it. Didn’t blink. Just let it hang there, raw and shining.

Then she dipped her head again, slower now, deliberate. Her tongue dragged along the thick underside of him—long, wet, unbroken. The texture of his skin, the heat, the weight of him filled her mouth with need. His hips twitched, a pulse jumping beneath her lips.

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “You feel that, boy? That’s your girl licking my cock like she’s carving it into memory.”

She flattened her tongue, licked up again—this time pausing at the tip to swirl it, teasing.

“I haven’t even fucked her yet,” he said, voice thick with heat, “and she’s already soaking the carpet.”

Winter glanced up, eyes glassy, breath quick. Her voice came breathy around him. “Tell me I’m doing good.”

He grinned, dark and wide. “You’re doing filthy, sweetheart. That mouth’s a goddamn blessing.”

Her hand slid to the root, wrapping around him with firm precision. She stroked in time with her mouth—spit-slick, confident—each movement deliberate, a slow drag meant to tease, to worship. The room filled with the wet rhythm of her devotion, each sound louder, filthier, echoing in the heavy hush like applause.

His breath hitched. She felt the tension in his thighs, the subtle quake just under the surface. She didn’t look away. Her eyes stayed locked on his—wide, hungry, daring him to unravel.

She pulled back, tongue tracing along the thick underside of him, lips glossy and parted. “You like that, daddy?” she whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Like how I take my time with it?”

Smith said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Her mouth closed around him again—deep and slow, her moan curling around him like silk.

She pulled back once more, gasping for air, chin dripping. “You’re so heavy in my throat,” she said, licking her lips. “I can feel your pulse in the back of my mouth.”

Another stroke. Deeper. She sucked hard at the tip, then dragged her tongue across it in one long swirl. Spit smeared across her knuckles as she worked the base.

“I want you to remember this every time you see me,” she whispered. “Every time I walk past, you’ll remember how soft my mouth was. How warm.”

She looked up again, eyes soft but blazing. “You don’t need to tell me what to do. I want to taste you. I want to make a mess.”

She took him again—faster now, spit stringing from her lips to his skin, mouth stretched and eager.

“I’m doing this for you,” she murmured between strokes. “Only you. Let me show you how much I mean it.”

His groan was low, rough. Approval without words.

She smiled around him, and sucked harder.

“Goddamn,” Smith muttered. “I could smell your shampoo when I walked in. Vanilla and clean sweat. Drives a man insane.”

He tugged her up by the hair—not roughly, but firm. Her mouth popped free. Her lips were swollen, wet.

“Stand up,” he said. “Bend over the arm of that couch.”

She obeyed.

The fabric of her dress rode high as she moved, bunching at her waist with every step. Her thighs parted as she bent over the couch, slow and sure, her weight balanced in her boots. The soft curve of her ass rose, hugged tight by a thin stretch of black cotton—panties that did nothing to hide the heat beneath.

Jason shifted slightly, still silent, but his eyes locked onto the shape of her back, the dip of her spine, the subtle tremble in her legs.

Mr. Smith stepped in close, one hand sliding over her hip with a grip that promised more. His fingers hooked the edge of the panties—smooth, damp from heat and friction—and pulled them aside with deliberate ease. The fabric stretched, then gave way, exposing soft skin and slick heat beneath.

He made a low sound, palm brushing the bare spot he'd revealed. “Still covered up,” he murmured. “But already wet.”

She didn’t move. Just breathed harder.

He ran two fingers between her thighs, slow and unrelenting, until they slid through the heat. “Tight,” he said, voice thick. “Warm. You tryin’ to hold me out... or beg me in?”

Winter looked over her shoulder, lips parted. “Whichever gets me fucked harder.”

“Say that again.”

“Whichever gets me fucked harder, daddy.”

He pushed into her with a single, shallow thrust.

She gasped—sharp, eyes squeezed shut. He was big. Too big. Only the tip made it. She gripped the couch harder.

“Too much?” he asked, mocking, amused.

“No,” she breathed. “Just—slow.”

He didn’t go slow.

The first few thrusts were shallow, controlled—just enough for her to feel the stretch, the pressure, the thick tease of him pushing at her edge. Her fingers dug into the couch cushions, breath catching with every motion.

Then he grabbed her hips, firm and certain, and gave her a deeper thrust—only halfway in, but it landed like a punch of heat low in her belly. Her knees buckled slightly.

She gasped. “Fuck—you’re big,” she breathed, voice thin, shivering. “Too big…”

The wet slap of skin echoed through the room, sharp and rhythmic. Every movement pushed another helpless sound from her lips—soft, broken things, desperate and wanting.

He pulled back, slow, then gave her another half-length thrust, just as deep. She cried out again, high and breathless.

“God,” she moaned, “I can feel every inch—it's so thick... I can’t—”

Another slap. Her back arched hard.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Just like that… give it to me. I can take it. I want it.”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes glazed. “Use me, Mr. Smith. I need you to.”

“You’re watching this, boy?” he asked again. “You see her stretch for me? You hear her beg?”

Jason said nothing. But his eyes were wide. His knuckles white on his knees.

Winter’s voice came soft and broken. “It hurts good.”

Smith leaned over her, the weight of his chest pressing into her back, breath hot and steady at her ear. “You smell like summer sweat and spoiled innocence,” he murmured, voice a low scrape. “But you taste even better.”

He pulled out suddenly, guiding her upright with a firm grip on her waist. Her body moved like it belonged to him—knees spread, spine arched, breath hitching in anticipation. The bodice of her dress had slipped down in the shuffle, fabric clinging beneath her breasts. One nipple peeked out, flushed and drawn tight from the friction and air.

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth closed over her skin, sucking at the curve between neck and shoulder, tongue tracing heat over every pulse point he found. Then lower—teeth grazing her collarbone, lips wrapping around her nipple with a slow, punishing drag.

“Ah—God,” Winter gasped, head falling back against his shoulder. “It’s too much…”

He didn’t stop. He licked again, deeper, wetter. The kind of kiss meant to leave marks.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “Every nerve screaming?”

Her hand flew to his wrist, not to stop him—just to anchor herself.

“Yes—yes,” she panted. “It’s everywhere. I can’t think—just… keep going.”

He growled low and rough, then moved lower, following the glisten of sweat along her side. His mouth found her ribs, kissed each one, tongue teasing the space between them until he reached the soft hollow beneath her arm.

And then—he buried his face there. Breathed her in. Licked slow and deep like it was the most sacred place on her body.

“Even your armpits,” he muttered, voice hoarse, reverent. “You smell like sex here. Like heat and salt and want. You make a man want to ruin you from every angle.”

Winter whimpered, thighs trembling beneath her.

“Please,” she whispered, almost broken. “I can’t take more. But I need more.”

Her whole body shook—sensitive, soaked, desperate. Overwhelmed and still reaching for everything he hadn't done yet.

The thrusts stayed shallow. Still too thick to go deeper. But it didn’t matter. The noise, the heat, the stretch—it was enough to make her body tremble, to make her eyes blur.

He pulled out suddenly.

“Look at her, boy,” Mr. Smith growled. “This your girl?”

Jason didn’t move.

“She’s mine now.”

He groaned, low and guttural, as he pulled back from her trembling body. Winter turned without needing instruction, dropping to her knees like it was instinct now—mouth open, face tilted up, the streaks of sweat at her collarbones catching the dim light.

“Let me,” she whispered, reaching for him.

Her fingers wrapped around the base, slow and reverent. She stroked him with a rhythm she already knew he liked—firm, slow, a twist of her wrist near the top. “Don’t hold it in,” she breathed. “I want all of it.”

His breath stuttered.

She angled her face higher, tongue peeking out just past parted lips, eyes locked onto his. “Let me finish you, Daddy. Let me wear it.”

He came in heavy, thick spurts—warm release splattering across her lips, her cheek, her chin. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t close her eyes. Just took it, let it coat her like a mark, her fingers still working him gently, coaxing out every last drop.

A long, low moan escaped him as she squeezed once more.

Then, slowly, she guided his tip to her chest—slipping the head across one breast, then the other, rubbing his slick finish over her nipples with a sigh. “You like that?” she whispered, voice raw. “Your mess on me. Your heat.”

Smith stepped back, breath heavy, watching her smear the last of it across her skin with slow, circular strokes.

Winter licked the corner of her mouth. Smiled. “Told you I’d make it worth it.”

#winter #aespa winter #winter smut #aespa smut #bbc #idol x bbc #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #smut #male reader #kpop idol smut

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capuccinodoll · 4 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 6: "The one with the late night talk" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After spending a couple of weeks tormenting yourself over your argument with Frankie, you finally open up to Santi. He offers you a different perspective—one that hurts, but one you need to hear. WC: 6.8k

A/N: TW!!! This chapter touches on sensitive topics such as mental health and references to self-destructive behaviors. If these subjects are difficult for you, please proceed with caution. Thank you so much for reading and for your support! I truly appreciate it. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!! love you guys<3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

Tuesday, August 27th

August was dissolving, slipping through your fingers like the last ice cube in a too-warm drink. The days were heavy, pressing down on your skin, thick with the kind of heat that made everything feel slow and sticky. And the nights still belonged to it, summer—restless, humming, too warm to be comfortable but too familiar to resent. Inside, your apartment was quiet, the only real sound the steady, hypnotic whirl of the ceiling fan.

You kept busy. It was easier that way. There was always something to do: the new café down the street had changed the flow of foot traffic past the bookstore, drawing people in, pushing them through the doors in lazy waves. Customers wandered between the shelves, asking about novels they’d heard mentioned on a podcast, about poetry collections they’d been meaning to buy for months. You answered every question, made polite conversation, pretended you weren’t hyper-aware of how your own voice sounded when you used it too much.

Yesterday, a woman had lingered by the register, chatting about the café. She mentioned the owner—a charming man, she said, the kind of person who gave out free donuts on Friday mornings, which struck you as an objectively good and decent thing. You nodded along, made a mental note to stop by one of these days, even though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

But now it was tuesday night, and you were exhausted.

You collapsed onto the couch, grabbed the remote, pressed play. When Harry Met Sally. A movie you loved, though you weren’t really watching. Your legs stretched out along the cushions, arms folded against your chest, eyes on the screen but unfocused.

At the other end of the couch, Mr. Darcy curled into himself, his eyes dark and unblinking, watching you with something close to judgment. Because he knew. He knew that you were pretending. That you were acting like none of it had happened.

When Santi called, you told him you were fine. More than fine. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. You kept busy, your bank account was in better shape than last year. You knew how to work, how to keep your head down. If he asked about Frankie, you told him you hadn’t seen him—true. If he asked about Harry’s wedding, you lied, said you hadn’t decided yet.

Lying over the phone was easy. You’d always been good at it.

But then Santi showed up in person, unannounced, standing in your doorway with his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly, like he was already trying to figure you out.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice even, his gaze sharpening like he could see right through you.

“I’m just tired,” you said, and maybe that was true in a way, but not in the way he meant it. “Didn’t sleep well. Stayed up too late watching tv.”

He hesitated, like he was waiting for you to crack, to fill the silence with the thing you weren’t saying. But you didn’t. Instead, you pivoted—smooth, practiced—asked about Yov, about the wedding. He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t think about Frankie.

Except that you did.

At night, when the house was still, when you were alone, his face surfaced in your mind with alarming clarity. The last thing you’d said to him. The way his expression had changed the second he heard you. The way it had made something deep inside you twist and ache.

You felt guilty. It hurt, a slow, deep kind of hurt, like pressing a bruise just to see how much you could stand. But then you reminded yourself—he had hurt you too, in ways you still carried with you. That should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.

Across the room, Mr. Darcy watched you, his gaze unmoving. Like he knew. Like he could see the way your thoughts kept circling, caught in a loop you didn’t know how to break.

The movie flickered on, a blur of motion, of dialogue you’d heard a hundred times before but suddenly couldn’t follow.

When the credits rolled, you stood, crossed the room, reached for your journal where it sat on the kitchen counter.

You flipped to the right page—the one where you kept your list. Little things. Big things. Things that made you feel like you were moving forward, even when you weren’t sure you were.

You uncapped a pen, pressed the tip to the page, and wrote:

Have a New Year’s kiss. Just like Harry and Sally. Less romantic, I guess.

You stared at the words, then exhaled sharply, almost a laugh.

Then you rolled your eyes at yourself, shut the journal, and left it there.

Thursday, August 29th

Yov was out of town, and Santi called that morning while you were at the bookstore, his voice warm but edged with something careful, like he was trying to keep things light. He asked if he could come over later, maybe stay for the night. You told him yes, of course. But you knew there was something beneath the surface of the invitation, an intention that had nothing to do with food. He was checking in on you.

It wasn’t unusual, the dinners. He loved coming over, eating something homemade, stretching out on your couch to watch a movie, half the time falling asleep before the credits rolled. Sometimes you’d drink wine and end up crying with laughter over Scary Movie, even though you could both quote it word for word. But this time, you could tell—he had noticed something. A shift in your mood, a dullness in your voice that you hadn’t managed to hide.

Still, you weren’t complaining. You loved spending time with him.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual and walked the two blocks to the grocery store, the sun pressing against your skin. It was warm, but not suffocating, which felt strange for august. You slipped in your headphones, letting music filter in as you walked past the park. It was quiet today—only a few people scattered under the old trees, some walking, others sitting on benches, faces tilted toward the sky.

And then you crossed the street.

At the intersection, your eyes flicked up, catching the traffic light without thinking. It was green, glowing steadily above you. For some reason, it hit you in the chest like a second heartbeat. The last time you’d seen Frankie, it had been right here. You could still see it in your mind—the green light, the blur of the quiet night, the way your hands had felt too empty as you stepped out of the car, a weight forming somewhere deep in your ribs.

Pointless, thinking about it now. You exhaled, pulled out your phone, and skipped to the next song. The first few notes played, something familiar, something that made you smile despite yourself. Just Like Heaven.

Inside the store, the air conditioning wrapped around you like a cold, weightless hand. A relief. You grabbed a cart and started down the aisles, scrolling through your notes app for the grocery list you’d made after Santi had texted, asking if you could make that spaghetti—the one with the sauce he always raved about.

Ten minutes later, you had almost everything. A bottle of rosé sat nestled between vegetables and pasta, but now you hesitated in front of the wine section, eyeing the rows of deep reds and pale golds. You wanted something good. Something that would feel nice in your hands as you curled up on the couch later.

Merlot. You reached for a bottle, ran your fingers over the label before setting it gently in the cart.

Maybe you’d grab something sweet for later too—chocolates, gummies. Something with nuts and caramel.

Eyes without a face faded out, replaced by the sharp, unmistakable opening of Toxic. Without thinking, you smiled, mouthing the words as you steered the cart down the cereal aisle. Your eyes drifted over the shelves, barely registering the neon-colored boxes, the cartoon mascots grinning at you from their spots. You weren’t really looking for anything there, just moving through the motions.

At the end of the aisle, you turned left.

And then, you saw him.

Frankie.

He was crouched at the far end of the aisle, head tilted slightly, eyes scanning a label like he was deciphering something complicated. He hadn’t seen you.

Black T-shirt, dark gray cargo pants, messy hair. You weren’t sure why you noticed that, why your mind cataloged the details like they meant something. But it did.

For a second, you froze.

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the cart. A quick assessment: the space between you, the angle of his gaze, the seconds you had before he looked up.

You turned.

No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just a sharp turn on your heel, a swift retreat in the opposite direction before he could lift his head, before his eyes could meet yours.

You’d buy candy somewhere else.

Santi dropped onto the couch beside you with all the weight of a falling tree, the cushions sinking under him, a rush of air brushing past you.

"Hey!" you groaned, swatting his shoulder in mock protest.

He just grinned, unbothered, reaching past you to grab his wine glass from the coffee table. You watched as he took a sip, settling in like he had nowhere else to be.

You picked up the remote and resumed the movie, the screen flickering back to life after the pause you’d hit when he disappeared into the bathroom, grumbling about his bladder. You’d made a joke about him getting old, and he’d laughed, but then he muttered something about making an appointment with a urologist. You didn’t ask for details.

Tonight’s movie was his pick. As Above, So Below. A group of overconfident explorers descending into the parisian catacombs, searching for the philosopher’s stone. Things go wrong, as they always do. They end up in hell itself. Santi loved this kind of thing. Honestly, so did you.

It was something you’d shared since you were kids—sitting cross-legged on the floor with your dad, watching horror movies long past bedtime. He had a deep, unwavering love for them, and your mother always scolded him for scaring you senseless. But you loved it, even when you had to sleep with the hallway light on for weeks, even when the images stuck to the backs of your eyelids like aftershadows.

You still remembered the night you watched The Blair Witch Project. Your dad had told you, very seriously, that it was real. That the film had been pieced together from actual footage, that the people in it were still missing. You and Santi believed him completely. You spent days afterward peeking around corners, flinching at the sound of snapping twigs, avoiding the woods near your house like they held something waiting just beyond the trees.

For days, you couldn’t shake it. The idea that somewhere out there, in some dark, endless forest, they were still lost. And then, one day, Santi came home from school, eyes wide, voice low.

“They found something in the woods,” he whispered.

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Candles. Leftover wax, melted onto the ground. Bones. Like from some kind of ritual.” His eyes were wide, serious. “One of the guys at school told me. He said there’s probably a witch.”

You swallowed, trying to look unimpressed. “There’s no witch.”

“There must be,” he insisted. “That’s why I’m telling you—you cannot go near there, okay? Or you’ll get lost, and who knows when we’ll find you. I don’t know how to fight witches. Do you?”

You shook your head, lips pressed together, pretending to be indifferent. But during the next few years, you avoided that stretch of forest like your life depended on it. Even when you turned twelve and realized he had made the whole thing up, even when you knew, logically, that there was nothing out there in the trees, you still found yourself watching from a distance, something uneasy curling in your stomach whenever you passed by.

On the screen, one of the protagonists was panicking, struggling against the rope wrapped around his foot. His breathing grew ragged, his face contorted in fear. The music swelled, sharp and urgent. You squinted at the television.

Santi snorted next to you. “Come on, don’t be scared. Nothing’s happening yet.”

The living room was dark except for the glow of the TV, washing the room in flickering light. Even the small lamp beside you was off. Mr. Darcy, usually nestled against your leg during movie nights, was nowhere to be found—probably curled up in your bed, fast asleep.

“I know,” you murmured, shifting slightly, “but something’s going to happen.”

Santi let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he stretched out beside you, rotating his shoulder with a wince.

“God, I’m so full,” he groaned, then yawned. “But I won’t complain if you give me the leftovers.”

You turned to him with a smirk. The soft glow from the screen reflected in your eyes, and the slight haze of wine made the moment feel heavier, slower.

“You really have no bottom, do you?” you teased, reaching for the half-eaten chocolate on the coffee table. “Fine. You can take them. But only if you make me some of that stew you do later.”

Santi scoffed, sitting up a little. “What did you think of the last one I made? I changed the recipe—more cumin, extra celery. I was waiting for your opinion on it.” His expression was expectant, a little put out.

You frowned, trying to recall. “When?”

He blinked at you, then sat up straighter. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged.

“You couldn’t have missed it,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes. “I put so much more celery in. You didn’t taste it? And a little ginger. That was Yov’s idea.”

“Why are you so fixated on the stew?”

“Because it’s my thing,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like he was deeply wounded. “I take your spaghetti seriously, right?”

You tilted your head. “I take your cooking seriously too. But I—wait, when? When we had dinner after going to the movies?”

“No, dumbass,” he scoffed. “When you and Frankie came over.”

Your mouth opened slightly. The realization hit you all at once.

Right. That night.

You had completely forgotten about Santi’s meal. If you were remembering correctly, you'd left the container in Frankie’s car.

Your gaze flickered back to the screen, where the protagonist was now screaming. You exhaled.

“Ah. Yeah. I forgot your stew in Frankie’s car.” Your voice was quieter, like the words had escaped before you fully thought them through. Then you turned back to Santi, offering a small, sheepish smile. “But I won’t complain if you make me more.”

Santi studied you for a beat, then tilted his head. “So, are you giving me the leftovers or not?”

“Yes. And some apple pie I made yesterday.” You lifted your eyebrows, watching the way his face lit up.

“Done.”

You settled back into the couch, shifting your gaze toward the screen. The movie was unfolding exactly as expected—each character trapped in their own personal hell, doomed by their own choices. You found a strange sense of relief in knowing this was something that could never happen to you. Not because you thought you were immune to disaster, but because you simply weren’t the kind of person who would put themselves in a situation like that.

The Paris catacombs? Sure, there were guided tours with clear paths and bright lighting—why would anyone willingly crawl through some secret, uncharted part of it, especially when history had already proven that people got lost down there?

You never understood that kind of thrill-seeking. Rock climbing? Fine. Trekking through forests, deserts? Sure. Skydiving, bungee jumping—adrenaline junkies, you got it. But willingly wedging yourself into a cavern, not knowing if you’d make it back out? That part never made sense.

Santi shifted beside you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Have you seen him?”

Your eyes remained on the screen. The only two survivors were finally making their way out, and you felt your body relax.

“Who?”

“Frankie.”

The name landed somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere in your chest. Your eyes flicked to Santi for just a second before returning to the television.

“Oh. No.”

“I thought you were supposed to have dinner at Helena’s weeks ago.”

“As it turned out, no.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, still watching the screen as if it required your full attention. “Been busy. I think he has too. It’s all good.”

Santi didn’t say anything at first, just watched you like he was waiting for something more. You ignored it, eyes trained on the credits rolling up the screen.

“That’s weird,” he said finally. “I talked to Helena this week. She asked about you.”

You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around the remote.

“She also said Frankie’s been dodging her questions. She’s a little worried.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you casually scrolled back in the movie.

"Do you want to watch something else, or are you already falling asleep?" you asked, scrolling absently through the app’s home screen, your thumb hovering over different titles without really seeing them.

Santi shifted beside you. "No, let’s watch something else if you want. Pick whatever."

You nodded, though you weren’t really listening. Your focus had already drifted, your eyes moving over rows of movies and shows, not settling on anything in particular. You were just going through the motions, waiting for something to click. The thought of anything too heavy, too thought-provoking, made your stomach clench. You needed something easy, something you didn’t have to engage with beyond letting the sounds fill the space.

Eventually, your finger landed on Family Guy, and you hit play without much thought. The opening chords of the theme song played like muscle memory, a familiar noise cutting through the low hum of tension in the room. Your head felt a little fuzzy from the alcohol, pleasantly weightless in a way that made it easier not to think too hard.

Next to you, Santi exhaled, long and deliberate, before tilting his head against your shoulder. A few beats of quiet passed before he spoke again.

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened?" His voice was careful, measured.

You blinked at the screen. "What?"

"With Frankie."

"Nothing happened with him," you said automatically, too quickly.

Santi made a small noise, like he didn’t believe you for a second. "Right. Sure."

You turned your head slightly but kept your gaze forward. "Why—why would that surprise you, anyway? It’s not like we’ve ever gotten along." You let out a dry, humorless laugh, the kind that barely reached your throat.

"Exactly," he said, sitting up straighter beside you. "That’s exactly why I’m asking. I know you well enough to know when something’s off. And I know him well enough to know the same thing. You add those two things together, plus the fact that Helena sounded concerned when she talked to me earlier, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out something must have happened." He turned to look at you fully now, voice shifting into something closer to amusement. "I mean, I knew this whole plan between you two wasn’t exactly solid, but I didn’t think you’d manage to mess it up this fast."

You turned to him then, incredulous. "Seriously? You, Santiago—the one who’s been saying from the beginning that this was a terrible idea, who’s been acting like a prophet of doom about the whole thing—you’re surprised?"

Santi’s lips quirked up, eyes glinting. He looked, irritatingly, pleased with himself.

"Knew it," he said. "So what happened?"

You let out a breath, shaking your head before turning back to the TV. The theme song was over now, the first scene of the episode already unfolding. You folded your arms, pressing them tightly against your chest, like maybe you could keep whatever you were feeling contained that way. But it was still there, that dull, unwelcome ache settling back in.

"We had an argument," you said finally.

Santi waited a second, then: "About what?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, weighing your options. Santi was staring at you, waiting.

You’d already talked to Emma about this. She had listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, offering up her own quiet honesty in return. She hadn’t sugarcoated things, hadn’t let you off the hook. She had even agreed with you—that yes, you had been cruel, whether or not Frankie had deserved it.

So you had already said the words once, already unburdened yourself. But the weight of not telling Santi felt different, heavier in a way that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with trust.

You wanted to tell him. Of course you did. He had been listening to you your whole life, letting you spill your secrets without fear of judgment. And he had never once betrayed you, never let anything slip where it wasn’t supposed to. Nothing you told him would reach Frankie. Nothing. You knew that.

But this—this was harder. It wasn’t just about Frankie. It was about you. About saying something out loud that you weren’t even sure you had fully admitted to yourself yet. It was one thing to talk about your insecurities with Emma. It was another thing entirely to lay them bare in front of your brother. To tell him that Frankie—of all people—had seen them before you’d even opened your mouth.

Still, what choice did you have? Santi wasn’t going to let this go. He never did.

"About Harry," you said finally, your voice flat, stripped of any real emotion.

Santi frowned. "Harry?"

You nodded.

"Why?"

You exhaled, suddenly hyperaware of the breath leaving your body, the way it felt too sharp, too deliberate.

"Because," you said, shifting against the couch, "I’m not as over him as I thought I was. And Francisco apparently decided that was his business. Thought it would be a great idea to ask me a million questions about it, maybe even offer up some unsolicited advice."

Santi folded his arms, his expression shifting from confusion to something more serious.

"What kind of advice?"

You turned to look at him then, and whatever was in your expression must have given him pause.

"Santi," you said carefully, "I’m going to tell you this, but you can’t say anything until I’m done. No opinions, no interruptions. You can ask questions, but don’t react until I finish. Okay?"

He straightened slightly, concern settling into the lines of his face. Then he nodded. "Okay."

You swallowed.

"The thing is…" Another breath. Another hesitation. "I haven’t been feeling okay. And it’s not just because of Harry, or Frankie, or any of that. It’s… more than that. It’s been going on for a long time. Years, even. It’s about me. It’s about the way I am, the way I live my life. Or, maybe, the way I don’t. I feel like I’m afraid all the time. And that fear—it limits me. It always has. You know that. You’ve seen it. Remember when we were kids, and you and Dad would invite me camping? And I’d always make up some excuse because the idea of sleeping in the middle of nowhere freaked me out? Or that weekend you wanted me to go rock climbing with you?"

He nodded, his expression unreadable now.

"And I hate that about myself," you admitted, voice quieter now. "Because fear holds me back. It keeps me from doing things that—who knows?—maybe I’d like. But how am I supposed to know that if I never try?"

Santi opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"No," you said, holding up a finger. "No opinions yet. Remember?"

He lifted his hands in surrender, pressing his lips together like he was physically stopping himself from speaking.

You exhaled, pressing your palms against your thighs. “Well, that’s just it. That’s the thing that’s been bothering me for a long time. Longer than I want to admit. And it—it doesn’t feel good. I don’t feel good about it.” You paused, fingers twitching like they wanted to pick at something, to fidget with the hem of your shirt, the couch cushion, anything. “And then there’s Harry.” You let out a small laugh, barely more than an exhale. “I really thought I was over him, or at least I told myself I was. But I don’t think I am. And I don’t even think it’s about him, exactly.”

Santi tilted his head slightly, watching you closely. You waved a hand, dismissing whatever concern you saw creeping into his face.

“It’s not really about him,” you clarified. “It’s about what he did. How easy it was for him to let me go. How easy it was for me to let myself fall into something I knew wasn’t going to end well. I wasn’t stupid—I knew he didn’t want anything serious. He told me that. But I still didn’t leave when I started to feel more than I should have. And I guess—” you swallowed, your throat suddenly tight, “I guess some part of me really thought that if I just waited long enough, he’d start feeling the same way.”

You shook your head, eyes flicking back to the TV screen. The cartoon characters moved in exaggerated motions, their voices playing somewhere in the background of your thoughts. You weren’t really hearing them.

“But he didn’t,” you added, quieter now. “If anything, he did the opposite.”

Santi didn’t say anything, and you appreciated that. He just sat there, listening, waiting.

You rubbed your hand over the couch cushion beside you, letting the soft fabric ground you before you spoke again.

“And then, when we saw him that day,” you continued, “Francisco basically laughed in my face when I told him I was going to the wedding. He thought it was pathetic. Told me I was a masochist. And I got pissed off, obviously. But the thing is, I hadn’t actually thought about it that much before then. I mean, yeah, I knew Harry was oblivious, that he probably hadn’t even considered how it might feel for me to be there. But I hadn’t really let myself think about how ridiculous it was that I said yes in the first place.”

You swallowed, tracing the seam of the couch absentmindedly.

“Francisco, though—he was vocal about it from the start. He never held back. He called Harry an idiot, told me it was obvious he knew how I felt and just pretended he didn’t. And that night at your place—” you hesitated, glancing at Santi, “I’d had a bad day. Like, a really bad day. I was already in my own head, already torturing myself by checking Harry’s social media, going down the usual spiral. And Francisco, of course, noticed. And he asked me about it on the way home.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “But it was the way he did it. He was relentless. He just kept pushing and pushing, like he was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I—I just felt awful. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted me to crack. Because…” You trailed off, staring blankly at the screen again. “I don’t know. It’s like he knows exactly which buttons to press to tear me apart. He always has. He finds my weak spots and then just—shoves them in my face.”

Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look at Santi until you were finished speaking. When you did, your eyes felt heavy, glazed over with something you didn’t want to name.

Santi’s expression was unreadable. His voice, careful. “What did he say to you?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up, steady but noticeable, like a pulse pressing against your ribs.

"That I needed to get over it." Your voice came out unsteady, something raw beneath the words. "That I had to stop making Harry into this tragic hero who unknowingly destroyed me." You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. "But he wasn’t gentle about it. He wasn’t even neutral. He was the opposite. And I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of it settle in your chest. "I know he’s probably right. I do. But that didn’t make it feel any less awful. It didn’t make me feel any less—"

You stopped. Your throat burned. Your vision blurred at the edges, a tear threatening to spill over. You blinked hard, forcing it back.

"He made me feel stupid," you admitted finally. "Like I was ridiculous for feeling this way in the first place. And that’s what really gets me—because I know he doesn’t actually care. It’s not like this was some act of concern, like he wanted to help me move on. He did it just to dig at me. To get a reaction. To remind me that I’m weak in ways he isn’t." Your breath came out unsteady. "What the fuck does he know about how I feel?"

Santi exhaled your name softly, the way he always did when you were teetering on the edge of something painful. Then, without a word, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in.

The warmth of it—his steady heartbeat, the way his chin rested lightly on the top of your head—worked like a balm. It didn’t erase the feeling completely, but it dulled it, took the sharpest edges away. You closed your eyes for a second, just breathing.

"I know your relationship with him is complicated," Santi murmured, "but, really… Frankie’s not that kind of person."

You pulled back, looking up at him in disbelief.

"He’s different with you," you said, shaking your head. "With me, it’s—something else."

"No, no, I get it," Santi said, his voice careful. "I’ve watched you two argue for years. But what I mean is… he wouldn’t ask you those kinds of questions just to be cruel. He wouldn’t push you about something painful just to see you suffer."

You scoffed, looking away. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know him." Santi’s tone was even, patient. "Better than anyone. I know he can be unbearable and insufferable, and I know he gets under your skin. But he doesn’t have an ounce of real cruelty in him. Whatever his reasons were, they weren’t to hurt you."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Doesn’t seem like it." You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head. "Why would he care so much, then? Why does it even matter to him? He doesn’t know anything about what it’s like to regret something this much."

Santi didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Like he was deciding what to say, or maybe whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his eyes flickering to the coffee table before landing back on you.

"What has he told you about Rachel?" he asked finally.

You blinked.

"Not much," you admitted. "That she dumped him. Maia didn’t like her. Helena mentioned something, but she never gave me details."

"Yeah," Santi nodded, exhaling through his nose. "Well, Frankie and Rachel were together for almost two years. Longer, if you count the months they spent circling each other before making it official. It wasn’t perfect—none of them are—but this was… different. He loved her. I mean, really loved her. The kind of love that makes you a little unrecognizable, you know? I’d never seen him like that before. But it wasn’t good for him."

He looked at you then, more serious now, like he was weighing his words before saying them out loud.

"I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you this," he said, "but you’re my sister, and I trust you."

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him, still reeling from everything you already knew—and everything you didn’t.

"A few years ago, Frankie left the CAG after one of his closest friends died in the middle of a mission." Santi paused, his jaw tightening for a brief second. "It hit him hard. Too hard. Took him a long time to find his footing again. He came back to Austin, took a year off before he even thought about working again. And, you know, he got better. Kind of. But never fully."

You blinked at him, stunned. You had no idea.

All those years ago, when Santi had mentioned a friend who had returned to Austin, a friend who needed help—you’d never really thought about it. He’d never given you details. He’d talked about Will and Benny often enough, but Frankie had been a more distant presence, like an acquaintance who existed on the fringes of your brother’s life. Someone he never really brought up.

"And then, a few years later, he met Rachel," Santi went on. "And at first, we thought—okay, maybe this is good. Maybe this will be good for him." He shook his head. "But it wasn’t. She was… possessive. Controlling. Not good to him at all. But Frankie was in love, and what were we supposed to do? He was happy—at least in the moments where she let him be—so we let it go, even though we didn’t approve."

You could hear the resentment in his voice. The hindsight.

"But he was still up and down. And then, his dad died."

Santi rubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked back at you, there was something deeply weary in his expression.

"He spiraled," he said. "It wrecked him, just like you’d expect it to. And then—two months later, Rachel left him."

You felt the words hit you square in the chest.

Santi exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, looking indignant in a way you rarely saw.

"She told him he wasn’t what she wanted anymore. That he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t acting like the man she needed. That he spent too much time holed up, too much time in bed." Santi’s voice turned hard. "Frankie was fucking depressed, and she had the audacity to tell him he was being selfish. That he wasn’t stepping up."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jesus," you whispered, closing your eyes. You could feel the sharp sting of tears, the words you had thrown at Frankie earlier coming back in painful flashes.

Santi let the silence settle for a second before continuing.

"Anyway," he said, his voice lower now, "she left. And two weeks later, Benny saw her at the mall, kissing another guy. He told us, asked if we should say something. If it was even worth it. And at first, we thought maybe we shouldn’t. But Frankie… he thought he could still win her back. He was talking about changing for her, about fighting for her. And I swear—" Santi let out a breath that sounded close to a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. "I’ve never been so angry at someone in my life. And the worst part?" He glanced at you. "She had been seeing that guy for months."

You felt something tighten in your throat.

"You told him?"

"Yeah," Santi said. "We had to. Even though we knew it would wreck him."

"And what did he say?"

Santi’s expression turned unreadable for a moment. Then he furrowed his brows, shaking his head.

"Nothing," he said. "He just nodded, got up, and walked away."

You didn’t say anything. A moment passed, stretched and heavy, and you felt Santi tense beside you. Like he was bracing himself.

You turned to look at him, already knowing he wasn’t finished.

"Less than a month later," he said, his voice quieter now, like the words had to be handled with care. "Helena called me. Said Frankie was in the hospital. He’d taken something—pills, a lot of pills. And he’d been drinking."

Your stomach twisted, a deep, sinking feeling settling in your chest.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you saying he tried to—"

"I don’t know." Santi shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "I never asked. And none of us did. He didn't wanted us to, he was clear about it. And I think we were afraid to." He hesitated, like he was weighing his words again. "And to ask him now, after all this time… I don’t know, it feels... it feels out of place. Because I really think he's in a better place now, so."

You just stared at him, eyes wide, unmoving. Something inside you cracked, like a hairline fracture deep enough to make the whole structure feel unsteady.

Santi exhaled and looked down at his hands.

"What I’m trying to say," he went on, his voice softer now, "is that if anyone understands what it feels like to be abandoned, to feel like you’re not enough—it’s Frankie. That’s why I don’t think he was trying to hurt you. I think he was just… misguided. Trying to help in the only way he knows how."

Your lips trembled, the weight of everything pressing down on you, thick and unbearable. A sharp breath caught in your throat, half a gasp, half a sob. You turned to Santi, searching his face for something—understanding, reassurance, maybe a way out of the feeling that had settled, heavy, inside your ribs.

He furrowed his brows, watching you carefully, a crease of worry between his eyes.

“I…” You barely got the word out before tears blurred your vision. A thick, aching regret filled your chest. “I said horrible things to him.”

Santi didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, one hand resting against the back of your head.

You let yourself sink into the hug, but it didn’t make the feeling go away. If anything, it made it worse—because you couldn’t undo it. Because knowing the truth now didn’t erase the things you’d said, the sharp edges of your words still lodged somewhere deep in your memory, in Frankie’s memory.

And yes, he had been cruel to you for years. Yes, you had convinced yourself that whatever existed between you was just mutual disdain, nothing more, nothing less. But now, everything felt different. Everything had shifted, changed color. And you hated the way it looked now.

You weren’t this person. The kind who threw words like weapons, who dug into wounds just to make them deeper. You knew too well what it was like to feel that kind of hurt.

“What did you tell him?” Santi asked, his voice gentle, careful.

You swallowed hard, keeping your face pressed against his shirt, as if not looking at him would make it easier to admit.

“That he must have a lot of experience feeling like shit. That he was nothing but a failure, a loser. That he was drowning in his own misery.”

Santi let out a quiet curse under his breath, his fingers moving absently over your hair.

“I was awful, Santi,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

Santi exhaled. “I’m sure he knows you were angry—”

“Why?” You pulled away, looking up at him, your face tight with frustration. “Why would he believe that? We’ve never been kind to each other. Not once. Why would he think this time was any different?”

“Because you’re not cruel,” Santi said simply.

You shook your head. “I wanted to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person.” He studied you, his gaze steady. “I think… Unfortunately, I think you’re both a little messed up in the same ways, and that’s exactly why he recognizes it in you so easily. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. And it doesn’t make him one either.”

Silence settled between you. You lowered your gaze, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you think I’m fucked up?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Santi snorted, shaking his head. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Not really. Not really, really fucked up. Just a little. Fixable.”

Despite yourself, you let out a weak, uneven breath—something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close enough. You glanced up at him, the smallest trace of humor flickering in your eyes.

“What am I supposed to do, Santi?”

Your voice was so soft, so uncertain, that he visibly winced. He didn’t like hearing you like this. Santi sighed, his own exhaustion catching up with him, but there was something warm in his expression, something steady.

“Right now? You go to bed and get some sleep,” he said, nudging your arm. “Later? Maybe we figure out how to fix this. Talking to Frankie would probably be a good start, don’t you think?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get back to you on that in the morning.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler

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toasttt11 · 4 months ago

Text

there

summary: exams are always hard but having a boyfriend made them a bit easier

request: "You're doing amazing, I'm so proud of you."

luke hughes x reader

She took a shuttering breath as she just submitted another final exam, she’s been sitting at the kitchen table for what felt like days on days, constantly studying and slowly working through her final exams.

The only reason she knew she was eating and drinking water was because of her lovely boyfriend, who she knew would never let her go too far in her focus on school to forget to eat and drink.

She pulled off her reading glasses tossing them harshly on the table and putting her palms up to her eyes rubbing harshly, the constant pounding headache she had through the past days wasn’t getting any better and the glasses weren’t helping with how much she has had them on and looking at her computer.

She took a shuttering breath feeling the pressure on her chest from the stressful week and the stress she has been putting on herself.

She was so focused on trying to not start crying she didn’t hear Luke unlocking the door and calling her softly as he walked into their shared apartment.

Luke immediately frowned seeing her hunched over with her face in her hands and knew she was hitting her breaking point. He hates how much she stresses and how school causes her so much pain during her exam but luckily this is last ever exam week.

Luke kneeled down next to her his hand resting on her back softly rubbing and he frowned more when she didn’t even flinch in surprise, “Hey sweet girl.” Luke softly cooed rubbing her back gently feeling her ever so slightly relaxing.

She took a sharp intake and Luke very slowly grabbed her wrists moving her hands from her face so he can see her beautiful face, beautiful even stained with tears.

Her lips trembled and she slowly looked at Luke with the most saddest and overwhelmed look.

“Come here.” Luke very gently told her as he stood up and pulled her up and she fell into his arms burying herself in his chest trying to hide away from the world as his arms wrapped around her making her feel protected from everything.

“I got you i got you.” Luke mumbled comforting as he felt his shirt getting wet with her tears and he just kept his hold on her firm just letting her cry.

“What if i failed.” She mumbled out through her soft cry’s.

Luke gently lifted her chin up giving her the most reassuring look, “And what if you didn’t?”

She paused softly looking at him, she hasn’t thought about that.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit my love. You’re incredibly smart and you studied so hard and i know you were well prepared for those exams.” Luke firmly but gently spoke to her.

Her cry’s slowly stopped just a few sniffles as she thought over his words.

"You're doing amazing, I'm so proud of you." Luke lovingly cooed as he cupped her face and kissed her forehead gently.

She managed a small smile not knowing how much she needed to hear those words making Luke let out a sigh of relief seeing his favorite smile again.

“Now what do you have left?” Luke asked her rubbing his thumb softly against her cheekbone.

“One more.” She answered sniffling as Luke gently wiped the tears off her face.

“And when is it due?” Luke looked at her calmly pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“Friday.” She softly mumbled.

“So you have two whole days to do the last one and i know for fact you’re the most prepared for this one?” Luke mused knowingly, she needed a break and he would make sure she got it.

She let out a small sigh of relief hearing it like that from Luke, she had time. She could take a break.

“Exactly.” Luke’s smile widened at her realization, “So you’re done for tonight, you are gonna relax tonight and in morning and then tomorrow afternoon you can take your last exam, okay?”

She let out a breath and took another deep breath and slowly nodded her face still cupped by Luke’s hands, “Okay.”

“Good girl.” Luke smiled proudly and kissed her forehead again before he easily picked her up making her laugh just slightly and cling to him as he carried her into their bathroom.

He set her on their toilet and he turned the bath tub on, plugging the drain and pouring in her favorite bath salts and bubbles and one of her many bath bombs before walking back to her.

Luke gave her mediation for her headache being able to tell she has one before Luke helped her slowly take her clothes off

She glanced at her self in the mirror seeing the messy bun, dark circles on her pale face, “I’m a mess.” She frowned, she knew her hair as dirty and she knew she definitely needed a shaker badly.

Luke frowned at her words not liking them and he cupped her face pressing a gentle but firm kiss to her lips, “My favorite and most perfect mess.” His tone firm with no room for any doubt.

His words made her smile softly at him, she can always count on Luke to get rid of any of her worry’s and insecurity’s by just being himself.

“Let’s get you in the bath.” Luke gently guided her into their bath tub and he smiled pleased seeing her looked more relaxed the second she fully submerged in the bath, he leaned down kissing the top of her head, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Luke quickly rushed out of the bathroom and within a few minutes came back, “Food will be here in a hour.” Luke told her making her smile to herself not surprised that is what Luke was doing.

“Come in?” She looked at him softly and pleading.

“Of course.” Luke quickly stripped and got into the warm bath behind her making her let out a another sigh of relief as she leaned against Luke’s chest letting his arms wrap around her and his chin resting on her head.

“Thank you.” She softly mumbled to herself boyfriend for everything, she didn’t know what she would do without him.

“Always my sweet girl.” Luke just lovingly mumbled and pressed a few kisses to the top of her head, he loves taking care of her and knows she takes care of him just as much back.

#toast’s 1k celly!#luke hughes #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #lh43 #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl x y/n #nhl x you #nhl x reader #nhl blurbs #nhl blurb #nhl fluff #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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pbnbucks · 6 months ago

Note

Tutoring caitlin in college

word count : 552

warnings : nothing but fluff

summary : caitlin was always a trouble maker.

“well maybe you would want to go out to eat after this?” the brunette clearly off task as you tried to help with her incomes graph for her upcoming managerial counting test as you tried to expressed how important it was for her to pass.

“Why would I do that, Caity?” teasing her as you run the backs of your fingers you and down her thigh painfully slow for a ‘tutoring’ session. you and caitlin both worshiped each session looking forward to the next one as it was every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

“because i would give you a night to remember” challenging you refusing to take no for an answer places her hand over yours making your fingers stop on her upper thigh. you enjoyed every second of your tutoring sessions, even though most of the time it was caitlin doing anything she could to get your attention.

“is that right? Why don't you get focused on the graph?” you inch closer and closer to her face as you see your little freshman get flustered by your presence. begging for your affection she leans in almost connecting your faces together before you teasingly pull away leaving her stumbling over her own movements.

“Can I take you on a date?” already ignoring your command, she is again trying to change the subject from her managerial counting homework. caitlin conned you into helping her about two months ago when she said she would help you by working at your small business downtown. she didn’t want paid or any reward, she just wanting your attention and tutoring.

“I'll give you ONE date if you're right, Caitlin. Now, please focus on your homework. That's the reason I'm even here,” challenging her as you accepted your defeat playing into the young ones games. you figure to give her an easy question as you secretly wouldn’t mind a date with her. but i mean who would.

“okay, ask away” the confident but insecure smile that came from her face along with her rosie blush filled cheeks made your heart melt for her. you couldn’t believe that this basketball star was practically puddy in your hands as she is head over heels for you.

“what is y=mx+b?” caitlins quickly shushes answer was about to be said before the librarian cut her off telling you both to be quiet or to leave if you kept causing disruptions.

“Mx is the slope, and the b is the y-intercept,” her slow answer, she hesitated on, was right, accepting your defeat. You removed your eyes from her, blushing, and she realized her answer was correct when you run your fingers through your hair.

“So dinner tonight. 6 pm sharp, I'll handle everything and pick you up.” Her giggles followed behind as she placed a kiss on your cheek picking up her study books heading out through the library doors not forgetting to tell you how excited she is for tonight.

“if you to want to gossip then you can go outside and do it” the librarian gave caitlin her second warning only for caitlin to slam the doors causing a scene as everybody stared at the interaction making you laugh at her antics. as well as making you realize that you actually have to start getting ready for tonight.

#lesbian #lgbtq #wnba #caitlin clark #caitlins going through it #i love caitlin clark #caitlin clark fanfic #caitlin clark series #caitlin clark fluff #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin fluff #caitlin x reader #caitlin clark fic #wnba series #wnba imagine #wnba masterlist #wnba x reader #wlw fluff #wlw

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powerfultenderness · 6 months ago

Text

Return

Summary: König misses his neighbor and pathetically eagerly waits for you to return. Paring: König/F!Reader Rated: T+ Word count: 1319 Notes: [More neighbor König] As always, König speaking German is in "italics".

In all his fantasies, you were always there when he came back home. He’d come home still covered in sweat and grime and you wouldn’t even care, you’d just run up and hug him. Then you’d fuss over him, insist that he eat something that you were keeping warm just for him. And he'd lead you back to his room and he'd eat what he really wanted.

But things were never quite like his fantasies. Instead of you waiting for him at the top of the stairs, you were gone. He only left for a few days, a meeting with executives nothing more, but he still couldn't wait to get back home and see you. The day he landed, you sent him a text saying that you would be away for a few days. There was a death in your brother-in-law's family and instead of making the kids miss a week of school, your sister asked you to stay with the kids.

He sighed as he washed dishes. Usually, if you ate dinner together (which was more often than not these days), you would do the dishes together too. It turned the task from something boring and tedious to something exciting and even fun. He’ll never forget the night that dishes turned into a little soapy splash war while you were wearing a white blouse. Sure you went home shortly after, a little embarrassed and keeping your arms crossed over your chest, but that only fueled his dreams even more. He went to sleep imagining that the pillow under his head was instead your soft chest.

For a moment he wondered if he could sneak into your flat (as much as one sneaks when they have a key!) and sleep in your bed, surrounded by your scent and warmth. He didn't. He thought about it, a lot, but he didn't want to break the trust you put in him when you gave him your spare key. Nor could he bear the thought that you'd think less of him.

So he did the next best thing. He slept with his nose pressed into the blanket that you usually wrapped around you when you complained that he kept his flat a little too cold.

On Tuesday he tried calling you after work, but you were busy with the various after school activities the kids had, so the conversation was short. “Welcome back! I missed you too! I’ll be back Friday night. Gotta go, g’night!”

At least he got to hear your voice.

He tried to text you on Wednesday, but by the time you answered, he was already starting to get tired and the conversation fizzled out pretty quickly.

He slept with the pillow that you usually leaned on that night. It wasn’t the same, he wasn’t even sure if he could actually still smell you or if it was just his imagination. But it reminded him of you, so he held it close in his sleep.

He could hardly sit still Friday, impatient enough to raise a few eyebrows when he rushed home as soon as he could, as if that would make you get home any faster. No, he just didn’t want to miss you, he hadn’t seen you in so long that he needed to spend as much time with you as possible.

Should he question when and how he became this attached to his neighbor? Probably, yes. But he wasn’t going to, not when his phone just lit up with a text from you saying that you were on the way home.

Then he froze, his heart hammering in his chest as he realized that he hadn’t changed out of his work clothes. He cursed under his breath and rushed through a shower, he even shaved the five o’clock shadow off his chin. He paced around his room so much trying to decide how “casual” he should look that he practically air dried.

An alert on his phone told him that someone had just set off the motion detector he set up in the stairway. (He'd take it down later!) And he rushed to finish dressing. Simple gray sweats and a black t-shirt. He hesitated when his hands hovered over his makeshift mask but when he heard footsteps in the hall he grabbed it and hastily threw it over his head, at least he could hide any embarrassing faces he'd make.

He managed to pause and catch his breath before he opened the door, seeing you standing in front of your door with your keys in hand.

You only had the door unlocked, not even opened yet, when König emerged from his flat, your name a cheerful exclamation on his lips.

“König!” You laughed as he quickly gathered you in his arms.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hood pushed up so that his lips were pressed into your skin as he mumbled something in German. You were grateful for how many cognates German and English shared, you figured he was saying something about you coming home.

“Ok! Ok!” You laughed again as you wiggled in his arms. “Let me put my things inside!”

“No! No!” He shook his head, face still pressed to your neck. “If you leave again you won’t come back!”

“Then come inside with me!” You protested with a giggle.

He nodded and leaned down just enough to grab your bag in one hand, the other securely placed on your back. You wrapped your legs around him when you realized he had no intention of putting you back on your feet. “You act like I’m the one that went off to war!”

“You were gone long enough.”

“It was a week!” Admittedly by the end of the week you were eager to get home and just as eager to see König again.

He carelessly dropped your bag by the door and locked it behind him before you carried you to the couch, where he laid you down and climbed on top of you. “Like I said,” he once again buried his face in the crook of your neck, “too long.”

“You,” you shifted beneath him, allowing the two of you to get more comfortable, König ended up with his head resting on your chest, your heartbeat lulling him into an easy relaxed state. “-are acting like a big baby.” You finished with a chuckle.

König hummed and looked up at you, resting his chin between your breasts, “you are good at taking care of babies. Will you take care of me?”

You let out a sharp laugh that you tried to hold back, giggling at his absurdity. When you finally had your laughter under control, you met his eyes again. He was looking up at you reverently, like you were about to say something profound. You just smiled sweetly at him, “only if you promise to always come home to me.”

He nodded quickly, “I promise.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He nodded again and went back to resting his head on your chest.

“Ok, now get up.” You nudged him, though he didn’t budge.

“Already breaking your promise, my love?”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him again, “noo. Just suggesting we move to my room, it’d be more comfortable.”

König paused before he finally pushed himself up, “yea ok, you’re right.”

Even as he stood, he didn’t let go of you, pulling you up with him and keeping his arms around you as you led him to your room.

As he slipped into bed behind you, wrapping you up in his arms and holding you close, it felt so easy to drift off to sleep, the anxiety that had been gnawing at him all week gone in what felt like an instant.

Even as your presence lulled him to sleep, he knew what it was. He’d been back for a week but it finally felt like he was home.

End Notes: This was a totally unplanned chapter, but I'll write what I can these days.

[Neighbor!König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs):

@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16 @wybwtjmiadz @ghonigsloverbabe @thatmusedhatter @grassclippers @skystreamchan @lordlydragon @luvecarson @thetestsubject666 @mafer383 @darkangel4121 @puppylikethedog @trashitytrashitytrash @teapartydreams

#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #x reader #neighbor!könig #i love me a pathetic König #only took 4 weeks to write this 🤦‍♀️

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ginax0916 · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do a story where the reader has low iron or something of that genre and she passes out and chris comforts her? 💗

･:*:｡𝐈’𝐦 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞ೃ࿔*:･

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!reader

Genre - Fluff

Synopsis- reader has low iron and passes out but Chris is there to comfort her :)

I’ve been hanging out with the triplets all day. We have been watching movies and we even filmed one of their Wednesday videos and pre filmed a Friday car video. Which all took a lot of time and energy. I’m guessing that explains the reason to why I feel so tired. I just feel like my bones are giving out. Like I have no strength. Not to mention every time I stand up I feel the need to grab on to something because everything is spinning. I keep getting dizzy and my vision is starting to blur and then come back. But I really just think I need a nap and I’ll be fine.

“Hey you in there??” Chris snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Hm? What’d you say?” I question him.

“I asked if you wanted to to go out to eat with us, we’re gonna go to the diner downtown” Chris said smiling.

“Yea sure I’ll go” I answered.

I stood up and immediately felt dizzy. The room was spinning in endless circles and my vision kept blurring out. I felt two arms grab me to keep me from falling.

“Woah you ok?” Chris asked with a worried expression as he kept his hands on my arms making sure I wouldn’t fall.

“Uh yea yea just felt dizzy but I’m fine” I replied trying to ignore what just happened to avoid any more questions.

As Matt drove us all to the diner I stared out the windowing thinking to myself. Could this all have something to do with my anemia? I’ve had low iron my whole life and just recently I had gotten diagnosed with anemia but I really don’t think much of it. I usually forget I even have it because nothing ever happens.

“We’re here” Matt said already getting out of the car.

Focused on unbuckling myself and grabbing my phone I didn’t realize Chris had opened the door for me. I thanked him before getting out of the car. And there it is. That feeling again where I feel like my knees are giving up and my visions is fading. I grab onto Chris’s arm to try and stable myself. He grabs my hips helping me stay still. My body feels weak and I lean on Chris for support. He wraps his arms around me helping me gain stability.

“You sure you’re feeling ok ma? You keep losing your balance when you stand up, something wrong?” He asked frowning. His eyes searching my face for any uncomfortable expression that could possibly give him answers.

“I just keep feeling dizzy when I stand up but I’m good” I smile at him. Though deep down I know somethings wrong I just don’t wanna burden anyone with my problems.

“You guys coming or what!” Nick suddenly yells snapping us out of our conversation.

We all ordered and ate our food and we were just waiting on the check. Nick and Matt were having they’re own convo about some video ideas they were both laughing about. Suddenly I felt a tap on my thigh and looked up.

“Ok what’s wrong? You look tired, you haven’t said a word, and you keep getting all dizzy y/n” Chris asked really starting to worry now.

“You won’t tell anyone?” I shyly asked looking down.

“Not a single soul baby” He chuckled, the nickname making me blush.

“I’ve been feeling off lately and I think it all has to do with my anemia” I said embarrassed. Chris noticing it.

“Why’s that embarrassing? It’s pretty common y’know?” He said rubbing my arm soothingly.

“I just don’t wanna burden you with my issues” I admit.

“Y/n are you insane? You’re not burdening anyone with anything. If anything I’m here to help you ok?” Chris said with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you Chris”

“Alright you guys ready to go?” Matt asked as he left a tip for the waiter on the table.

“Yep let’s go”

That’s when things started to go down hill. The car ride felt like hell. I was sweating like crazy but I felt cold. Then my hands were shaking and my teeth were chattering but I felt like I was boiling. My breathing started to become unsteady. I felt nauseous too. Every possible feeling you could have I was experiencing it. As soon as we arrived I opened the door to get out, and my knees locked. My vision started going black. Like everything was being painted black. I held onto the car trying to get support but it was no use.

“Oh fuck” I heard Chris say before everything went dark.

Chris Pov:

“Oh my god oh my god what do we do? Is she dead? Do I call 911?” Nick panicked like always.

“No it’s fine it’s just her anemia it’s happened before we just have to bring her inside and lay her down. Matt go open the door” I said as I grabbed her and carried her bridal style inside the house.

I knew something was wrong. Since the second we finished filming those videos I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. I just wish she would’ve told me instead of feeling like a burden.

I laid her down on the couch and put a blanket over her. I felt her forehead and it was really cold so I went and wet a towel with warm water and placed it on her head carefully. I gently held her cheek in my hand rubbing it softly with my thumb.

“Oh poor thing” I said quietly.

I got the towel off her head and sat next to her waiting for her to wake up. Its been around 5 minutes and I’m starting to think maybe I should call 911.

“Chris?” I quiet and fragile voice said.

“Oh my god y/n you’re awake” I said, careful not to startle her.

“Are you ok baby? Does anything hurt?” I asked holding her face in hands as she sat up. She sniffled and tears started to slowly fall down her delicate skin.

“Oh ma c’mere. It’s ok I’m right here. I got you, you’re ok pretty girl” I softly talked to her, rubbing her back soothing as I cradled her in my arms.

“I hate when that happens” She managed to get out between cries.

“I know I know I do too” I agreed with her and wiped tears off her face.

“Take deep breathes ma, can you do that for me?” I moved her body so she was now sitting on my lap comfortably.

“Yes” Y/n mumbled snuggling her head into the crook of my neck making me smile.

“Good girl” I praised her.

Soon enough the tears stopped and her breathing was back to normal.

“Thank you Chris” She said as she planted a soft kiss on my jawline.

“I told you I’m always here”

Was this too long? Ty for the request by the way I hope what I wrote is somewhat what you meant 😭 Also Tysm for all the support on my last post it means the world to me. Pls keep requesting it rlly helps 🫶🏻🫶🏻

#chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin skywalker x you #the skywalker saga #y/n #ani skywalker #anakin x you

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runningincircl3s · 3 months ago

Text

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Eight

chapter warnings: brief mention of a joint, a lot of arguing...

i feel like this is really the turning point in this fic and i'm kinda nervous to finally put it out there... anyways happy friday!! next weeks post might be a little late as i'm going to paris for the week with my best friend!! so i wont be so active :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Noah.” You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Go after her. She never deserved to be sucked into our mess. If Amy ever meant anything to you, you’d go after her right now. You'd go after her and you’d apologise. For everything. Please, Noah."

But he didn’t move.

And then Amy’s voice echoed in your head, full of heartbreak.

“He’s yours, y/n. He was always yours.”

Noah's eyes stayed focused on you, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, knowing you'd give in, knowing how easy it'd be. You stared out the window instead, watching Folio and Bryan talk, pretending this wasn't making you feel sick.

"Y/n? Look at me..." He spoke, his voice voice vulnerable, and you feared you knew where this was going to go.

But you didn't reply, you shook your head, your gaze still focused outside.

And finally, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he walked away, towards the front door.

Only when you watched the door shut behind him, did you let out the breath you were holding, along with a choked sob.

For a moment, you didn't think he was going to do it. You didn't think he was going to go after her, and you were afraid of how that made you feel.

...

Noah took a slow breath as he climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The soft glow of light spilled out from beneath his bedroom door. She was here.

But he already knew that. He could hear her quiet sobs.

His fingers curled around the handle, and he slowly pushed it open.

“Amy…”

She didn’t look up. She was by the closet, tossing her clothes into her suitcase which sat open on Noah's bed, already hall full.

“Ames-”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, voice sharp but trembling. “Don’t apologise, don't bother trying to fix this. I’m doing what I should've done weeks ago- months, even.”

Noah stepped into the room, hesitant, like a stranger in his own home.

“I can’t keep giving my love to people who don’t give it back,” she said, her back still to him. “It’s exhausting, Noah.”

He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight like a sigh.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d see her again. I told myself I was over it, that it was done, I don't know why-”

She turned, eyes flashing, her pain flaring into fury.

“Don’t,” she said again, voice cracking. “Don’t insult me with that... You never loved me in the first place, did you?”

Noah didn’t answer, he couldn't. He wanted to lie, to say yes, but she deserved better.

She deserved the truth.

“I never ever wanted to hurt you,” he said. “God, Amy, I tried. The trips, the late nights, the dinners, everything... I kept hoping one day it would all feel real. That I’d wake up and realise I didn’t miss her anymore, and that I'd love you. That I’d look at you and forget what it felt like to love someone else. But that’s not how love works. Not the real kind.”

Amy exhaled sharply, her expression unreadable. She blinked back tears, but they were already falling.

“Then why did you let me stay?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Why let me fall deeper, knowing you didn't feel it back, when you were still broken over her? Why let me believe we had something, that we were building something?”

“Because I saw you trying,” Noah said. “Because I wanted it to be enough. I wanted to want you and not her! I hated myself for not being able to give you the same in return. I kept thinking maybe if we just kept going, one day I’d catch up.”

Her laugh was hollow, bitter.

“So you just settled for me because you couldn't have her?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You were never a distraction. You weren’t a replacement. I didn’t kiss you and picture her, Amy. I didn’t sleep beside you and pretend. That would’ve made me a monster, and I’m not that.”

“But you didn’t love me,” she said, her voice cracking like glass. “You were trying to love me. There’s a difference.”

Noah sighed as he stood up, running a hand through his hair as he thought about how to word what he wanted to say.

“I'm sorry, Amy. I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you wanted. You deserved someone who didn’t flinch every time her name came up. Someone who didn’t pause before saying ‘I love you.’ Someone who didn’t carry someone else’s ghost into every fucking room.”

Amy turned away, wiping her eyes quickly, almost angrily.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “You’re absolutely right.”

There was a long pause. Then she looked back at him, and her voice dropped to something almost gentle, almost sad.

“And the worst part is, I still can’t hate you.”

That cut deeper than anything else she couldve said.

“I want to. I want to scream at you and throw shit and burn everything we had to the ground, but I can’t. Because you were still good to me. Because I know you didn’t mean to do this. And that’s what makes it so fucking hard to walk away... Because you're all I ever wanted, Noah.”

Noah moved toward her, slowly, as if afraid she’d break if he got too close.

He wanted her to stay, he wanted to say they could make it work, but he didn't want to lie to her. He may not have been in love with her, but he loved her enough to know she deserved better.

“I never wanted to do this to you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her and pulled her into his arms as she started to sob again.

“I loved being with you,” she said into his chest. “Even if it wasn’t forever. I did love you, Noah.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know you did. And I would've done anything to be able to give you that love back, but you deserve better. And I know the right guy is out there somewhere, just waiting for you to come into his life and change it forever.”

She pulled back after a moment, her eyes swollen and red, but still somehow soft.

“I need to go. Please don’t follow me, don't call, don't text. My friends will be over to get the rest of my stuff in the week. Just… let me have this goodbye.”

He nodded.

She wheeled her suitcase toward the door, pausing just once to glance back.

“I hope you figure it out with her. I really do. And I hope she realises how lucky she is to have you.”

“Amy, wait,” he called out, voice hoarse. “Thank you. For everything, for loving me when I couldn’t love myself. Thank you for not making this harder than it should be.”

She gave a small, broken smile.

“What does fighting even fix?” She murmured.

And then she left.

He heard when the front door clicked shut behind her, and Noah stood frozen in place, the sound echoing through the house like a final nail in the coffin. He stared at the dent her suitcase wheels had left in the hallway carpet.

Amy was gone.

And he let her go.

She didn't deserve to be burdened by him any longer.

He dragged a hand down his face, his breathing uneven, like his body hadn’t caught up to the moment yet. He should’ve chased her. Should’ve said something more. Fought. But what was the point? She was right. Every word. Every tear.

He slumped down on the floor in the hallway, back against the wall, staring blankly at the opposite wall like it might offer him an answer.

Amy had picked him up when he was at his lowest.

When he couldn’t sleep without nightmares, she was there to hold him and calm him down.

When he thought about quitting the band, she talked sense into him and made him realise he was overreacting.

When he had convinced himself that love was something he wasn't worthy of, she loved him anyway.

She held his hand through panic attacks. She made him breakfast when he couldn’t leave bed. She put him back together after you had torn him to pieces.

And still… he couldn't love her back.

Because all it took was you walking back into his life for everything he built (or tried) with Amy to unravel.

He slammed his fist against the floorboard, the thud dull but final. He hated that he was angry. He shouldn't be angry. Amy was the innocent one in all this. She gave him everything. But the truth was bitter and ugly and loud in his head,

If you hadn’t come back, he might have been okay.

He might’ve convinced himself he could love Amy enough.

He might’ve built a new life, one that didn’t include you.

But now?

Now he was sitting in a cold, quiet, empty house, and all he could see was your face. The way you looked at him when you first saw him again. Like you didn’t expect him to still hurt.

Like you didn’t know he was still in love with you.

He stood up and stormed into the kitchen, yanking open a cupboard and reaching for a glass. In the past, this is when he would've turned to alcohol. He didn't pretend the thought didn't briefly cross his mind, but refused to let you be the one to break him again. So instead, he poured a glass of juice, letting out a humourless chuckle as he stared at it.

...

A couple days later, you left with Folio to go back to the studio at Noah’s house. You wouldn't admit it, but you wanted to see how he was holding up, you wanted to know whether he took your advice or not.

But judging by the atmosphere in the room, you could've guessed what happened.

The guys were supposed to be deep in their work, aiming to finish the album in the next few days, but it was clear the vibe was off. The creative energy they needed? Nowhere to be found.

They were all struggling, getting distracted, except for Noah, who was in the zone. He hadn’t spoken a word since you all got here, and the only sound that filled the room was the click of his mouse, rewinding and replaying the same track over and over again.

After an hour of suffocating silence, Noah finally broke. He sat up in his chair, his fingers twitching at the keyboard as if hoping to make the song sound right by sheer willpower.

“Something still doesn’t sound right,” he muttered under his breath. “I just can’t fucking tell.”

"Maybe it's your voice." You said under your breath, smirking as your eyes stayed focused on your phone.

He groaned, shoving the headphones off his head, dropping them to the desk. The sudden motion startled everyone, but it was his tone of voice that made everyone freeze.

“I can’t fucking breathe in here.”

Noah stood abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor in protest, and without another word, he stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

The silence that followed was too loud. You could feel the tension thick in the air, as if the whole room was holding its breath.

Nobody moved a muscle.

You stared at the door Noah had just stormed out of, brows furrowing. You could feel the weight of the moment.

He was spiralling, and it was obvious.

“Aren’t one of you gonna follow him?” You asked, your voice cutting through the stillness. But there was no answer at first, jsut a lot of uncomfortable shifting and a few hesitant glances exchanged between the guys.

They were all too scared to go after him.

You raised an eyebrow and sighed, irritation creeping up your spine.

“Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself out of your seat. “If you're all being pussies I guess I’ll go! I've been his emotional punching bag for long enough."

The rest of the band remained seated, the air thick with reluctance. You didn’t blame them. Nobody wanted to get involved in Noah’s mess, but you couldn’t just sit there while he fell apart. You were sure you were partly behind the reason he was like this, after all.

You made your way through the hall and up the stairs, your footsteps echoing louder than they should’ve in the quiet house.

You paused at the door to his bedroom. You heard a thud, like the sound of something being thrown, probably his phone. It was followed by a long exhale, full of frustration and pain.

You knocked lightly.

“Noah?” Your voice cracked around his name.

“Go away.” He snarled, but you refused to back down, pushing the door open anyway.

“No. You’re not doing this.” You stepped inside, closing it carefully behind you like the room might shatter if you moved too fast. Noah was hunched over on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. You didn’t move closer right away, but you kept your distance, trying to find the right words. “No one else came to check on you. I just… I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He didn’t look up.

“Everyone else respects me enough to leave me the fuck alone.” His voice was bitter, thick with anger and pain. “And drop the ‘caring’ act, y/n. You don’t fool me.”

You winced at the coldness in his words, but still didn’t back down.

“I do care.” You lowered your voice, choosing your words carefully as you sat down beside him, just far enough to give him space but close enough to show you weren’t going anywhere. “You’ve been quieter than usual. You’ve seemed distant… Did something happen that night?... Is it Amy?”

He looked up slowly, his eyes bloodshot and wild with anger and frustration.

“Yeah.” His voice shook. “I came back to find her packing her shit. And I couldn't let her stay and hurt her anymore, so I just let her go. I’ve done enough damage. She deserves someone better, and I... I could never be that guy.”

You felt the weight of his words, a knot forming in your throat.

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You frowned, your voice softening. “For the part I played in it. I feel terrible. If I never came back-”

He let out a bitter laugh, a sharp sound that hit you harder than anything he’d said yet.

“You think this was that simple?” He shook his head, his eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and pain. “God, you’re so fucking naive.”

“What do you mean?” You felt the crack in your voice before you could even mask it.

He stood abruptly, pacing now, fingers digging into his scalp like he was trying to rip out the thoughts that plagued him.

“It made no difference whether you came back or not, 'cause this time it's my fault, okay?” He exhaled sharply, his voice trembling with frustration. “I knew it from the beginning... It wasn’t real. She was just a goddamn distraction. A warm body to hold on to while the person I actually wanted was out of reach… I never meant for it to be anything serious but I needed something to make my mind off other things.”

Your heart stopped.

“What do you m-” You didn’t even get the chance to finish the question before he turned on you.

“I mean you!” He roared, the rawness of his voice breaking through the anger. “Amy never stood a chance, did she?”

You swallowed hard, wanting to say something but he just continued.

“I tried.” His voice cracked. “I tried so fucking hard to love her like she deserved, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love her, not really. She deserves someone who can, someone whose mind isn't always somewhere else, someone who doesn't need to convince himself that this was what he wanted.” He sank back onto the bed, face buried in his hands again. “I was broken, I was hurting, and she was there. She helped put me back together after the mess you made.”

You blinked, nodding slowly, everything in you turning cold.

“Oh… so now it is my fault.”

He shot you a look, furious and defensive.

“I never fucking said that.”

You stood up, the frustration boiling over.

“No, I get it now. Instead of healing, instead of dealing with your own shit, you dragged this innocent girl into your life. You gave her false hope and fucked her over just to keep your mind off of me?!”

His eyes darkened.

“Well if you didn't lie to me, go behind my back, sleep with another guy for months, none of this would've ever happened.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the sting of his words.

“You really think you’re the only one who got hurt? You left that night without a word. I called and I texted and I got nothing, so I got the message loud and clear- you wanted nothing more to do with me. Do you know how much that hurt me? I loved you, Noah, and yes I know I hurt you, we hurt each other, and I don’t how many times I can apologise but I’m sick of us going in circles. What else can I do?”

Noah turned away, shoulders tense with frustration, but you could see the hesitation in his movements.

“Leave,” he muttered, his voice low. “That’ll fix everything.”

“No!” You snapped, a fire lighting in your chest. “Running solves nothing, Noah. Haven’t we learned that already? Look, whether you admit it or not, we both know there’s still something here. I don’t know what the hell it is, but I want us to at least get along for our friends, and then maybe… one day, we could explore whatever the hell this is between us. Because I still care about you. More than I probably should. And I don’t want to watch you keep hurting people just because you refuse to face the truth about what’s going on. So no, I'm not leaving.”

He shot you a look, his anger flaring again.

“Well, I’m not gonna fuck you now that she’s gone, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, the air left your lungs.

Something inside you snapped. You straightened, the cold edge of your voice slicing through the space between you.

“Wow. Fuck you, Noah.” He stared at you, his expression hardening, but you didn’t care. “You really think so little of me? After everything, you think I came here for that?... God, you make me sick.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You grabbed the door handle with white-knuckled force, slamming it open as you stormed out of the room.

…

The air in the studio a few hours later was tense. Noah spent most of his time in the booth recording vocals, which you were thankful for as you were too afraid to open your mouth around him, knowing he’d just twist whatever you said and throw it back in your face.

You’d told Bryan and Folio about the argument you'd had- tear-streaked and shaking when you returned, you couldn't not tell them. They were the only ones in the room at the time, and both agreed Noah had crossed a line, even for someone hurting.

“Can I hear that back?” Noah asked, walking over to where Jolly was seated, listening to the playback.

“What song are you guys-” You began, wanting to join the conversation, to show a little interest in what they were working on.

“Can you shut up for two seconds? I’m trying to listen to this.” Noah snapped, cutting you off without even looking at you.

“Noah,” Matt warned, shooting him a pointed look.

Noah just rolled his eyes.

“Still doesn’t sound right,” he muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Try a lower tone, maybe?” Jolly offered gently. “We can do a few takes and layer some background vocals.”

Noah gave a stiff nod and returned to the booth.

“You guys are really grinding today, huh?” You said with a small smile, trying to shake off the sting of his words.

“Yeah,” Matt replied with a nod. “We want to wrap the album by the end of the week. Got a show this weekend, so we’re pushing hard to finish before that.”

“You do?” you blinked.

“Yep,” Ruffilo said. “Playing our first festival of the year, so we set that as our deadline.”

“You guys are playing a festival and didn’t think to tell me?” you laughed, trying to keep it light.

“Course we didn’t,” Noah’s voice snarled as he walked back out of the booth. “It’s none of your business.”

You blinked, thrown.

“Well… you guys are my friends, so it kind of is my business.”

“And this is my band. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Noah, what’s-” you started, but he cut you off again, voice rising.

“No! I don’t fucking get it! You’re not in the band, but since you came back you’ve been here every day we’ve been recording. Why? What does any of this have to do with you?”

You stared at him in disbelief, heart racing.

“Maybe I wanted to support you,” you snapped, standing up now. “Maybe I wanted to spend time with my friends. I don’t know, Noah- maybe I care!” You grabbed your bag and shoved your things into it, hands trembling. “But I’m tired of this, I can see I’m not welcome here. So screw you.”

“Y/n, no,” Matt said, standing too. “Don’t listen to him.”

“No, he’s right,” You said, turning to face Noah one last time, your voice shaking with anger. “I’m not part of the band!”

You took a breath and let it all out.

“You are a selfish, cold-hearted bastard. Amy’s better off without you, and I hope you stay sad and alone for the rest of your life, because no one should ever have to put up with your shit the way I have!”

Noah didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, expression unreadable, and said coldly.

“Yeah? And I wonder who made me this way.”

You shook your head.

The door slammed behind you with a force that rattled the frame, leaving a heavy silence in your wake.

Noah didn’t move.

“Dude,” Bryan said, his voice low with disbelief. “What the fuck was that?”

Noah shrugged, still staring at the door like he was waiting for it to swing back open.

“She shouldn’t have been here.”

“Oh come on,” Folio snapped, standing up. “That was brutal, even for you.”

“She’s not part of the band,” Noah said defensively. “I’m sick of her hovering around, acting like she belongs here.”

“She does belong here,” Jolly chimed in, pulling off his headphones. “And you know it.”

“C’mon, man, she comes here to show she cares and shows an interest and you just humiliated her in front of all of us.”

Noah exhaled, jaw clenched.

“You don’t get it.”

“Then help us get it,” Bryan said. “Because right now it just looks like you’re taking your shit out on the wrong person.”

“She’s not innocent.” Noah muttered, almost to himself.

“Even if she’s not,” Bryan said firmly, “You didn’t have to go off like that. You made her cry, again. That’s not who you are, man. She’s been my best friend for longer than I’ve known you and I am not going to watch you hurt her again.”

Noah sat down, staring at the ground, silent.

Matt exchanged a look with Folio, then leaned forward, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to shake the tension off.

“I have an idea. If Folio’s cool with it, why don’t we go back to their place once we’re done here? I think we all need a break, and you can talk to her there.”

Folio nodded.

“That’s cool with me. What do you think?”

Noah let out a slow breath.

“I’ll come, but I’m not promising I’ll talk to her.”

Matt shook his head, exasperated.

“Do you know how fucking childish you sound, man?”

Noah narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be, on both of you,” Matt continued. “Yeah, maybe she put you through hell, maybe you’ve got every reason to be pissed, but never once has she given up on you. Even earlier when you stormed off, nobody else got up to check on you- but she did. If that doesn’t say what kind of person she is then I don’t know what does.”

Matt softened, just slightly, before adding,

“You need to make amends before it’s too late.”

…

You were curled up on the couch, a rerun of some old sitcom playing in the background as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, planning ideas for how you’d decorate the back yard. The front door creaked open, followed by a familiar mix of voices echoing through the hallway.

“Hey,” you smiled, lifting your head, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We needed a break from the studio,” Matt said, flopping down beside you on the couch. “Folio said we could come hang here for a bit.”

“Needed to get away from Noah?” you joked, chuckling- until the silence that followed hung heavy in the air.

“I’m here too, dumbass.”

Your smile faltered as your face flushed. You quickly turned back to the TV, noticing Matt struggling to hold back a laugh beside you.

“So… What you looking at?” Matt asked, glanicng over at your phone screen.

“I want to get into gardening and grow some plants, maybe have a little patch in the backyard.”

“Then Matt’s your guy.” Nicholas smiled, sitting down on the other side of you, “Gardener by day, sound tech by night.”

“Really?” You asked, and Matt nodded.

“I could help you out if you want?”

“That’d be great! Thank you,” you grinned, before yawning, checking the time on your phone, “It wouldn’t be rude of me to go to bed now, would it? Since you guys just got here.”

“Course not.” Ruff smiled.

“But uh… Noah has something to say to you before you turn in.”

“I don’t care. He’s said enough.” You huffed, getting up from the couch, taking your glass out to the kitchen.

But there they were, standing outside by the backdoor, Folio had clearly lit a joint and they were sharing it on the patio, but when Bryan held it out to Noah, he shook his head, and caught a glimpse of you.

You turned your back to the door, rinsing your glass in the sink, hoping they’d all just stay outside. But before you could dry your hands, you heard the door creak open.

Careful footsteps moved behind you.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

“I’m not in the mood for another fight.” You said flatly, still facing the sink.

“I’m not here to fight,” Noah replied, his voice softer than you expected. “I just… I wanted to talk.”

You dried your hands slowly, bracing yourself.

“Then talk.”

There was a pause before he spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said. And how I acted.” His voice was strained, like it took effort to get the words out. “And I owe you an apology. A real one.”

You stayed quiet.

“I’ve been lashing out at you,” he continued, stepping a little closer, “Because it’s easier than actually dealing with my shit. I’ve blamed you, snapped at you, ignored you... and none of that was fair.”

Your fingers clenched around the dish towel as you turned slightly, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. He looked tired.

“I kept telling myself you could handle it,” he said, voice low. “That you were strong enough to take it. That you’d be fine..."

You swallowed hard, your throat beginning to ache.

“I’ve been unfair. And cruel, even. And I guess I just wanted to say I see it now,” he said. “I see the way I’ve made you feel. And I’m sorry. You’ve only ever tried to be there, to fix things, and I’ve been nothing but a dick.”

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, but your defenses were already starting to crack.

“I thought maybe I deserved it,” you whispered, voice trembling. “This was me paying for what I did to you…”

Noah’s face shifted, the guilt visibly crashing down over him.

“No,” he said softly. “No, that isn't true. I was too hard on you, you didn’t deserve that…”

You blinked hard, but it was too late, the tears were already building, hot and sudden. You turned away, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

“I’ve been holding that in for so long,” you said, your voice breaking. “Trying to act like I was okay with how things are now. Like I wasn’t constantly wondering when you’d look at me like a friend again. Or even just like someone you didn’t resent.”

He stepped forward again, slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you.

“I'm sorry, really. I don’t know if we can ever fix everything,” he said, “But I don’t want us to keep doing this, walking on eggshells, pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks freely now, and you pressed your hands to your face, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

And then he moved.

Without a word, Noah stepped in and wrapped his arms around you.

You froze, stunned by the warmth of him. The weight of him.

His arms. Around you.

You crumbled against him, burying your face into his chest as you cried. It wasn’t loud, but it was raw. Painful. Like letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding for too long.

Noah held you like he didn’t know how to do anything else. Like he’d wanted to do this for a long time but had been too stubborn to let himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words brushing against your hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You didn’t speak. You just let yourself fall apart for a minute, finally, safely, because for the first time in months, you didn’t feel alone in the mess.

When your crying seemingly came to an end, you slowly pulled back. He didn’t let you go right away, only loosening his hold enough so you could meet his eyes.

“I’m still hurt,” you said, voice hoarse. “And I’m still angry.”

“I know.” He nodded.

“But I don’t want to keep feeling like this. I don’t want to keep arguing every time we’re in the same space.”

He exhaled slowly, giving the smallest, almost grateful smile.

“Then let’s stop,” he said. “Let’s try to move forward. Not… destroy each other every time we speak.”

You gave a shaky laugh through your tears.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Less exhausting than this.”

You nodded.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t a fix. It wasn’t even forgiveness, but it was a start.

“I’m gonna go to bed." You said softly.

“Alright.”

You paused in the doorway, your hand resting on the frame as you looked back at him.

“Goodnight, Noah.”

He gave a small nod, eyes meeting yours.

“Goodnight, y/n… Will you be coming with us this weekend?”

You blinked, surprised by the question.

“You want me to?”

His lips curved, just barely.

“I know you’d never say no to a festival.”

Your heart tugged at the quiet truth of it.

He knew you too well.

You smiled faintly.

“Then you already know my answer.”

----------------------------------

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami--gami @bluehairpunklol @darknightstarryeyes @xxkittenkissesxx @renegadebirch

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #noahsebastian #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian fanfiction #★blood sport

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lillaluna · 1 year ago

Text

in this world and that world

Pairing:��Diluc, Childe, Ayato, Wriothesley x f!Reader

Summary: You're absolutely in love with your beautiful character from the game Genshin Impact and at one point, you meet him in your reality.

DILUC

You've had an absolutely lousy day, preceded by the same morning and preceded by the same evening. It's been like this for a month now.

Going home after work, you decided that it would not be a bad idea to buy yourself a bottle of wine, especially today was Friday. Going to the shop, you went to your favourite rack and took that bottle of wine, which you had taken almost every Friday until today.

"I'd better not take it, it's not the best vintage and…"

"I'll probably sort out my own drinking, mister!" - you were just starting to wind up, like a flame that had been inadvertently splashed with fuel. Turning round to the guy who'd made the remark you were preparing to unleash all your anger on him, but when you met his scarlet eyes you froze. Then somewhere in the back of your mind you heard the sound of breaking glass. "Diluс," you squeaked.

The guy ignoring your daze fussed around you, holding out his hand for you to safely step over the shards from the broken bottle. He kept saying that one of the staff would come and clean it up, when you automatically put your hand into Diluс's open palm, and as soon as your fingers touched you passed out.

AYATO

After waiting at the bus stop for almost an hour, you decided there was nothing more to catch there and headed home on foot. It wasn't a long walk, but you were hampered by a downpour, the first of the rainy season. Scolding yourself for forgetting your umbrella at home and pressing your head into your shoulders as if it could save you from the large drops of rain, you waited for the traffic light to turn green, standing in front of the pedestrian crossing.

And at some point, the rain stopped. No, not everywhere. The drops stopped falling on the top of your head, pouring under your clothes. Without taking your eyes off the ground you turned your head a little and saw a man's light-coloured shoes, followed by white trousers. As you looked up, you noticed a blue shirt. And a white jacket that was thrown over the man's broad shoulders.

This image already reminded you vaguely of someone, and looking up, you met the blue eyes of the guy across from you.

You must have looked like a madwoman, standing like that, under the umbrella the man held over you, while you stared at him and literally forced yourself to breathe.

"Ayato…", you whispered quietly, afraid that the magic was about to dissipate or that you'd wake up in bed sweating, but the guy across from you just smiled sweetly.

"I thought we knew each other. I can't figure out where I've seen you before".

CHILDE

Evening. Your room in the student dormitory, where you've been trying to memorise the answers to the tests for one of the most important exams of your life for the past hour. On the one hand you're let down by your absent-mindedness and lack of concentration, and on the other… On the other hand by the loud music that's blaring, as it seems to you, to the whole neighbourhood.

Unable to stand these beautiful tunes, you decide to go and deal with the troublemaker. Of course, you hope to just ask him/her to turn it down, but you don't completely dismiss the idea that you might have to fight.

You had to knock long and hard, pulling the doorknob a few times before the music stopped and you finally heard footsteps outside the door. Preparing to utter an angry tirade, you took more air into your lungs, and as soon as the door opened you let the air out like a balloon.

Your first thought was that you'd fallen asleep. Yeah you must have fallen asleep playing on your phone, and that's why in your dream you now have Childe standing in front of you and smiling cheekily, awkwardly scratching himself on the back of his head.

"I guess I did it too loud," the guy says, but you just let it pass and looking at him full in your mind's eye, you unceremoniously reach out and poke your finger right into his chest to make sure he's real.

WRIOTHESLEY

Kicking the crap out of the punching bag at the gym became your favourite method of stress relief. Channelling all the negative emotions, you excitedly sent powerful, by your standards, punches into the sports equipment hanging in front of you.

You were not a super athletic girl, but rather the opposite, more of a slim and too thin. And very uncoordinated…

The "head with ears", as you called the hairstyle of your favourite character from your favourite game, captured your attention immediately, and you completely forgot about the fact that you were about to be attacked by a freshly beaten pear.

A moment later it did, and you collapsed to the floor with a loud "oh, fuck". Dropping your gloves and rolling over onto all fours, you crawled away from the still swinging punching bag. Your head felt a little dizzy as you shook it out of your eyes. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the red sneakers, which, judging by their size, were worn on a man's feet.

"Fuck," you exhaled, and lowered your head, recognising that in a moment, you'd have to burn with shame.

Resting one hand on the floor, you pushed yourself up to squat. Slowly glancing down at your legs, your black shorts, and then your white sports shirt, you tilted your head questioningly to the side as you noticed the scars on the guy's neck in front of you.

"I can't help you if you're going to sit in that pose and stare."

You could have sworn you were ready to faint when you heard that painfully familiar voice. As you looked up sharply to the guy's face, you realised that surely the pear had hit you on the head too hard, because in front of you stood Wriothesley, the same damn Duke Meropide.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #childe x reader #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #childe #tartaglia x reader

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putmeinmoviebaby · 8 months ago

Text

It was late, and the bar was completely empty. The cold outside was biting, and the overcast weather made the city a silent and somber scene. Ahead of me, there were only two couples talking quietly, and it was already past midnight. I couldn't wait to leave.

"Can you close the bar for me tonight? Jenny's mad at me for coming in so late," James said, approaching the bar.

"You're going to end up alone if you keep doing that," I replied, as I placed the empty glasses in the sink in the back.

"I'll take over your shift on Friday. How about it?" He smiled with his usual carefree expression.

I glanced at him, noticing his goofy grin. "Fine, but don't get used to it, idiot."

"I owe you one. I left the keys in the back room. Just lock up, and I'll get them from you tomorrow." He gave me a quick nod and walked out the front door.

As soon as James had disappeared, a man of average height in a leather jacket entered the bar. His gaze was intense, almost intimidating. He scanned the room until his eyes met mine. He walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps, as if he were the master of time itself.

He sat down on the stool across from me and rested one hand on the bar. I couldn’t take my eyes off the thick ring on his finger—there was something magnetic about his presence, almost like an aura surrounding him.

“I’ll have a glass of your finest whiskey,” he said in a deep, resonant voice.

Surprised by the directness of his request, I paused briefly before answering, then, with a slight smile, reached behind me to the shelf and selected the most coveted bottle in the bar. When I turned around, his eyes were still fixed on me, as if measuring my every move. I poured the whiskey into the glass and slid it across the bar.

"First time here?" I asked, trying to mask the slight discomfort his intensity caused me.

He took the glass, holding it firmly, and offered a subtle, almost enigmatic smile.

"First time I’ve walked in... but I think I’ve passed by here many times without noticing," he replied, taking a sip while keeping his gaze fixed on me.

The response, as enigmatic as he was, only increased my curiosity. I didn’t know who he was or what he did, but somehow, it felt like this man carried with him a story — one of those deep and heavy ones. Even though I knew nothing about him, something told me that the night still held surprises.

He took a slow sip of whiskey, and for a moment I wondered if the taste of the drink matched the expectation he seemed to have. The silence that followed was almost palpable, but not uncomfortable. It felt like he knew exactly how to move, how to occupy the space around him without needing words.

Curious, I decided to risk another question. "So, what brought you here tonight, besides the whiskey?"

He raised his eyes to me, as if considering the question before answering. "What always brings someone to a bar at midnight… some things I prefer to forget, others I might need to remember."

His eyes returned to the glass. That answer intrigued me, as if he were torn between the present and the past. Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew I was interested in finding out more.

"Is this whiskey strong enough to help with that?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood. He let out a faint smile, almost a glimpse of something lighter that he kept deep inside.

"Let’s find out, love," he said, before taking another sip.

I couldn’t help but notice how attractive the man was in my view, his short hair beginning to turn gray.

"Do you usually work late?" I heard his voice saying while his fingers traced the edge of the glass.

"Not usually, I’m doing a favor for a friend," I replied in a low tone.

He nodded, as if understanding enough. "Doing favors for friends... it’s nice when we still have someone who deserves it."

"Sometimes, it’s okay to sacrifice a little," I said with a faint smile. "Even if the payment is just a few swapped shifts."

He laughed softly, the sound of his laugh almost seeming like an unexpected touch of lightness in his usually serious tone. "Yeah. And sometimes, a few extra hours in a place like this help give a good perspective."

"Or lose any perspective," I retorted, laughing. "It depends on what you're looking for."

He looked at me for a moment, as if thinking about how much of his world he could let me into. "Sometimes, it’s better not to look for anything in particular," he said, spinning the glass between his fingers. "Just wait for whatever comes... or whoever shows up."

I gave a half-smile, catching the subtle implication. He kept his gaze fixed, and though he was direct, I felt there was something intentionally careful in every word, as if he didn’t want to or couldn’t reveal everything.

"So," he said, leaning slightly toward me, "what does a girl like you do, besides serving whiskey and listening to stories in the middle of the night?"

The question caught me off guard. "Well..." I started, shrugging. "Most people who come in here don’t ask much about me."

"Maybe they don’t know how to ask the right questions," he said, with a sparkle in his eyes.

"I’m not sure I’m ready to answer the right ones," I replied, challenging him with a smile.

He raised his glass in a slight toast before bringing the drink to his mouth. "Well, maybe I’ll take it slow then... to give you time to decide."

For a moment, we stayed silent, and I thought he might get up to leave. But he stayed there, spinning the glass between his fingers, looking at me as if there was still something more he wanted to say.

"If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?" he suddenly asked, his eyes filled with an intensity that contrasted with the casual tone of the question.

That question was like a shot in the dark. I had never really thought about where I would go, because maybe I hadn’t believed I could. "I don’t know... maybe a place where I could start over."

He smiled, as if he understood exactly what I meant. "Sometimes, starting over is the only way out, darling."

He said this while looking intently at my face. His eyes traveled over my eyes, lips reaching my arms, capturing all my emotions.

I felt a slight shiver as his eyes seemed to examine every detail of me, as if he wanted to capture every reaction, every emotion. The silence between us was thick, loaded with something I still couldn't define, but it made me wonder if this exchange was really as casual as it seemed.

"You speak like someone who understands," I commented, trying to keep my tone light, but curious about what he would say.

He looked away for a moment, as if he was considering the weight of my words. "Who doesn't need a fresh start, right?" He smiled, but that smile seemed a little sad, as if it were loaded with memories.

The intensity of the conversation and the soft, almost melancholic tone created a connection that unsettled me. He was a stranger, but it seemed like there was something familiar about his presence, something that made me want to stay there, exchanging words and silences with him.

"Maybe it’s true," I replied, absorbing the moment. "But I think few people get one."

He smiled, as if that was the answer he had expected. "Courage is a strong word for some situations. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of not having another option. Either you start over, or you stay still, waiting for time to pass."

His words reverberated inside me. There was something more, something between the lines of what he said. Maybe he was talking about himself, but also about me — or maybe, about both of us. He seemed to see through me, but at the same time, he hid more than he revealed.

The silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if the bar was, for a moment, just for the two of us. The sound of the wind outside, the dim light, and the few voices in the background seemed distant, almost unreal. All that existed was that exchange of glances and words.

"I’m going to need to leave soon," I heard his voice break the silence. "But I’ll remember all this. Would you mind giving me your cell number?"

I gave a faint smile as I took a pen and wrote my number on a white piece of paper.

"Should I wait for your call?" I said, raising an eyebrow and giving him a sideways smile.

I heard the sound of his laughter as his fingers brushed over my hand while he took the paper. "Absolutely, love."

The End

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