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aller-geez · 2 months ago

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Hot ‘N Heavy

Written & illustrated by allergeez ✨

Summary: When Rexar is summoned away to attend his family's grisly Culling ritual, Kriia finds herself home alone—and rapidly succumbing to a brutal cold. Fevered, sniffling, and miserable, she settles into her usual stubborn solitude, but it’s not long before her discomfort draws the attention of her ever-attentive (and unfortunately very into it) boyfriend.

Rexar, already on edge from the family soul-feeding ceremony, video-calls her just to check in—only to find himself instantly unraveling at the sight and sound of her sick misery. His sneeze kink flares hard as Kriia, sharp as ever even while congested, picks up on the effect she’s having and decides to lean in. What begins as a concerned check-in turns into a slow-burn tease session, with Kriia escalating her sickly behavior—sneezing openly into the camera, whining about her symptoms, rubbing her twitchy nose with pitiful flair—all while playing up the helpless brat persona that drives Rexar to the brink.

Despite being trapped in a ceremonial chamber of fire and blood, Rexar sneaks away into the tunnels beneath the estate to handle himself while still on call. Their video exchange becomes a tangled knot of fevered kink, emotional connection, and mutual obsession as Kriia fully takes control from the safety of her bed. She leaves Rexar completely wrecked—flushed, blissed-out, and absolutely in love.

The story ends on a soft, intimate note. Kriia falls asleep mid-call, curled up in her shadow-wrapped blankets, while Rexar watches from the other end—torn between the fire-soaked legacy he’s trying to survive and the feverish little chaos goddess who owns him completely. Even apart, they are inextricably tethered. NSFW 8.3K words

Kriia sniffled thickly and sank deeper into the oversized nest of blankets cocooning the living room couch. The shifting shadows curled lazily around her, slow and syrupy, echoing her own sluggish energy. One of them slithered up to adjust the heating pad at her lower back, and she let it, grumbling half-heartedly as she clutched a mug of hot tea to her chest like a lifeline.

“Y’know,” she muttered hoarsely, “if I die while you’re gone, I hope you feel so guilty about it.”

Across the room, Rexar Fang stood in front of the enormous fireplace, attempting to zip up his battered duffel bag. It was bursting with ceremonial garb, silver knives, and a poorly concealed bundle of cannabis that he was smuggling to one of his less stuck-up cousins.

He looked over at her with that crooked, boyish smile that always managed to piss her off and soothe her at the same time. His crimson bangs fell into his face, smoke curling gently from his nostrils like he was exhaling stress and affection all at once.

“You’re not gonna die, babydoll,” he said, voice warm with amusement and laced with barely restrained concern. “You’ve had a cold before. You’ve had the plague before. You kicked its ass in like, three days.”

She narrowed her bleary purple eyes at him. “I was younger. More powerful. Less congested.” Her nose twitched. “And not abandoned.”

Rexar laughed, then immediately looked guilty, shouldering the duffel and stepping toward her. “It’s just one night. One dumb, murdery dinner with my dad and a hundred or so of my least favorite blood relatives. I’ll be back tomorrow before you even sneeze.”

Kriia’s lips twitched at that. “Funny you should say that, because—”

She turned dramatically away from him, inhaled with a soft gasp, and stifled a rapid-fire series of sneezes into her sleeve.

“Hh’nxgt! N’chh! Huh…n’gtx! H’nxhh—hh’ngkch!”

Each one was gentle, barely louder than a breath, but they clearly shredded her sinuses. She groaned as she flopped back against the pillows, voice gravel-thick and mock pitiful. “I’m dyiiing.”

Rexar groaned too—but for a different reason. He half-turned away from her, hiding the flicker of flames that licked the edge of his irises for a split second. She caught it anyway.

“Oh no,” she rasped, her tone suddenly smug despite the congestion. “Did I trigger something, Sparky?”

He scowled over his shoulder, freckled cheeks tinged pink just above his piercings. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t do anything.” She curled her legs beneath her and sniffled, rubbing her nose on the inside of her sleeve with an exaggerated whine. “I’m just a poor, helpless shadow elf with a sensitive little nose and a boyfriend who’s about to leave me for his soul-sucking murder cult.”

Rexar dropped the bag with a groan. “Gods, you can be such a brat when you’re sick.”

She looked up at him from her nest, suddenly sincere beneath all the teasing. “But I really don’t feel good.”

That cracked something in him.

He crossed the space in three strides, falling to his knees at her side. The smoke thickened for a moment as he reached out to cradle her flushed cheek in his fireproof palm. The temperature of his hand was scorching, but it felt good against her feverish skin. She leaned into the touch instinctively.

“I know,” he murmured, brushing his thumb just under her eye. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“I mean it in the most tragically hot way possible.”

She smiled faintly, and then sniffled again. He reached for the tissue box and offered it wordlessly, but she waved him off and curled her fingers into his hoodie instead.

“Can’t you skip it? Just once?” she asked, quiet now, voice small in a way she rarely let anyone hear.

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers. The heat of his breath washed over her face in steady puffs of smoky warmth. “If I skip another Culling, they’ll think I’ve gone rogue. You know what happens then.”

“They throw a dramatic council meeting in an underground wine cellar and gossip about you in Latin for six hours?”

He chuckled, but didn’t deny it.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, brushing her crimson hair from her damp forehead. “I’ll come back early. I’ll bring you that spiced honey you like and the purple cough syrup you pretend not to love.”

She scoffed. “It tastes like grape soap and shame.”

“Exactly your flavor profile.”

She elbowed him weakly and winced. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another to the bridge of her nose. She melted, nose twitching at the proximity of the smoke curling from his nostrils. She didn’t sneeze—but he definitely wanted her to.

“Text me when you get there,” she murmured, tugging on the drawstring of his hoodie with fever-heavy fingers. “And when you sneak off to smoke. And when you get bored and want me to distract you.”

“I’ll call,” he promised, hand lingering in her hair like he didn’t want to let go.

“You better. Or I’ll send you a sneeze video every hour until you die of frustration.”

He groaned low in his throat, fire flickering behind his pupils. “You’re evil.”

“I know.”

With great reluctance, he pulled away, lifting his bag again. She watched him walk to the front door, every inch of his tall frame bristling with affection and restraint. Just before stepping out into the cold, mist-choked air, he turned back, eyes gleaming red-gold in the dim light.

“I love you, babygirl.”

She blinked blearily at him and whispered, “I love you too. Go do your weird soul ritual and eat or whatever.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door shut, shadows slid up to lock it behind him, and Kriia flopped backward into her cocoon with a frustrated huff.

She was miserable. And congested. And maybe—just maybe—a little excited to see what would happen when he finally

The silence that followed Rexar’s departure settled over the estate like a thick, damp blanket. It wasn't the peaceful kind—more like the suffocating quiet you get before a storm, heavy and full of things left unsaid. Kriia sniffled pathetically into her hoodie sleeve, then groaned and tossed the empty tea mug onto the coffee table where it clinked loudly against three others. She had no idea when she’d finished it. Time felt syrupy and disjointed, her fever fogging the space between moments.

The living room had dimmed without her asking—shadows drawing in tighter like sympathetic pets. A few of them pulsed sluggishly near the windows, absorbing the overcast grey light bleeding in through the frost-laced glass. Normally, they were sharp and reactive, moving in tandem with her breath or her moods. Now they just hovered there—lethargic, dull, sick like their mistress.

“Great,” she rasped, voice shredded by congestion. “Even my powers caught the damn plague.”

She reached for the game controller on the ottoman, wincing when her bangs brushed her oversensitive nose. It twitched immediately, sparking a sudden, flaring tickle that bloomed behind her sinuses like someone had dusted the inside of her skull with pepper and regret.

“Ughh…h-hhhuhh…”

The build-up hit her out of nowhere—vocal, sharp, and unpredictable. She wrinkled her nose against it, breath fluttering with frustration.

“Hhhiih’NGkt! Nn’chh! Hihhh… Hh’ngxshhh! Huhhh…k’nGXT!”

Each stifle was tighter than the last, barely muffled against her palm before the next snuck up on her. She blinked, dazed and bleary-eyed, and then groaned again, wiping at her nose with the cuff of her sleeve.

“Freakin’ ambush sneezes... I swear to gods…”

The shadows rippled a little at her irritation but did nothing to help. Useless.

She tossed the blanket aside in a dramatic flourish and grabbed her headset. If she couldn't breathe and she couldn’t taste anything and even her shadows had abandoned her for a nap, then she could at least shoot something in the face. Virtually.

The console booted with a cheerful chime that grated against her migraine. Kriia narrowed her eyes at the screen, gripping the controller with clammy hands. Ten minutes later, she’d died seventeen times, most of them to absolutely stupid shit—like walking off a cliff or trying to reload in the middle of a boss lunge.

“Fuuuuuuck yoooou,” she groaned at the screen, dragging her voice like syrup. “This game is rigged. I’m a goddess of darkness and I just got body-slammed by a skeleton with a rake.”

She sniffled again, hard, wincing at the raw scrape of it through her throat. Her nose twitched traitorously, not done tormenting her.

“Hhhuhhh… Hn’gktch! Tschhkt! Huhhh’nkxt—Hhh’tCHHkk! Ahh…”

She sagged forward, controller sliding to the floor. Her whole face throbbed, sinuses aching behind her eyes like someone had taken a crowbar to her skull.

“Should’ve let Rexar baby me,” she mumbled bitterly. “Stupid, soft, overgrown fire prince. Would’ve wrapped me in seven blankets and spoon-fed me soup if I’d let him.”

The thought made her lips twitch. She could see it—Rexar bustling around the kitchen shirtless, one hand holding a steaming bowl, the other trying not to set the dish towel on fire. He’d kiss her nose between sneezes and wouldn’t grumble when she wiped snot on his hoodie. He’d light scented candles even though she couldn’t smell anything, and hum some trap-metal melody under his breath while holding her against his furnace-hot chest.

“Wouldn’t have minded,” she muttered to herself. “Not this time…”

A flush burned through her cheeks, and not from the fever.

She flopped back onto the couch and stared up at the ornate ceiling, eyes tracking the familiar carvings of swirling flames and vines that lined the molding. Rexar’s family had no subtlety. Even the woodwork screamed power and legacy and death-by-fire. But they’d made this mansion theirs. Kriia had insisted on shadow-dampening the lights, adding blackout curtains, bookshelves stuffed with worn paperbacks, her worn-down bong collection, and a fuzzy purple rug that Rexar hated but let her keep.

“Bet he’s all stiff right now,” she muttered, imagining him standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his grim-faced siblings in some underground temple room, listening to hymns about fire and righteous consumption of souls. “Poor thing. Surrounded by murder nerds and horny ghosts.”

She grinned, then sniffled, then groaned.

Her stomach growled. She ignored it.

The shadows pulsed sluggishly again and coiled half-heartedly toward the kitchen.

“Don’t bother,” she told them. “The stove scares me when I’m like this. And I’m not about to microwave that mushroom rice he made. It smells like despair.”

Instead, she reached for her phone.

Rexar’s name was pinned at the top of her messages. Their last thread was mostly memes, selfies, and a video she’d made the last time she was sick—a dramatic montage of her sneezing into a tissue and whispering “this is your fault, you plague-ridden bastard” between fits.

She smirked and tapped record.

The front camera flicked on. She looked rough—hair a mess, face flushed, her facial tattoos standing out stark against her pale skin. Her voice was shot, but her smirk was devilish.

“Hey, Sparky,” she whispered. “Just wanted to let you know your girl is suffering. Miserably. Sniffly. Pathetically.”

She paused, scrunching her nose theatrically as another tickle crept up. Her eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Uhhhn…heh…Nhh’tchkk! Hh’ngxchhh! …Huhhh'n’kSHhh!”

Each one hit sharp and quick, her breath hitching prettily between stifles. She let the last one linger, groaning softly as she wiped her nose on her sleeve again.

“Hope you’re having fun with the soul buffet,” she whispered, voice cracking. “But if you were here, I might have let you cuddle me. Might’ve even let you hold the tissue box. Too bad you’re not.”

She blew him a kiss, then hit send.

Ten seconds later, she regretted nothing and everything.

She curled up again, tissues and shadow-blankets gathered around her like the world's most dramatic fevered elf girl. Her body ached. Her nose was running again. Her powers were barely a flicker.

But deep down, in the part of her heart that she'd never admit aloud—not even to herself—she knew she didn’t just want him there because he’d help. She wanted him there because when she was this sick and miserable and exposed, he made her feel safe.

Like she didn’t have to pretend to be tough all the time.

Like maybe, just maybe, being vulnerable wasn't such a bad thing.

Another sneeze snuck up on her while she was thinking too hard about that.

“Huhhh… HnngCHhh!—ng’tchh! Huhh… kTChhh!”

She sighed, face buried in the curve of her elbow.

“Miss you, you big smoky idiot.”

The shadows tightened gently around her, cocooning her like arms she could almost pretend were his.

Kriia’s phone buzzed beside her on the nightstand, cutting through the haze of fever and television static. She blinked blearily at the screen. Incoming call: Rexar 🔥🖤. The profile photo—a ridiculous close-up of his face—made her snort, which turned immediately into a congested groan.

Still, her fingers reached for it.

The screen shifted, brightening to reveal Rexar’s face, framed by the dim, red-hued glow of one of his family’s ceremonial rooms. The camera angle was slightly tilted—he must’ve propped it on a table or altar—and his familiar mop of curly white-and-crimson hair was tousled and slightly damp. He had that look in his eyes, the soft haze of fatigue layered under a stubborn grin.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little plague rat,” he drawled, voice already thick with restrained amusement.

Kriia didn’t even try to look good. Wrapped in a tangle of blankets with her nose twitching under the haze of her fever, she lifted one hand lazily in greeting. “I hate everything,” she croaked.

Rexar chuckled, adjusting his position. “You look like you hate everything. Damn, babygirl. That cold is kicking your ass.”

“You should see what I did to the Kleenex box,” she mumbled, voice ragged and nasal. “It’s in mourning.”

Rexar’s lips curled into a grin that was too fond. In the background, flickering candles and smoky incense glowed on stone pedestals. Occasionally, a voice chanted something indistinct—ceremonial, formal, faintly ominous.

“You’re literally surrounded by murder priests,” she muttered. “And I’m the pathetic one.”

“You’re hot when you’re pathetic,” he said immediately. Then paused. “Okay wait, that came out wrong.”

She sniffled and coughed a laugh into her sleeve. “I’ll allow it.”

He leaned in closer to the screen, and she saw it: the shift in his expression. The subtle flicker in his red-grey eyes as he watched her rub at her nose, the tiny dip in his voice as he asked, “How bad is it?”

Kriia’s hand stalled just under her nose. Her breath caught.

That look.

Rexar, trying to play casual, forced his attention elsewhere—adjusting the scarf on his neck, pretending to fiddle with something just off-camera—but she’d seen it. The flicker of fascination. The simmering beneath the concern. And suddenly, Kriia remembered everything.

That first day they moved in. The endless barrage of “so cute,” the nose kisses, the tip-off confession that still made her stomach flip whenever she thought about it.

She narrowed her eyes at the screen.

“You alright, flameboy?” she asked, pushing her sleeve to her face, deliberately slow. Her voice dropped, teasing. “You’re staring.”

“I always stare at you,” he muttered, distracted.

“Mmhm.” She rubbed under her nose again, slower this time, just to see if he’d flinch.

He did.

Only slightly—but enough. His fingers twitched in his lap. His eyes darted, once, to the corner of the screen where her hand disappeared under the blanket.

Kriia grinned. Then, without warning—

“Hh’NgXt! Hh‘gsch! k’gnsh! Ngt’chh!”

She stifled the fit rapid-fire into the collar of his hoodie she was wearing. When she looked up again, Rexar had visibly swallowed. The hand that was resting on his thigh curled slightly, as if to resist the urge to reach through the screen.

“Gods,” he rasped, voice dropping. “Bless you, babydoll.”

“Thanks,” she sniffled, eyes narrowing wickedly. “But you don’t have to say it every time, y’know.”

“Yes, I do,” he said too quickly.

In the background, a voice called something like “Et parae, in tenebris vitae.”

Rexar glanced over his shoulder with a sheepish grin. “We’re invoking the judgment clause or whatever. Don’t worry, no one’s being disemboweled yet.”

“Tragic,” Kriia muttered, flopping sideways on the couch. “You look like you’re dying to be somewhere else.”

“I am,” he said immediately. “Like, with you. Under all those blankets. Probably being strangled by your nose.”

Kriia choked on a laugh. “You are so disgusting.”

“You say that,” he said, dragging a hand over his face, “but every time you do that little sneeze-sound—it’s like, I don't know, the gods are punishing me and rewarding me at once.”

Kriia blinked, caught between embarrassment and delight.

“Are you seriously flirting with me while your whole family is soul-feeding in the next room?”

He whispered back, “They’re soul-feeding quietly.”

Kriia grinned, sniffled again—loudly this time—and caught his expression just as he bit the inside of his cheek. His eyes fluttered half-shut for a second. His breath came a little shallower.

“Ohhh,” she breathed. “There it is.”

Rexar’s smile was lopsided now. “No clue what you mean, princess.”

“I sneeze one more time and you're gonna have to excuse yourself, aren’t you?”

He groaned low. “Don’t tempt me. This robe isn’t flameproof.”

“And whose fault is that?”

They stared at each other.

The room on his side seemed darker now—more intimate, the flickering shadows giving the illusion of privacy. In the distance, the low chanting continued, but Rexar didn’t look away. Not once. His attention was pinned to her.

To her flushed face. Her twitchy nose. Her messiness.

“You remember when you first told me?” she asked quietly. “About this?”

His breath caught.

“Gods, yeah. You were moving boxes, covered in dust, half-sneezing yourself into the floor.”

“And you just—said it.”

“‘I have a sneeze kink, babygirl,’” he quoted back with zero shame.

She rolled her eyes. “Most people would, like, ease into it.”

“I tried,” he said, grinning again. “I complimented your sneezes like ten times before that.”

“And I thought you were just into being a menace.”

“I am that too.”

Kriia laughed, then coughed, then rubbed her nose again with a tired sigh. “I don’t even have the energy to keep teasing you properly.”

“That’s okay,” Rexar murmured, voice dropping again. “You’re killing me anyway.”

Kriia’s gaze flicked toward the camera, slowly. Her breath hitched.

“I feel one coming,” she whispered.

Rexar visibly inhaled. “Fuck.”

Kriia let the build-up take its time—let it drag through her expression, her eyes fluttering, nose scrunching, hands slow to react as she waited just long enough to let him react.

Then—

“Huhhh… h’n’gtx! Hh‘gsch! hptt’CH!—n’gtx!”

She sniffled, voice hoarse: “You still with me, flameboy?”

But the screen had shifted.

Rexar had moved—camera tilted down now, showing the vague impression of a stone hallway. Somewhere private.

She heard him murmur, “One second,” followed by the sound of a door closing. Then nothing but the glow of low torchlight and the sound of him breathing—

Heavy.

Low.

Shaky.

Then—

“Ohhh, babygirl…”

Kriia’s grin widened as she curled deeper into her blankets.

She hadn’t even started yet.

The camera flickered as Rexar settled somewhere new—somewhere quiet, dim, clearly carved into the stone heart of the Fang estate. The sharp gothic edges of the ceremonial chamber had given way to dark brick and a low-hung torch glowing faintly behind him. His face filled the screen now, flushed and taut with restraint.

“Okay,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve got like five minutes before they send a blood-soaked cousin to drag me back. Use it wisely.”

Kriia’s voice came through soft, hoarse, and syrupy with congestion. “You mean abuse it wisely.”

Rexar blinked, breath catching faintly. “Kriii…”

She sniffled, delicately. The camera on her end tilted as she adjusted, blankets rustling. Her nose twitched as she rubbed a finger under it, voice dropping just enough to make his pupils visibly dilate.

“I still feel awful,” she murmured, eyes wide with mock innocence. “My nose won’t stop tickling…”

Rexar’s jaw flexed.

She sniffled again, breath fluttering—just slightly exaggerated, just long enough to tease.

“I think I’m gonna—hhihh… Hhh-n’ktchhh! Hh’gschhh!—n’nxtch!”

Each stifle was light, high-pitched, barely muffled by her wrist as her body shuddered with the gentle, rapid fire rhythm. She lifted her gaze slowly, finding the lens again with glassy purple eyes.

“Ughhh,” she breathed, congested and miserable-sounding. “They’re getting so bad.”

Rexar’s throat worked visibly. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Her voice went up in an exaggerated whimper. “I’m sick, remember?”

“You’re evil,” he corrected.

Her lips twitched as she brought her hand back up and gave her nose another slow, deliberate rub. “You think I’m faking it?”

“No,” he muttered, leaning forward, eyes hungry and half-lidded. “That’s the problem.”

Kriia giggled—then coughed, sniffling thickly. “My throat hurts…”

“Ohhh fuck me,” Rexar rasped, shifting in his seat. The camera wobbled slightly. His hand disappeared from frame, likely bracing on his thigh. Or lower.

“Can’t breathe through my nose,” she added pitifully. “And I’m all warm and achey and—hhihh… hehh…—nn’ktschh! k’chh! Nxt!”

Rexar’s breath hitched, and this time she heard the faintest rumble—a stifled groan that leaked from the back of his throat.

“Babygirl,” he breathed. “I’m gonna spontaneously combust.”

“Don’t do that,” she teased. “Not until I’m better. You still owe me soup.”

Rexar’s laugh was breathless. “Kriia, I swear to gods—”

“I wish you were here,” she whispered, letting the moment drop into something just a little softer. “My whole body’s so sensitive…”

She let that hang.

Watched it land.

Rexar swallowed again. The hand reappeared briefly in the frame, dragging across his mouth before vanishing again. When he next spoke, his voice had dropped nearly an octave.

“Say that again.”

She tilted her head. “What, that I wish you were here?”

“No,” he said immediately. “The other part.”

Kriia gave him a look. “You want me to say my body’s sensitive?”

The way he exhaled—shaky, low, through his nose—set her stomach fluttering.

So she said it again. Slower.

“My body’s… really sensitive.”

Rexar closed his eyes, tipped his head back against the wall, and let out a slow, unsteady breath that came dangerously close to a whine.

“You’d be touching me so much,” she added, voice rough from the cold but soft with intention. “You’d be trying to help. And I’d be all sneezy and needy and whiny…”

Rexar’s fists clenched.

“I’d be curled in your lap,” she continued, letting herself imagine it aloud. “And you’d keep petting my hair and kissing my forehead—and every time I sneeze, you’d just melt.”

“I am melting,” he rasped, cracking an eye open. “Krii, I’m—I’m gonna have to—fuck.”

She didn’t let up. Her hand fluttered to her face again, pressing lightly against her twitching nostrils as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Hhhihhh… snf—N’gtxchhh! hh’ptTshh! Hehh… hihh—huhhh’nkkT!”

The fit was longer, wetter, her breath fluttering between each stifle as she shifted under the blankets, clearly breathless by the end.

Rexar looked wrecked.

Face flushed.

Smoke leaking from his nose in thicker, steadier curls.

He stifled a noise into his fist that might’ve been a gasp. Or a groan. Or both.

Kriia raised her brows at him, eyes glinting. “Are you okay?”

He was not.

“Babydoll,” he croaked. “I—fuck—I can’t…”

“You’re in the murder basement of your family estate, calling your sick girlfriend while you’re supposed to be eating souls,” she said sweetly. “You’re doing this to yourself.”

“I had to call you,” he argued, breathless. “You looked so fucking sniffly and adorable—I couldn’t not.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed. “And now I’m making your life difficult.”

He pressed the heel of his palm into his thigh. His voice was tight, bordering on wrecked. “You’re making it impossible.”

“You poor thing,” she crooned, voice full of syrupy mock-sympathy. “You’re all flustered and helpless and alone in some dark hallway, and I’m here sniffling and whining and—huhh…!”

Her eyes fluttered shut again.

“Hhhihhh—hh'n'gtx! Hh’gchh! k’tchh! h’pttshh! Nnxtch!”

Rexar cursed softly under his breath, fingers tightening visibly as he shifted out of frame.

She could hear the rustle of fabric. Could feel the tension vibrating through the screen.

“Do you need a break, Sparky?” she whispered.

He exhaled shakily, clearly struggling to focus. “What I need is a stronger soul and a cold shower.”

“You’ll get neither,” she said, relishing the way his face twisted with tortured delight. “So you’ll just have to sit there and listen.”

He let out the most broken little laugh. “Gods, I love you.”

“Yeah,” she said, sniffling again. “I know.”

She shifted on camera, blankets slipping to reveal her shoulder—red X tattoos vivid against pale skin, flushed cheeks, and the hoodie still hanging loose from her frame. Her nose twitched again.

“Think I’m gonna sneeze again,” she whispered.

Rexar let out a small, strangled sound.

Kriia gave him the slowest, most delicious pre-sneeze buildup imaginable. Her breath hitched. Her brows drew together. Her lashes fluttered.

“Huhhh… hehh… hiihh… Hh—n'ghkkT! hh’tchhh! hihhh…NnngCHh!—uhhh…”

She sagged back against the pillows, flushed and sniffling.

“Ohhhhhh gods,” Rexar whispered, his voice so hoarse she barely recognized it.

His camera shifted again—blurring out briefly as he angled it just off his lap. One of his hands was still visible at the edge of the frame, curled tightly, knuckles white.

“I should hang up,” he said, but it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like begging.

Kriia smiled.

Then fake-whined, soft and desperate: “Baaabe, I feel so yucky…”

That broke him.

She watched it happen—his eyes fluttering shut, breath catching, nostrils flaring slightly as he let out a barely contained groan.

“I want to hold you so bad,” he whispered. “You’d be such a mess in my arms.”

She sniffled, then murmured, “I’m already a mess.”

He whimpered.

And for a second, Kriia forgot the ache in her body, the fever, the rasp in her throat. Because right now, she was winning.

Rexar Fang, descendant of murder-pyromancers, beloved soul of the underground music scene, six-foot-four menace of chaos and fire—

—was a stammering, undone wreck for her sneezes.

And she wasn’t about to let him forget it.

The sound of stone beneath Rexar’s boots echoed low and quiet, muffled by the thickness of air that hadn’t been touched by light in decades. The tunnel he’d ducked into stretched deep beneath the Fang estate—an ancient hall of carved obsidian, once used for rituals long since banned by the High Circle. It was colder down here, the walls damp with condensation, lit only by faintly pulsing glyphs scrawled across the stone.

He kept one hand on the wall, guiding himself deeper into privacy, the other holding his phone tight in his grip like a lifeline.

“I can still hear you breathing, y’know,” Kriia said on the other end, her voice like honey-dripped static through congestion. “Even when you run off like a scared little schoolboy.”

“I’m not—” Rexar broke off, dragging a hand over his flushed face. “I’m not scared. I’m trying not to catch fire in the middle of a death chamber, thanks.”

A breathy laugh filtered through the speaker. It was wet. Hoarse. Wicked. “Mmm. So dramatic…”

Rexar didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He could barely think.

His body ached—not just with heat and the rising storm of tension clawing its way through his gut—but with guilt, too. Somewhere two floors up, his brothers and cousins were performing a ritual centuries old. Flames. Incantations. The devouring of damned souls. A necessary evil in the world the Fang family had built and one Rexar hated with every bone in his body.

He was supposed to be participating. Should’ve been cleansing the next sacrificial vessel. But instead, he was in a tunnel—palms shaking, breath catching, painfully hard in ceremonial robes that still smelled like ash and incense—because his sick, sniffly girlfriend couldn’t stop teasing him.

“You sound a little out of breath,” Kriia murmured. “Everything okay down there?”

Her image was still framed perfectly on his screen: blankets around her like a plush throne, hoodie collar rumpled around her collarbone, hair tousled from fever-sleep. Her nose twitched subtly as she sniffled, lips parted around shallow, tickly breaths.

“Krii, please…” he whispered, voice raw.

“Please what?” she asked, all wide eyes and mock innocence. “Please stop describing how I feel like my entire body’s melting from the inside out? Or should I keep talking about how raw my throat feels? Or how I’m so dizzy and achey I can’t even sit up straight without—hhihh…—hehhh… h’Nxgtchhh!”

She collapsed forward with a breathy stifle that hit all at once—perfectly timed, utterly devastating, her breasts bouncing slightly with the force of it.

Rexar let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled whimper.

Kriia straightened slowly, blinking at him with glassy eyes. “Still with me?”

He stumbled, catching himself on the wall.

“Rexar,” she said, softer now, teasing giving way to curiosity. “Are you actually okay?”

“No,” he whispered. “Not even a little.”

“Then why are you still holding back?”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“Because this is wrong,” he said, breathless. “I’m literally underground while my family’s performing a soul ritual and you’re—you’re making me…”

“Making you what?” she asked.

Rexar groaned. His hand disappeared from frame again, this time bracing against his thigh, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.

“Say it,” she whispered.

His nostrils flared. His smoke was thick now, curling up the camera lens. “You know what.”

“You like this,” she purred, voice hoarse but filled with smug glee. “You love this. Sitting in some haunted hallway, body burning, while your poor, congested girlfriend makes those little sick noises you lose your mind over…”

She sniffled again—loud, wet, intentionally exaggerated.

Kriia adjusted her position on the bed, shadows shifting around her like velvet tentacles responding to her mood. She looked into the camera with glassy, half-lidded eyes and a flushed nose twitching gently, deliberately exaggerating every motion as she reached up and rubbed her palm in slow circles beneath her nostrils.

“You still watching me?” she asked, voice like cracked honey.

Rexar, sitting hunched in the tunnel, nodded silently.

“Remember what you said that first night?” she crooned. “How you wanted to tie me up in a blanket cocoon, lay me in your lap, and keep tissues tucked into your waistband so you could wipe my nose for me every time I sneezed?”

“I—fuck—I didn’t mean it like—”

“Yes, you did,” she said with a sly smile. “You do want that. You want me feverish and soft and needy. You want me to look up at you with teary eyes and beg you to make the tickle go away.”

Rexar’s camera tilted slightly as he shifted, trying to hide the way his hips bucked forward. His breathing had fully changed—shorter, sharper, his voice caught somewhere in his throat.

“Say it,” Kriia whispered. “Say what you want.”

“I want you,” he finally gasped. “Sick and squirmy and fucking helpless. I want to take care of you until I can’t stand it anymore.”

Kriia grinned, slow and dangerous. “And then what?”

His next breath was guttural. “Then I want to ruin you.”

She gave a soft moan—half a congested groan, half breathy giggle—and tilted her head, pretending to sniffle innocently. Her fingers crept up to press beneath her nose again.

“Ohhh, Rexar… I feel another one coming… what if I can’t hold it back this time?”

“Don’t,” he begged. “Let it happen—please—”

She fluttered her lashes, breathing building in theatrical little hitches.

“Hhhuhhh… hhhH’NGSHhh! h’tchhh!—huh’Ktchhh! Ahhh…”

She didn’t cover it. Let the mist glint in the screen light again. And when she recovered, panting lightly, her voice went syrupy again.

“Bet you wish you were here to clean that up.”

Rexar groaned so deeply it echoed.

“Gods,” she whispered. “You get like this every time, don’t you? The second I sound a little stuffy, you forget all about fire rituals and soul feasting. All you want to do is—what? Babysit me? Pin me down and pet me until I sneeze all over you?”

“K-Krii,” he stammered, voice low, breath shallow.

“You’re so easy,” she purred. She leaned in toward the screen, just enough for her camo bra to peek out again as she pulled her hoodie collar down slowly. “Every little sniffle I make, you get hotter. Your fingers start twitching. You forget how to speak.”

He swallowed audibly.

“You want to help me, don’t you?” she asked sweetly. “Tuck me under the blankets, rub my back, kiss my forehead while I—hhuhhh… hh’nkkTCH!—huh’Nxtchhh!—hiihh... hhh’tchhh!”

She collapsed forward again, breath catching so prettily between sneezes she sounded winded by the end of it.

Rexar was on the edge. His breathing had gone shallow, one hand now flat on the floor beside him for support as he practically trembled with restraint.

“Princess…”

“I’d be whining for you,” she continued softly. “Nuzzling against your chest, rubbing my little stuffy nose into your shirt…”

“Babygirl,” he begged.

“And you’d love it,” she whispered. “You’d tell me how cute I sound. How helpless. How bad you want to—”

“Don’t,” he snapped—but the way he said it wasn’t angry. It was desperate. Like he needed her to stop just as much as he didn’t.

She tilted her head at the screen. “You’re making that face again.”

“What face.”

“That starving face.”

“I’m not—”

“Your eyes get all shiny,” she murmured, licking her lips. “And your nose twitches. And you get this little tremble in your voice, like you’re fighting every urge in your body not to lose it.”

He said nothing. He couldn’t.

So she delivered the killing blow.

“You’re so good at pretending to be composed when you’re turned on,” she whispered. “It’s adorable.”

Rexar snapped.

He dropped the phone briefly as he leaned his head back against the wall and groaned—loud. The screen went black for a second, muffled by fabric, before tilting sideways to capture only the edge of his jaw and the heavy fall of his red-tinted bangs.

His voice came through ragged. “I’m not gonna make it back to the ritual.”

“Don’t,” Kriia whispered. “Stay with me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you will.”

He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

He stayed there, slouched on the cold stone floor, ceremonial sash twisted around his waist, breath shaking, hips subtly shifting as he tried to ground himself. His smoke curled higher, denser, glowing with embers that shimmered with every ragged exhale.

“You’re wrecked,” Kriia cooed. “All because I’ve got a head cold.”

“Not just that,” he breathed. “Because it’s you.”

Kriia smiled—soft and real this time. “I’d kiss you if you were here.”

“Even if I was sweating through my clothes and leaking smoke?”

“Especially then.”

He laughed—a rough, low sound. Then: “You are evil.”

“I just know what you like.”

“You’re what I like.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—quietly, almost sheepishly—Rexar said, “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

“Then don’t stop,” she interrupted, voice raspy with congestion and control. “Don’t stop anything.”

He exhaled so hard it sounded like his whole chest was collapsing.

“I can’t even touch you,” he rasped, one hand dragging across his jaw. “And I’m still closer than I’ve ever been.”

Rexar’s grip on the phone was white-knuckled, jaw clenched so tightly his temple ached. The flames of his family’s ritual still danced somewhere above, but down in this carved-out sanctum of obsidian tunnels, all he could see—all he could feel—was her.

Kriia.

A flushed, sniffling, sick mess on the screen. And she was glowing.

Not literally. Not like him. But in the dim lamplight of their shared bedroom, she looked lit from within—cheeks ruddy, nose pink and twitching, lips parted with every ticklish breath. She had that dazed look she wore when fevered, half-feral and fully dangerous.

She gave a hoarse little giggle, rubbing under her nose with a knuckle. “Still watching me fall apart, flameboy?”

“I can’t not,” Rexar groaned, barely keeping the tremor from his voice.

“Good.”

Then—slowly, theatrically—she lifted her shirt just enough to show off the curve of her camo bra. The motion sent her hair spilling messily over one shoulder, her breath visibly hitching.

“I think I feel another sneeze coming…”

Rexar couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Kriia’s build-up was torturously slow. She let her breath flutter in ragged, uneven waves—head tilting, nostrils flaring delicately, lashes fluttering. “Hhhihhh… hiihhh… hhH’NG’tchh! K’tchh! H’ngCHhh! Huhhh… nn’KXshhh!”

She sneezed openly at the camera—wet, head-snapping fits that misted faintly in the dim light.

Rexar whimpered offscreen.

Kriia sniffled and tilted her head at him. “You still breathing?”

“Barely,” he rasped.

“Gods, you’re so easy,” she whispered, voice thick with amusement—and congestion. “You get hard so fast. Bet you’re already stroking yourself under those robes, aren’t you?”

Rexar’s head hit the wall behind him with a quiet thunk. “Don’t. Start.”

Kriia smiled—languid, sly, eyes half-lidded. “You want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer.

So she leaned in closer, let the camera catch every detail of her flushed, glistening expression. “I’m still burning up,” she whispered. “My skin’s so sensitive I can’t even lie still. And my nose just won’t stop.”

Another sharp inhale.

She snapped forward with a wet, breathy “Hh’NgxtCHhh!—uhhh…”

This time she moaned a little after, drawing her sleeve slowly across her upper lip. “Still there, Sparky?”

Rexar’s voice broke: “Fuck, yes.”

He shifted the camera slightly. She caught a glimpse of his hand—finally sliding beneath his robe, slow and unsteady. His face was flushed deep crimson now, lips parted, breath shallow.

“You’re touching yourself,” she breathed.

“I had to,” he muttered, like it physically hurt to admit. “You—you’re too much.”

“Poor thing,” she cooed. “You’re down in your murder basement, getting off to your girlfriend’s sneezes while the rest of your family’s out sacrificing souls.”

“I know,” he hissed, stroking himself now in slow, shuddering movements. “It’s so fucked.”

She smirked, letting out a fake-cute little cough. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he choked. “That’s worse.”

She giggled again, rubbing her nose between forefinger and thumb. “What if I just… kept going?”

He twitched. Visibly.

So she pushed.

“Ohhh, babe… I feel soooo yucky,” she mock-whined. “I need someone to take care of me. Rub my back. Hold me while I—hhuhhh!—Huhhh’nGTCHhh! k’tCHhh!”

She shuddered with the release, mouth parted, breath panting just a little harder.

The wet sound of his slicked strokes reached her through the speaker.

“Ohhh my gods,” she murmured. “You’re really doing it.”

“You’re making me do it,” he growled.

She tilted her head. “Good.”

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

Kriia blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle me doing that?”

“Try me.”

She didn’t hesitate. One hand dipped under the blanket, just past the camera’s frame. Her body shifted, hips rolling slowly as her fingers found heat.

Rexar moaned.

“I’m so sensitive,” she whispered. “My skin’s all hot and I keep flinching every time I sneeze. Everything tingles. Even this…”

She stroked herself gently, breath catching.

“Fucking hell,” Rexar growled, speeding up.

“I’m gonna get messy,” she moaned. “All sticky and flushed and red—and still sneezing.”

She let out a wet sniffle, the sound obscenely timed, dragging her hand higher for one deep rub.

“Say it,” she panted. “Say what I do to you.”

“You make me crazy,” he gasped. “You make me fucking feral. I want to bury my face in your pussy while you’re feverish and begging.”

“Mmmn,” she moaned. “You’d hold me tight, right? While I can’t stop sneezing into your chest? Your shirt soaked in it, and you’d just groan every time—”

“Hnnngh—Kriia!”

She gasped too, working herself harder now under the covers, her chest rising with every fevered breath. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Just from hearing me like this?”

He nodded, frantic. “Say my name.”

“Rexar,” she purred.

Again—more desperate: “Say it.”

“Rexar,” she moaned. “Flameboy. S-Sparky. I’m gonna—hhuhhh… HHH’KTCHhh!—Ahhh! Gods—”

She came with a gasp and a sniffle, hips bucking beneath the blanket, every part of her trembling with overstimulated sensitivity.

Rexar came seconds after, breath shattering into raw, incoherent groans. His hand kept moving for a moment as he rode it out, hips arching, until he slumped back against the wall—completely undone.

For several seconds, neither of them said a word.

Kriia laid there in the dark, chest rising and falling, a lazy, satisfied smirk curling across her lips.

Again, after several seconds, Rexar finally reappeared on camera—hair mussed, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded and shining in the soft firelight of his hidden sanctuary. His skin glowed faintly red from exertion and residual magik, lips parted as if even breathing took effort now. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate rhythm—every inhale still tinged with the heat of his undoing.

He looked wrecked. And wholly satisfied.

He stared at the screen, drinking her in as though the image alone could sustain him a moment longer. Kriia was still lying back in her fevered nest, her shirt back in place, hoodie slightly askew on one shoulder. Her nose was still pink, twitching faintly now and then, and she dabbed at it lazily with a tissue, face soft with post-teasing contentment.

When Rexar finally spoke, his voice came out gentle, half-broken with awe, “You are fucking lethal.”

Kriia barely glanced up from blowing her nose, the sound wet and unbothered. She tossed the tissue aside with dramatic flair and exhaled tiredly. “Still worth it.”

They grinned at each other through the dim, wrecked glow of their devices.

“Okay,” Rexar finally muttered, “I need to go find a cold fountain. Or die.”

“Don’t die,” Kriia said, burrowing into the blankets. “Just come home soon.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “And you’re not moving. I’m gonna take care of everything.”

Kriia yawned, shadows curling up around her again. “Good. I’ll be sneezy and pathetic. Just for you.”

Rexar’s grin softened into something near worshipful.

“I love you, plague rat.”

“I know,” she mumbled, eyes already closing. “I love you, hotshot.”

There was silence for a moment—thick with shared heat, sickroom intimacy, and the kind of charged calm that came only after surrender.

Then Rexar laughed, breathless, and whispered, “Only you could get me to do these kinds of things.”

Kriia’s lips curved. “Who else but Kriia?”

She didn’t need to say anything else.

The next few minutes passed in a lull, peaceful but heavy with afterglow. Neither of them said much. Rexar rested his head against the wall, occasionally glancing down to check his camera, as if afraid she'd disappear if he blinked too long. Kriia sniffled once or twice but didn’t speak. Her eyes began to flutter closed as her breathing slowed. The teasing was done, the game complete. Now she was just tired.

She shifted deeper into her blankets, hoodie tugged up to her chin, shadows gently coiling tighter around her limbs like velvet vines. Her last visible motion was a twitch of her nose and a soft sigh as she turned onto her side, the screen dimming slightly as the camera auto-adjusted to the dark.

Rexar watched it all.

The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled loosely around the edge of a tissue. The slight hitch in her breath as she sank from playful mischief into deep, medicated sleep.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he let the image burn into him, let the stillness settle, and whispered so softly that it might not have even made it through the speaker:

“Sleep tight, menace.”

Her shadow shifted in reply—just the faintest ripple—and then stilled again.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the Fang estate fell silent.

Above ground, the halls still carried the residue of the ritual: a low thrum of residual energy, the smell of scorched air and sanctified ash. The Culling was complete. The ceremonial fire had gone out. The others had retired to their chambers or slunk off into the snow-drenched hills beyond the estate to hunt or smoke or meditate, as they always did after devouring something eternal.

But Rexar stayed in the tunnel.

Slumped against the wall, robe half-undone, face still flushed, he watched his phone screen with the quiet intensity of someone who'd just survived a holy war. Not because of the Culling. Because of her.

Kriia had fallen asleep on the call.

He hadn’t wanted to hang up. Couldn’t bring himself to. Even now, her camera stayed open, her screen dimmed just enough to blur her features into dreamy softness.

She was curled under her mountain of blankets like a fevered empress, cheeks still ruddy, breath shallow. Her shadows coiled lazily around her shoulders and chest like a living scarf, weaving gently with each inhale, reacting even in her sleep.

Rexar watched her for several minutes, chin resting against his knee, a small crooked smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His body still tingled—warm, drained, soul-deep content like he'd been wrung out and left glowing.

Then the screen went dark.

He blinked.

No warning. Just—Call ended.

For a second, he sat in stunned silence.

And then: buzz.

New Message from Kriia.

hey sparky, you’re probs a melted pile of smoke rn but… just in case you’re still in one piece: i miss you. even more than i wanna sneeze on you. maybe. 😛

A second later, another buzz. A voice memo this time.

He hesitated, then pressed play.

Her voice came through rough, raw with congestion, quiet like she didn’t want to wake herself up.

“Hey. Um. Sorry I ended the call. My phone tried to overheat and combust. Wonder why…” soft congested laugh “You’re probably still glowing, huh? All sweaty and pretty and ruined.” pause, long inhale “I feel gross. Still. But… I dunno. That was nice. You made me feel like I wasn’t alone, even if I was a snot-monster in a blanket cave.” pause again, soft shifting of sheets “So yeah. I miss you. And I love you a lot. Come home soon. Or I’ll find a way to sneeze directly into your next family gathering.” sniffle, softer now “...Night, Sparky.”

Rexar bit back a groan that was half love, half ache, all need.

He opened the text reply bar and hovered for a moment before typing:

You are the most beautiful snot-monster in history. I am, in fact, still glowing. I miss you so bad it’s making me stupid. You can sneeze on me tomorrow. I’m not even kidding.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he snapped a picture with the front-facing camera.

His hair was a mess. His face flushed. Eyes still heavy-lidded, and the firelight behind him painted him in deep oranges and shadowy reds. He looked wrecked. Soft.

He captioned it: “You did this.”

Hit send.

Then closed his eyes.

Let his head fall back against the obsidian wall. Let the chill of the tunnel wrap around him like a counterpoint to the heat still singing through his blood.

“Gods,” he whispered into the dark, to no one and only her. “I miss you.”

Back in their shared wing of the estate, Kriia lay cocooned in warmth.

The shadows wrapped her like a velvet cocoon, responding to her every breath with tiny pulses of inky motion. The fire in the hearth had died to coals, and her fever had dipped just low enough to grant her lucidity without totally robbing her of the sick haze that made the world feel softer.

Her phone buzzed gently on her chest.

She cracked open one eye and peeked at the screen.

The selfie made her laugh out loud—a breathy, tired chuckle that caught in her throat. Gods, he was such a mess. And it was so obviously her fault. The thought alone made her cheeks heat.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she whispered to the shadows, too soft for words, and they responded—curling tighter around her like arms, warm and thick and heavy. Almost like him.

She let her eyes fall shut.

Still smiling.

Six hours later, Rexar slipped in through the back entrance of their estate, covered in snow and ash.

The room was dark.

Silent.

He peeled off his robe, hung it over the rack, and padded quietly through the hall. When he reached the bedroom, he stopped.

She was still asleep. Curled up under their blankets. Nose pink. Mouth open. One arm flopped over the pillow, the other clutching a tissue box like a stuffed animal.

She sniffled softly in her sleep.

Rexar melted on the spot.

He tiptoed closer, reached down, and brushed a lock of red hair from her cheek. Her skin was cool now, no longer burning. Her shadows flicked toward him lazily, then relaxed. Accepting. Welcoming.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

She didn’t wake.

But she smiled in her sleep.

And that was enough.

The End ✨

Written and illustrated by allergeez ✨

80 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 2 years ago

Text

She's going to be okay.

[Ona Batlle x Reader] [ANGST] [La Princesa] [Royalty] [Angel in the House]

Mentions of miscarriages, death. Please do not read if you’re not comfortable. Really, it truly gets dark.

word count : 2.6k

“Hold on, mi amor. I’m right here, please hold on.”

BREAKING NEWS : World famous footballing couple Y/N L/N and Ona Batlle announce their pregnancy! Ona, taking a step back from football to focus on her pregnancy tells media that she is 9 weeks pregnant and the baby is doing well. Her wife Y/N says Ona’s decision to have the child was deeply pondered by both and says that “We are both excited to welcome our little one into the world, we both can’t wait to be parents. Ona will also be taking time away from football to focus on our family with full support from everyone at Barcelona.”

“Bonita, we’re going to be late!”

“Coming, just forgot my phone!”

You held both your kit bags while you waited by the door. Ona was scrambling to find her phone, you watched with amusement at her frantically searching for it.

“What–it was just here?!”

“Look at your right hand, beautiful.”

“Why–oh.”

You laughed and walked over to her, shoulders slumped in defeat. You kissed her forehead and took her hand, walking out of the house to your car. She got in the passenger side wordlessly as you put your bags in the back and got in the driver’s side. You sighed seeing her looking so down. You leaned over and kissed her head, reaching for her seatbelt and putting it on. “Safety first,” you whispered to her, pulling a smile from her. “There’s my girl.” You tell her as you pull your own seatbelt on, hand resting on her thigh as you drive to the training ground.

It’s a wet day in Barcelona as you head into the changing room. You find your national teammates Lucy and Kiera whispering just outside the door, apparently planning something. “What are you two up to?” you ask them, both turning around and looking at you innocently. As vice-captain, you have a sense of control over the team, most people listening to Alexia and you with genuine admiration. Alexia is the stricter of the two, you’re who most will find leading the making fun of Alexia when she’s in captain mode. Ona laughs at their antics and walks straight into the changing room without you as you stand there and listen to the two of them explain their plan on pranking Alexia, who was currently in a meeting with Jonatan. You tell them to leave you out of it but yell “I want it on video!” before following Ona into the changing room.

She’s on the phone, expression unreadable. The rest of the girls turn quiet when you walk in, causing you to pull a face and become concerned. “Amor?” you say simply, Ona looking right into your eyes as she ends the call. “What’s wrong?” you ask her again, towering over her smaller frame.

“That was the fertility clinic.” She says quietly, Pina inhaling sharply which caused Patri to smack her arm.

“Baby, what did they say?”

“It worked.”

She says it so softly you didn’t hear her.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Mapi yells before you do, all the girls celebrating at the news. They hug and clap your back, cheering loudly at the news of a new member to the squad. Your ears drown them out, eyes fixated on the most beautiful person in the room.

Your wife. Now bearing your child.

You pull her into your arms, tears flowing down both your faces. She sobs into your chest as you kiss her head over and over again. “Thank you bebita, oh thank you!” you tell her, holding her wet face in your hands. You fall in love with her all over again, kissing her hard before your bubble is broken as the rest of the girls walk in from all the noise.

“What the hell has gotten into you all? What’s all the yelling for?” Alexia walks in, Lucy and Kiera in tow, prank abandoned.

“Y/N knocked Ona up!” yells Mapi (who else would) grabbing you by your shoulders and smiling proudly. Ingrid walked over and smacked Mapi on the head.

“I didn’t knock her up you moron, I only gave her the fertility shots. Technically the doctor did.” you tell everyone, Ona glued to your side.

“Congratulations to you both, you will be the best parents.” Alexia tells you, hugging you both tight.

“She knocked you up pretty good huh Ona, the doctor called you personally to tell you, must have been fun!” Mapi teases and before you could kill her, Ingrid gave her a look that shut her up so fast she quietly went back to putting her boots on as the whole team laughed at her.

Jonatan was thankfully still in his office as you both walked in. Hand in hand, you sat at his desk nervous before he looked up. “To what do I owe the pleasure, girls?” he asks kindly, smiling at the two of you.

“Do you remember the conversation we had a few months ago, Jonatan? About us wanting to start a family?”

“Sí. Is it good news?”

“Ona’s pregnant.”

“Oh, that’s great news girls. Congratulations. Ona, I’d like for our physicians to take good care of you while you’re pregnant. You’re in control here, whatever your course of action is from now on is up to you. My door is always open for you both. Now, you’ve both got the day off. Ona, if you’d like, I can set up an appointment with the doctors for you to have a full workup?”

“That would be perfect, Jonatan. Thank you for everything.”

2 months pregnant.

“Ona!”

The girls rush to the door when you and Ona walk in. She’s had a hard couple weeks with morning sickness and has been staying in bed most of the time when you leave for training. She’s finally had a morning where the baby hasn’t tried to nauseate her and she wanted to spend the day out with you. Training was at 10am so you both managed to squeeze in a quick breakfast together, walking onto the pitch with coffee for the girls as a treat. They take the drinks from you both, passing them around and noticing that you got each and every one of them their regular orders. “Now you can’t say I don’t spoil you all!” you quip, sipping your coffee while Ona chats with Pina holding her tea.

Alexia walks up to you, her coffee in hand as she watches Ona and the girls.

“How is she?”

“She’s alright. The morning sickness was bad yesterday, I think the baby is giving her a break today.”

“She’s glowing, you know.”

“That she is. She’s beautiful.”

5 months pregnant.

“Cariño? It’s time to wake up angel. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment in two hours.”

“Is it that time already?”

“Sí. Come on, I’ll make you breakfast too.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“You’re the mother of my child, you deserve the world and more.”

You both sit in the kitchen and enjoy breakfast while listening to the radio. She’s sitting in your lap, helping herself to your cereal. She had requested a bagel with literally half the tub of cream cheese but when she saw your bowl of cereal, her puppy eyes had earned her a swap. You learned quickly that a pregnant Ona was also a very hungry one (more than usual at least) and you had also learnt quickly to order what you knew she wanted but didn’t order so that she could swap and eat yours instead. You didn’t mind, as long as she was happy, you were too.

“Mrs. Ona L/N? Doctor Johan will see you now.”

“Thank you.”

"De nada, third door on the right.”

“Good afternoon, how are we feeling today?”

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the doctor finishes all his questions and brings in the ultrasound machine. You’re sitting beside Ona holding her hand, softly rubbing the back of her knuckles as she listens to Dr. Johan. He lifts her shirt and spreads the cold gel along the bottom, ultrasound wand going over Ona’s now showing belly. You kiss her knuckles softly, looking up at her just as the beautiful sound of your child’s heartbeat fills the room. You’re both in tears, eyes locked on each other. You lean up and kiss her, smiling so wide your cheeks are beginning to hurt.

“Do we want to know the gender?” the doctor asks.

“Could we get it in an envelope? We’d like to find out together with our family.”

“Of course, you are both going to have a very healthy baby.”

6 months pregnant.

“Lucia, please don’t make me regret making you and Kiera in charge of the baby shower. If you fuck it up, Ona will slaughter me.”

“Don’t worry you worry wart. It’s going to be perfect.”

Ona was still getting ready, getting annoyed that most of her clothes didn’t fit anymore, only your jerseys did (she wasn’t complaining). Just as you had walked in, she threw off a pretty summer dress that you had got her while in Germany for a game three weeks ago.

“Hey angel, nothing’s taken your fancy?”

“Nada encaja, amor…” she whined, head in her hands as she stood in front of the full-length mirror. You walked up behind her, hugging her waist gently, hands framing her pretty belly. You perched your head on her shoulder, hands slowly coming up and pulling her own away from her face. You smiled when you made eye contact with her in the mirror, kissing her cheek softly.

“Why don’t you wear one of my jerseys? Maybe an old one we could glamour up?”

“You look so good in your outfit though, I don’t want to look underdressed.”

“Darling, you could show up wearing a fucking traffic cone and I’d say you were beautiful.”

“Hey, I told you. Don’t swear in front of El pequeño.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. I’ll grab one of my England shirts eh?”

“Go ahead. I hope you like sleeping on the couch though.”

“Where’s Mapi?”

“Ingrid, I swear if she is up to something–“

“You’re going to have to get in line, I’ll be sending her STRAIGHT to heaven if she pulls some shit–“

“Sorry, they almost forgot the ball with the right gender in there!” yells Mapi as she walks onto the patio with 5 identical footballs. Lucy had got you to wear your boots and to dress “comfortably enough to be able to kick!” The party was in Alexia’s backyard since it was the biggest, a goal set up as Mapi laid the balls out.

“You ready?” Ona asked you quietly, looking up at you with the happiest gaze you’ve seen on her face in a while. She had only had that look two other times, when you asked her out 5 years ago and when you got married.

“More than anything, my love.” You answer, leaning down and kissing her softly. She giggled nervously into the kiss, walking back to give you space. She hugged her mother, holding her brothers hand by her side as you stepped back to kick the first ball. You did, only white powder flying through the air. It happened three more times, Ona’s heart pounding in her chest, palms sweating from nervousness. Her brother gives her a reassuring squeeze, kissing the top of her head as you stepped back to kick the last ball. A cloud of pink filled the air, shouts of celebration followed soon after. You ran to Ona, picking her up and spinning her around gently. You kissed her hard, hands holding her belly gently. You knelt in front of her, kissing her stomach softly.

"Hola mi princesa".

3AM, 6 ½ months pregnant.

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Something’s wrong with the baby.”

“It’s probably just Braxton Hicks love, want me to give you a massage like last time?”

“Y/N, there’s blood.”

“They’re in Room 2202.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a knock on the hospital room door. Your head shoots up and you stand, walking to the door to open it. You look up and see the girls standing there before stepping out to join them in the hallway.

“What happened, hermosa?” Alexia asks, hand resting on your shoulder.

“We lost the baby.”

“How?”

“They don’t know. She woke up and felt wet between her legs and saw blood. She woke me and we rushed to the emergency room. They tried everything but she was already gone.” You broke down, having been a rock for Ona who was beside herself. She had just fallen asleep before the girls got there and you were on the verge of a breakdown when they knocked. Alexia catches you, all the girls hugging you tight as you fully start to mourn the loss of your child.

Minutes later you hear Ona calling for you, her voice weak and sad. You rush to her, having calmed down yourself. You sit back in the chair at her bedside, the girls slowly coming into her room to join you. The whole team mourned the loss of La Princesa.

BREAKING NEWS: Global football stars Y/N L/N and Ona Batlle have reportedly had a miscarriage after being seen leaving the hospital here in Barcelona. Ona did not appear to have a bump anymore, Y/N having to help her into the car as they were picked up by teammate and friend, Alexia Putellas.

The days pass bleakly as the two of you try to move on with life. Ona hasn’t left the bed in two weeks, having to force her to care for her needs with your help. You’re not doing any better, taking it upon yourself to care for your wife who clearly needs you more than you need yourself. She cries most of the time as you hold her, her sobs turn into dry heaving as her tear ducts have nothing left to give.

You hold her one night as you had made progress; she asked to watch some tv with dinner that Pina had sent over. The girls were the best teammates and second family you could ask for. They each took turns to come over and clean up, another group of them cooking and making sure the fridge was stocked. Jonatan had given the two of you as much time as you needed even handling a statement for the press as you both had requested privacy.

“I’m sorry,” she says one night, both of you cuddled in bed as sleep alluded you for another night in a row. Fresh tears prickled in the corner of her eyes; she was so tired of crying.

She didn’t need to tell you what she was referring to. She blamed herself, she blamed her useless athletic body for not being able to care for her child. Our child. You answered her with the same answer you had given her since the day it happened.

You kiss her softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know why you’re still here.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else, my perfect girl.”

“I’m far from perfect right now.”

“Regardless of what happened, you’re still the most perfect girl to me. I love you so much, Ona.”

“I just wish I had been more careful.”

“There was no way we could have avoided it. It happens.”

“Why us? We tried so hard! WHY?!” She yelled, the first time since we lost the baby; she had punched your chest in frustration. You held her wrist and kissed her knuckles, easing her muscles.

“I don’t know my darling. I wish I had an answer for you, Mi Reina.”

Sighing, she says quietly, “I love you. Always.”

“I love you too, hermosa."

You both cried yourselves to sleep that night, bodies tangled together, hands holding onto each other, desperately clinging, afraid that the other would disappear. You both only had one thing in mind as you drifted off to sleep, “I don’t care if I’m not okay but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to get her to be.”

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso soccer #woso imagine #lionesses #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni

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unityrain24 · 1 year ago

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email i got today not sure if this is news??:

----

Breaking news: a top Democrat in the House has highlighted the problem with the “duty of care” model in the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA).1

During the markup last week, Rep. Frank Pallone said, “adopting the duty of care could cause social media companies to over-filter content out of an abundance of caution about legal risk, and as a result some young people could lose access to helpful and even life-saving content.”2

This is exactly what dozens of human rights, civil liberties, racial justice, and LGBTQ+ groups have been saying for years about why KOSA’s duty of care is so dangerous.3

Our grassroots campaign is working and it's getting the attention of top lawmakers. Can you help us continue the fight to ensure that KOSA is only passed if it gets fixed?

Donate

Pallone rightly went on to say that he doesn’t trust Big Tech companies to make determinations about what types of content recommendations cause mental health disorders, noting that our understanding of the science in this area is still evolving.

Here’s what this means:

It’s working. Your phone calls, emails, the videos you’ve made and shared, the small $5 and $10 donations that enable us to run online campaigns, display your comments on billboards in DC4, and keep the media and lawmakers staff as informed as possible about our concerns have made KOSA less likely to pass, at least not without major changes. The top Democrat on the House committee is speaking out against it, and that wouldn’t have happened without all of our work together.

We still have a ton of work to do. Rep. Pallone’s alternative proposal is to try to address the harms of Big Tech by going after Section 2305, which would lead to many of the same harms he’s worried about with KOSA’s duty of care. So we still have to work to educate his staff and other members on and off the committee, and drive emails and phone calls urging Congress to adopt strong privacy and antitrust protections instead of stalling out again and again with bills like KOSA and EARN IT that raise serious human rights concerns. APRA, the privacy bill that also advanced at the hearing, has some positive features, but there’s a lot of work needed to make it strong enough to actually protect the most vulnerable people.

KOSA could still pass, and we need to keep up the pressure. Despite the surprise blowback KOSA faced at last week’s hearing, the subcommittee still voted to advance it to a full committee vote. That means it’s one step closer to passing, and there is still a very real possibility that it could be snuck into a “must-pass” funding bill like the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA). There is a big push from backers of KOSA including full page ads, op-eds in major papers, and several large tech companies have already come out in support of it. We have to take it seriously as an ongoing threat.

There is also still a chance that KOSA could be amended to address our concerns. Senator Wyden has proposed some helpful amendments. One of the good parts of KOSA is its ban on targeted advertising to kids. That could be imported into a strengthened version of APRA, for example, while leaving the harmful duty of care model behind. There are lots of ways Congress can address the harms of Big Tech and protect kids without enabling censorship and surveillance.

So, we gained some ground, but the fight is far from over. If you’ve read this far, you must understand how important this is. If you’re in a position to donate, please click here.

Help stop KOSA

If not, seriously don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. Thank you so much for being part of this movement demanding Internet policies that don’t throw marginalized people under the bus. We can fight for an Internet where kids aren’t just safe, but have basic human rights, and the ability to speak out and shape the world around them.

Let’s do it,

Evan at ❤️ Fight for the Future

https://energycommerce.house.gov/events/innovation-data-and-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-three-bills

https://www.techpolicy.press/house-energy-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-the-american-privacy-rights-act-kids-online-safety-act/

https://www.stopkosa.com/

https://www.fightforthefuture.org/news/2024-05-22-listen-to-kids-billboard-outside-house-hearing-raises-up-voices-of-lgbtq-youth-who-oppose-kosa/

https://touchgrass.fightforthefuture.org/unserious-attempt-1-562-to-rollback-section-230/

Fight for the Future, PO Box 55071 #95005, Boston, MA 02205 Don't like these emails? Unsubscribe.

Sent via ActionNetwork.org. To update your email address, change your name or address, or to stop receiving emails from Fight for the Future, please click here.

#unityrain.txt #kosa #stop kosa #fuck kosa #cant tell if this is actual news or just spam updates lol

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ray935sworld · 1 month ago

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I wish I could believe you

Part 2: Talk to me, I know you best

CW: like in chapter 1, this story contains the subject cheating

Luca eyed the message he had just gotten.

It was a simple text. Actually, it wasn't supposed to be anything concerning. He shouldn’t think twice about it. But it felt like the tip of the iceberg of things that shouldn't be concerning, but actually where.

Bez: Sorry guys, can't make it to the trip. Some stuff came up.

That was all Bez had written to cancel on their travel trip.

Every once in a while, the Academy guys did the trip to the upcoming races together. Driving to the airport together, same flight, same row and then to the hotel.

It was a tradition from their Moto2/3 days.

It was mostly just some silly fun. They had to get rid of some thoughts and to ease up a little bit. And since they're all we're supposed to have some time on their hands in between the two race weekends, this weekend had seemed perfect.

And now Bez had cancelled, despite absolutely loving traveling together.

Luca knew he shouldn't think anything of it. But he did.

Bez had acted off from his usual self a little too often in the last weeks to not think about it.

He had left Mugello too abrupt. Left the ranch earlier than usual. He hadn't answered his text for a whole day. He knew maybe he shouldn't think about it too much.

But his gut feeling told him that he wasn't thinking enough about it. And after all, better safe than sorry. So he decided to just take his keys and make the quick drive over to Bed's house.

It wasn’t a long drive and he didn’t mind it.

He rang the doorbell and waited. He didn’t get an answer but he didn’t care. He stayed there, just waiting. He rang again. Nothing again.

He leaned back, eying the car still standing in the drive way. A short look at his watch told him, it wasn’t time for a walk with Rubik.

That wasn’t like him at all. Luca thought for a moment. It wasn’t like him to not answer. Normally he always answered.

So he took his phone out his pocket as he sat down on the stairs.

Luca: Dude, have you already heard the news????

He felt slightly back at tricking his friend but he feared he wouldn’t answer.

Bez: What?

Luca: I’m at your house

Bez: Stalker

Luca: Just open the door, dude. I know you’re here.

Bez: Am not

Luca: I’ll hit video call then?

He saw the dots. Bez was writing. Then he stopped. A few seconds later, he heard the door open behind him. He turned around and saw his friend standing there.

Luca only took one look to know that his gut feeling had been right. His friend looked recked. His hair was messy – messier than it had ever been when his hair was long. His facial hair was more dominant. The clothes he wore very visible worn out.

But what really broke Luca were his eyes. He had red rimmed eyes. Marco had been crying. And he hadn’t reached out. Not to anyone.

“What’s up?” he asked. His voice sounded broken with fake joy. Luca didn’t reply. Instead he just got up and hugged him.

No words were spoken.

Luca just hugged him, pulled him close and didn’t say a word. No expectations.

Marco was frozen at first. Taken aback but then he greedily took this moment. He gripped the fabric of his shirt and let his head fall down. He heard himself sniff. He felt tears in his eyes.

He didn’t want to cry. Not again. He didn’t want to burden his friends with it, risk a break with them. But suddenly being in the safety of his friends hug washed all that away.

He knew Luca inside and out. And so did Luca. He knew him inside out. So there was no need to try and hide. No need to lie.

So he just accepted being hugged and hold by his old friend while he cried some more.

“Come on, let’s get you back inside” he mumbled and slightly pushed him back inside.

“Fuck” Marco cursed, finally letting go of Luca. He tried brushing off his tears but the damp spot on his shirt was prove enough. “Shit I didn’t mean to cry anymore… especially not on your shirt. I can get you-”

“Fuck the shirt. Will you finally tell me what is going on?” he asked. He knew Marco well enough to know he was trying to downplay the situation, brush him off. But Luca wouldn’t let him.

“You have been acting off for weeks now! And now…” He watched Bez eyes turn away. He had looked at Luca and now he avoided his eyes. “Marco, please.” He said more softly. “I am your friend. You know I am not going to judge you, right? I just want to make sure you are safe.”

The younger just nodded. “Then please… Will you at least tell me what I can do? Because you can’t continue like this. I won’t let you”

By then Bez had sat down on his couch. He pulled his legs up, putting his head on his knees.

Luca sat next to him. He knew it wasn’t good when his friend curled up into himself like that. It meant something had happened. As soon as Luca sat down, Marco leaned in, his head now resting against Luca’s shoulder.

The Honda rider decided that this was better than nothing. He put his arm around him and let his friend just rest against him. If he somehow could offer him some comfort, he would.

“Luca…” he heard him mumble. “Mmh?” “Who would you believe more? Your boyfriend or your best friend since teenage days?”

“I… Would say my best friend. Why?”

“Remember that Pecco said he’s sleeping with Marc?” “Yeah. Why?”

Instead of answering, he reached for his phone. He started swiping and showed Luca a picture.

Almost immediately Luca’s jaw dropped.

The picture showed Bez, his hair long, a bright yellow shirt shining at the base of the picture. But it was a certain Spaniard – dressed in Gresini blue – who was kissing him that made Luca blink twice.

He stared at the picture, realizing it was from last year. He stared at the Bez in the picture. Clearly happy - Smiling bright – as he was kissed by Marc Marquez sitting on his lap.

Slowly Luca turned to Bez who had tears in his eyes again. He tried to understand what it meant. His mind was running but his thought refused to come to the obvious conclusion.

“Marc and I have been dating since last year” he heard Marc say.

“What? That- Oh. OH MY FUCKING HELL-“ he almost screamed as his mind added the pieces together like a puzzle.

Marco just shrugged, his face folded in sadness. “Yeah…” he said, shrugging.

“Pecco is… Marc is cheating on you with – WITH PECCO?!” “Seems like it” he muttered. “WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND?!” “Yep…” he nodded, not really wanting to be reminded at what happened.

“I’ll cut his balls off” Luca mumbled. Bez chuckled, unsure who exactly he meant.

“But… Marc has denied it and now I don’t know who to believe” he tried to explain.

“Did you talk to Pecco?” he rushed to ask. “Told him about your relationship with Marc? Maybe he lied. Maybe he…” “But why would he? Why lie to all of us? We are… We’re his friends”

Luca didn’t know what to reply to that.

“You think Marc cheated?” he asked slowly. Bez looked at him, his eyes big and hurt. He looked a lot longer like a actually was.

“I don’t know what to believe. The only thing I know is that I want to hide and just… never think about it again” Bez admitted. “I can’t fucking look at any of them right now. I mean… Pecco…”

He sight and shook his head. “Rationally… I know it isn’t Pecco’s fault. He doesn’t know about it… But… I blame him. I know I shouldn’t but- I feel like I am going to punch him if I see him right now”

“I understand” Luca mumbled and wrapped Bez in a tight hug. “Does – Does that make me a bad friend?” a sob he had tried to push down interrupted him.

“No, gosh, no of course not” Luca said, hugging him even harder as before. “It makes you human.”

Bez just nodded.

As Wednesday evening rolled around, Bez had decided to just ban all his thought about what happened.

Marc on the other hand, didn’t. He was on a mission. And said mission included a certain Italian.

He lurked around, waiting for the perfect opportunity and as he spotted him, he pulled him into one of the dark alleys – one of those were no one was really looking into, the unnoticed corners.

He watched how the taller mans curl moved as he hold onto him. “Fuck, what is-?!” he heard the familiar voice say in surprise. Just to watch his brown eyes to go wide as soon as he saw him.

“Marc-“ As soon as he heard his name, he stepped closer. By now he stood with his chest against the younger man. But he was still looking straight at him. A smile dancing around his lips.

“What? No ‘amore mio’ for your Spanish lover? How disappointing. Or do you wanna reserve that to solely when you are fucking me?”

He watched his eyes twitch around. Maybe in discomfort, maybe in fear someone saw them. Right now he didn’t care.

“What? Come on, I thought you like it when I am desperate for you…” “Marc-“ “What?” he leaned in, their faces almost touching.

“Marc, what? Did the cat got your tongue or are you so used to being gagged you forgot how to speak?” he watched how he turned his head, not looking at the older man.

“I-“ “Yes…?” He put his fingers around his chin, turning his face to him. “Be my good little boy and tell to me, Bagnaia. I don’t like being lied to or do you wanna be punished?”

#ray's writing #marc marquez #pecco bagnaia #luca marini #motogp rpf #marco bezzecchi #not as long as I wanted it to be but I am running out of time so here its IIIISSSS #better than nothing I guess

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e-hibiscus · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Uni!AU Zoya x reader

Authors Note: A ramble based off a dream I had last night

SFW under the cut

Zoya plays on your university’s sports team, aiming to go professional in wrestling while she studies kinesiology as her major. Despite her aloof demeanor and “laid back” attitude when it comes to school, she’s diligent enough to barely pass her classes just so she can continue playing on the university’s team.

Her top priorities are sports and now you, her girlfriend, that’s oddly endearing to her hot headed temper. Flaws and all, you stick by her side even after any nasty fights that results in her occasionally storming off, thus leaving you patiently wait until she’s ready to continue discussing the matter once she’s blown off some steam. Zoya sees how much you love and support her, and she’ll do anything for you because you have shown her she can be loved, flaws and all.

Whenever the two of you study at the library, you make Zoya sit across from you so the two of you can actually focus on work instead of each other. Zoya’s not the most studious person, but after a while she takes a break and enjoys watching you study. With your eyes trained on your notes, you look so focused. Every nuance of your expression, Zoya commits it to memory. The woman spends more time idly watching you than working, but Zoya did study some, so she should be rewarded, no?

***

Zoya goes straight from evening practice to come pick you up. It doesn’t matter how tired she feels, she can and will come and pick you up without fail because she doesn’t want you taking the train or bus home so late. It’s not that she doesn’t believe you can’t handle going by yourself, she’s just concerned about the what if’s and what other people will do to you, her gorgeous girlfriend.

The first time you told her Zoya was mad (moreso concerned mad) that you’re walking alone after dark, and she was gonna have none of it.

“Babe, you’re not fucking walking to the train station. I’ll come pick you up after your shift.” It wouldn’t matter if you don’t want to ‘burden’ her with this. Zoya cuts you off immediately. “—I don’t care if I just had practice. I want to see that you get home safe.”

If she can’t pick you up, expect her to have you on a video call until you reach home, just in case.

When it comes to your safety, Zoya will never budge. She picks you up from work, dropping you off at home. You give her a kiss before you head inside, and then Zoya would drive back to her apartment. Later into your relationship, you start inviting Zoya inside to have her stay the night instead because her own apartment is almost an hour drive away. You both have classes the next day, so why not?

There’s a drawer in your dresser dedicated just for Zoya’s things for when she stays the night. Every time, this woman brings a hoodie so you can have a new one of hers to wear.

It strokes her ego seeing you come onto campus with one of her shirts or jackets. Zoya has the biggest grin ever when she comes by to walk you to your next class. Even if you aren’t wearing it, she likes taking her time to walk with you like this whenever she can, even if that means she’ll be late even after having to run across campus to her class. She just wants to spend as much time with you as she can. She’s so fucking whipped for you.

#💭.hibiscus rambles #zoya x reader

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vikkirosko · 7 months ago

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Platonic request of Wise and Belle with an anti social younger sibling reader who in their own room away from danger of outside until they notice the reader is all chatty in room and sneaking outside then Wise and Belle discover they are secretly dating someone. All cute and glad they out of their bubbles until they discover reader dating Zhu Yuan from Pubsec like they say good job in nervous way

Random Play x Reader platonic headcanons Good job in nervous way

Wise and Belle are used to the fact that there were always three of you. Them and you. You were their sibling, just a couple of years younger than both of them, but unlike them, you never got into dangerous situations. You did not leave your home, and almost all the time you sat in your room, preferring the company of your brother and sister than the opportunity to communicate with at least someone. At first, they were worried about how antisocial you were, but over time they got used to it and continued to take care of you, just as you took care of them. But at some point, their concern for you began to increase greatly. The reason for this was that they heard you talking to yourself in your room

They were worried that because you weren't communicating with anyone else, your mental state had worsened, but they couldn't ask you directly who you were talking to. The last thing they wanted was for you to pull away from them and start avoiding them. They watched and tried to figure out how bad it was, but when you secretly left home, they began to worry very seriously. Wise went looking for you, and Belle contacted their friends to help them find you if possible. You returned home before anyone could find you, and Belle immediately rushed to you. You saw the worry on your sister's face perfectly well, and not wanting to bother her any more, you admitted that you went on a date. She saw how you looked away in embarrassment and a blush appeared on your cheeks. You hurried back to your room, and Belle couldn't believe what she'd heard. She called Wise and he hurried home. They needed to seriously discuss the fact that you were dating someone

Now that they knew the truth, everything seemed much easier. You started talking to someone, even more, you started dating someone, and you left home to meet your partner, even though you preferred not to do that before. It was your partner you were talking to on the phone when they thought you were talking to yourself. They were genuinely happy for you, because it couldn't have been any other way. You were a precious part of their family and they only wanted you to be happy. They felt absolutely calm for a few days, and when Wise found out that you had arranged to meet your partner at Lumina square, he offered to drive you. He even promised you that he wouldn't look out for you and would give you free rein, because he trusted you after all. But when he returned, Belle saw that her brother was clearly very puzzled. When she asked what was the matter, he told her that he saw who you were dating. You were dating Zhu Yuan

They knew that she was a good person and that they could trust her with you and your safety. But there was a problem. They were Phaethon, and you knew it perfectly well. Neither Wise nor Belle thought that you were going to reveal their secret, and they certainly didn't think that Zhu Yuan started dating you because she suspected them of something. She wasn't the kind of person who would do that. But they were worried anyway. Zhu Yuan knew them as the owners of the video rental and because of this they had a good relationship, but if she found out that they were proxies, it is possible that her attitude would worsen not only towards them, but also towards you, because you kept their secret. The last thing your brother and sister wanted was for you to be torn between your family and your love

While they were trying to figure out what to do and how to talk to you about it, but every time you went on a date, their resolve became weaker. They saw how happily you smiled and how you blushed when you corresponded with her. You were really in love, like a character in a romantic movie, and they didn't want you to become withdrawn and antisocial again, like you were before you had a romantic relationship. Perhaps if they had told Zhu Yuan the whole truth, it would have been much easier, but it was too dangerous. They needed time to come up with a plan of action, but for now, they just watched from the sidelines as their sibling became happier every day, as if blossoming

#Zenless Zone Zero #Zenless Zone Zero x Reader #Zenless Zone Zero headcanons

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freeuselandonorris · 3 days ago

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Saw your tags and I simply. Had to scream a bit about the online safety bill. It’s not got the outrage I feel it deserves from the right people (partially because there’s so much else to be outraged about I guess). But. !!!!!!!!!!!! Like there aren’t enough marginalised groups in the UK who are under attack right now we also need life to be hell for sex workers and queer teens and also make the entirety of the uk susceptible to the worst kinds of identity theft and data leaks ….

YEP i am beyond angry about it (and have been for a long time, fairly sure my MP is sick of hearing from me about it lmao). it’s so blatantly obvious that they’re doing this as a softball to later restrict even more freedom of speech online because they know most people are too embarrassed to publicly shout about not being able to access porn anymore (and the fact that we’re already getting MPs spouting the whole ‘if you don’t agree with this you must be a PEDO!!’ argument is testament to that).

and that’s not even COUNTING the concurrent shitshow that’s been going on with payment processors demanding that creators and retailers comply with their fucking mental and completely arbitrary list of Bad Things (which, fun fact for me, includes ‘urine’ in a sexual context lmao). idk if you saw but it culminated in steam and itch.io delisting a ton of games marked nsfw (and yes you can claim that itch.io’s lack of validation beforehand was concerning but… this ain’t the solution). i’ve been aware of the payment processor shit for a while now because it’s impacted adult sites i love like four chambers, but i was pretty shocked to see it spill over into the mainstream so fast (although video games are of course always seen as a bad influence… tenner says they come for horror movies next!)

i’m certainly not arguing that adult material should be free and easy for kids to access (and there are definitely big issues with young people being able to access material that presents kink in a way that’s totally decontextualised from any kind of safety or consent practises - it’s not a black and white issue) but this isn’t a solution to that, it’s a fucking ticking timebomb of blackmail material and a massive invasion of privacy. and the way it’s starting to encroach on artistic expression too… well, it’s not starting to, it is, and that’s a dangerous fucking slope to be sliding down.

idfk man, like you say i know there are huge and horrific things going on in the world right now that are more urgent than whether or not i can watch porn that some MPs might find icky or even whether a queer teen or a suicidal person can access a helpline. but they do all matter and we’re currently at what feels like a very scary tipping point that we’ve seen before, where the rights of the people that are seen as less important (sex workers, queer people, people with mental illnesses, and yeah, people who want to watch some fuckin porn) are being trampled on first because they know it’ll be an easier pass, to give the government powers to put in their back pocket until they decide they want to use them more widely. we’ve seen plenty of evidence of that recently with their crackdown on protest, this just feels like another arm of that. i’m scared and sad about the direction we’re going in and it’s not like this is happening in isolation, it’s part of a bigger picture that says nothing good about the future for marginalised people.

on a personal level it’s been a wake up call to me to stop being so complacent about my data - i used to be way better about this but i got lazy, frankly. now i’m backing my shit up on a physical drive, going back to physical media where i can, using a VPN, and generally not assuming that things like whatsapp or social media or cloud hosting will always be free and available to me. and i’m certainly not gonna be giving my fucking faceprint to some rando company who’ll probably sell it for profit in six months’ time if i can help it.

#wow sorry this got long lmao i have. many feelings about it #fun fact: i saw that people are using photo mode in death stranding 2 to bypass the filters lmao #score one for hyperrealistic video games!#answered

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hellpotter · 9 months ago

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‘tis the damn season

December 20th, 2023

Annabeth felt the steering wheel sliding under her sweaty hands. She licked her lips once again and took a deep breath while checking the panel to make sure she wasn’t going beyond the speed limit. She was. She took another deep breath, taking her foot off the accelerator for a bit. She literally had to calm down, or she was going to get herself into a serious accident.

Well, to be fair, there wasn’t anyone else on the road. It had probably been more than 20 minutes since she had last passed another human being — a very cautious, very slow truck driver, whom she had no other choice but to (cautiously) surpass. However, it was also true that the snow had already begun to fall, and the road was slippery, so it wasn’t wise of her to be so distracted.

She felt her heartbeat slowing down and her breathing returning to normal. Maybe it was better to pause the true crime podcast she was listening to and put on some music.

She put her iPhone on shuffle, and the calming chords of "we fell in love in october" started to play. Thankfully, she had never fallen in love in October, so as long as she didn’t think about her life last fall, dancing on the terrace with her ex, she was safe. As long as she didn’t think about how, last year, when she was driving down this exact same road, she felt just as nervous, but for all different reasons, she would be fine. She could still enjoy this song without remembering—

Shit. So much for the calming chords. Annabeth skipped the song, and "Fast Car" came on. Well, maybe that was more appropriate. At least she didn’t have anyone she associated with that song.

She took a quick glance at the GPS route and confirmed her ETA: 20 more minutes, and she would be at her hometown. Only 20 more minutes, and she would be at the safety of her dad's house, smelling the cinnamon cookies baking. Only 19 more minutes, and her biggest concern, if she didn’t leave the house for anything, would be asking her brothers to turn down the video game volume so she could concentrate on her book. Only 18 more minutes, and she would only have to endure 2 weeks of her stepmother’s passive-aggressive comments about her life. Only 17—

Annabeth all but screamed when she saw a deer standing on the road just a few meters away. She was quick enough to turn the car to the side of the road, but God, the Universe, or whichever all-mighty being you believe in, wasn’t being very kind to her today. There was a pile of snow, mud, and leaves standing right there, and she drove her car right into it as she braked. Or, at least, the side of it.

The deer stared at her in a way she could only describe as ironic. At least the impact wasn’t very strong; no airbags had been activated.

She breathed heavily and turned off the car while she waited for the deer to leave. After a few minutes, it got tired of observing her comic tragedy and went away, calmly trotting. She turned the car back on and put it in reverse to back out of the snowy-muddy mess. As she pressed the accelerator, though, she didn’t move. The car made a suffering noise, one that would make you think it was chewing something. She tried putting the gear in drive. Same noise. Same trembling. Nothing.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, unsure if she wanted to scream, cry, or leave the car there and complete the remaining distance on foot. The last option didn’t seem too bad—at least if it wasn’t freezing outside and she wasn’t in the middle of an empty highway alone, and it wouldn’t take forever to get there walking.

Damn it. She would have to call him. There was no choice.

Annabeth fought her tears and tried to ignore her now even more sweaty hands while she dialed the number. She wasn’t proud to admit it, but she knew it by heart. It was still engraved in her memory.

“Hello?” a low, familiar voice answered.

“Percy?” she said, heavily. “I need your help.”

read more on ao3

#percabeth fanfic #fanfic #pjo #pjo fic #percabeth au #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #my fanfic writing #fanfiction #percabeth

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talkingparrotkee · 2 years ago

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(Longer read) It was extremely hard to find character takes without brainworms concerning Wakanda Forever in the thick of silly ship wars or character stanning, I'm not going to hold you. Each side had some level of misses going on. Everybody was too busy making another character a scapegoat or harping on about how good or bad a Shuri ship was. At best, a character seemed to be understood a little bit, but then diagnoses of other characters were woefully one-dimensional or mild mischaracterizations.

So anyway, I want to talk about it and give every character their grace.

Don't mistake me. It's not wrong to connect with one side more than the other. In a video interview, director and writer Ryan Coogler even stated it was written in a way that who you root for could change and depend on the day. He wanted both sides to be sympathetic, but never evil or wrong on all accounts. It was just a case of people trying to do the best they could with what they're dealing with. It was a story about grief and how it affected us. It also came with a layer of bipoc experience and colonialization.

It makes sense for you to follow Shuri and Wakanda as they are the protagonists. It is sensible to empathize with Talokan, too, given what we learned about them.

What drives me bonkers is completely spitting on the narrative, making it into something it never was. (If it doesn't apply let it fly!)

If some fans seemed to understand Namor, more than a comfortable number of times, it turned into oversympathization at the expenses of other characters and his own character development. They try downplaying Namor's canonically rough edges and faults while blaming Nakia or Ramonda.

It appeared that they understood Talokan's points, but suddenly, that same critical thinking or humane sympathy is in sparing doses for Wakanda (their sister nation).

I just think people need to remember that Namor is... Kind of an asshole in any canon. He was literally called that and arrogant by Ryan Coogler, which is what we have seen in Wakanda Forever.

Namor is a multi-faceted character. His motives are upright and just. He's not entirely a "villain." Everything he did in Wakanda Forever had a rhyme and reason. His actions were in response to something (e.g., Wakanda unknowingly jeopardizing Talokan's safety). No, Namor didn't want to hurt Shuri, nor did he view it as him killing her mother. Yes, he genuinely sought out kinship, support, and an alliance with her. Yes, it is true that he holds respect and admiration for Shuri and Wakanda (see Con La Brisa or Namor's first and lines just for three references).

At the same time, he had his missteps. His diplomacy skills (barring his first conversations with Shuri) sucked exponentially! Namor was difficult with Ramonda. He intruded and constantly tried to give orders, make demands, or give Wakanda ultimatum.

These things can co-exist. As Joe Robert Cole said, Namor wasn't wrong for what he felt or his objective. His point of view is comprehensible and valid, but the problem was his approach. Namor even admits how Shuri had every right to kill him to Namora, so yes, he is flawed and had fault.

If some fans seemed to sympathize heavily with Shuri, they oddly villified and outright misconstrue Namor as something "anti-black," an oppressor (pure insanity), or a purely villainous, evil finger twiddling mastermind who sought to manipulate her right from the start.

These are stupid reads that's blatantly non-canon, mind you. Ryan Coogler even debunked that. He stated that he wanted their scenes to read as intimate and legitimate human connection amongst people who mirror.

There is also the fact that, if anything, the only character that was to give the impression to being "fooled" was Namor.

I think people should also realize how Shuri was not at all ok (aka, her flaw). This is another thing Ryan Coogler stressed in an interview. Namor and Shuri were intentionally two sides to the same coin. The pain one had was reflected in the other. Shuri was paralleling Namor in his thirst for retribution and destructive grief, but the difference is that she stopped herself from crossing the point of no return as he did, while offering her hand to pull him back.

"Vengance has consumed us. We cannot let it consume our people." Shuri wouldn't have said that for no reason.

There is an important point behind Shuri and Namor resonating with one another. Attempting to erode the connection they kindled in Talokan or misconstrue either of the two is a disservice to the movie's intricately structured theme.

If some fans loved Okoye and empathize with her struggles, they took shots at Ramonda for snapping. Yes, Okoye is an amazing, sympathetic character and tried her best. Okoye was suffering too, but do not neglect Queen Ramonda's pains.

"I had to lead a wounded nation and a broken world."

This is the same woman who lost her daughter for 5 years in the Blip, lost her son three times with the final being permanent, and lost her husband, who was politically assassinated. Throughout all of this, she had to lead a broken nation through a broken world herself. In Wakanda Forever, Ramonda had to deal with a dangerously grieving Shuri whose whole world was torn apart. She had to stand strong, seeing her daughter come undone while grieving herself.

Okoye stayed loyal to the throne when N'Jadaka (T'Challa's supposed murderer) took it while she and Shuri ran for their lives to the Jabari. Okoye's husband, W'Kabi, was a traitor. Ramonda pushed this all away (likely because she knew Okoye's heart and she understood the situation), allowing Okoye to continue serving at her side as her entrusted general and friend.

Ramonda told Okoye Shuri wasn't ready and told her not to take her on the field. Ramonda stressed her concerns about Namor (an unknown player with vibranium who had unexplainably breeched their boarders, warned them of their military power, and acted with help). Still, Okoye insisted, assuming full responsibility over Shuri.

Yes, Queen Ramonda was acting more like a mother than a queen here, and it wasn't the best decision she could've made (Okoye is their best warrior and was the only one who had fighting experience against Talokanil). However, it shows that she was human. It makes complete sense that the dam broke. She also had a point: Okoye failed in her duty, an insanely important duty that determined the fate of Wakanda.

Shuri isn't just Ramonda's daughter. She's the apparent heir. Shuri is a vital pillar in Wakanda as:

A) the apparent and only heir

B) head of Wakandan technology and design

Shuri is a leader in more ways than one, so her being taken is nothing to take lightly. Shuri even told Namor herself that Wakanda wouldn't rest until she was returned. When she comes back, a lab technician confirms this, stating to Shuri that the city has been stressed and restless in her absence.

All in all, this was a tragic fallout spurred by grief between characters with a mother-daughter dynamic.

Then there's Nakia, who mostly gets blamed for everything when she was roped in with her hands constantly forced. Even in canon, she was mistreated with Shuri ostracizing her. I'll probably write a dissection on her because it's just so crazy to me, but to give a rundown:

☆ Nakia lost "her everything" thrice. She had to be a single mother to Toussaint (who she also had to keep secret).

☆ Nakia's lack of presence at T'Challa's funeral in Wakanda was misunderstood for "running away," when she was told by T'Challa not to attend in fear of exposing their child. This led to characters pressing or misjudging her for it. Shuri had snip remarks towards her and even ignored her calls, yet Nakia remained patient and her side.

☆ The grandmother of her child pulled up to her workplace and home in Haiti, practically pleading with her to save Shuri (the love of her life's beloved sister). Queen Ramonda came to her, urging her to come out of retirement as wardog to rescue Shuri from those who held her. Neither Ramonda nor Nakia knew that Shuri requested to be taken to Namor. There was no rapport formed between them and Namor (quite the opposite). They do not know Namor or how he treats Shuri. We, as the audience, have dramatic irony. The characters do not!

☆ Nakia acted under the order of Ramonda to retrieve Shuri by any means. Even then, she did not shoot immediately. She told the guard to drop her weapon, then shot her only because she attempted to kill Shuri.

When the young handmaiden shakily held Shuri with a fruit knife near her neck, Nakia warned her with two lines, one being a command to let Shuri go. It is understandable that the young maiden froze up in fear, but time was running out. Nakia wasn't going to roll the dice on Shuri's life either. Namor would've done the same (or probably would've killed them on the dot to save his people).

While it is true Nakia killing those two Talokanil in part led to Namor's attack on Wakanda's Golden City...

1. Wakanda and Talokan still would've had inevitable conflict.

2. Her hand was pushed.

I've seen people blame or hate on Riri Williams, too, simultaneously getting and missing the point. Yes, Namor had a reason to kill Riri. He was acting as a king and didn't want his people to suffer the same traumas that caused them to move again. T'Chaka would've done the same thing.

However, even in Namor's own words, it wasn't "about the scientist." In the original script, he furthers he would've killed a thousand scientists if it meant ensuring Talokan's safety. Unfortunately, Riri was the scientist who made the machine (that she honestly had no business creating, even if she didn't know of Talokan). They wanted to throw a wrench in the cogs by depriving them of the machine and the scientist who created it. That way, they can't possibly replicate it.

To Namor, it was "Nothing personal, kid." Not even he fixed the blame on Riri personally. He just emphasized the problematic nature of the vibranium detector and what it opened them to, what it has begun. It's like the ethical delimma question of rerouting the train: Would you save the worker working absentmindedly on the train tracks or the group of people on the other side?

Coming from his perspective, you can understand him to a degree. Shuri did, but still was firm in advocating for sparing Riri. The moment she heard and saw that Riri was a student, she couldn't just fork her over to be killed for something not truly her fault. On her brother and for her brother's legacy, she refused to kill Riri. The choice to protect Riri reflected Wakanda's overall development post-BP1. It also illustrates Wakanda's optimism (afforded by their history and position), which isn't shared by Talokan. Talokan has more pessimism (due to their history of displacement, massacre by colonial disease, and vulnerabilities).

However, Riri also shows how Namor could be wrong.

Riri is a young black girl living in a constant state of disadvantage, trying to prove herself.

“To be young, gifted, and Black though, right?”

She mirrors Namor ironically. She suffered and experienced byproducts of colonialism as an African American. Riri, who is a teenager beginning college (do you expect the pinnacle of maturity and foresight from a 19-year-old?), was just caught in crossfire. Her work was meant for a rock project her professor, for some reason, didn't responsibly dissaude her from doing (but challenged her to). The FBI stolen and weaponized it, then dared to send armed forces to seize her in order to have her make it again. They even attempted to use Riri as a guise to destabilize Wakanda, pretending to care about her safety and abduction.

Additionally, even by Namor's own words, the surface world coming for them was only a matter of time. With or without Riri. Killing her would just be pushing back the dates, but it wouldn't have solved the problem. Beyond the moral dilemma of killing a kid, it actually would've created new problems.

1. A sovereign body intruded on American soil. 2. Said sovereign body and representative of another nation took a citizen. Not only that, a teenaged citizen that poses no harm who has also created the first vibranium detector (which they wanted and are looking for themselves). 3. Assuming Wakanda obliged, Riri would've been killed and never returned. Her mother would throw a fit, and it gives them so much political ammunition and guises to destablize Wakanda.

And what can Wakanda do? They are sworn to secrecy that Talokan exists. So they'll just be taking the hits just like they almost took the hits for sinking that ship when it was Talokan. If Wakanda falls and gets plundered, Talokan is not far behind.

None of these characters are "the real villains." Each of them have nuance, goodness, sympathies, and complexities. Every single one captures the complexity of humanity.

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all-the-gory-details · 2 years ago

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Whumptober Day 1

Safety Net / Swooning / “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Alternative: 09. Drugging

TW: implied transphobia, implied drugging

Georgia hardly felt the chill October air as she waited by the mailbox, so focused was she on the road. Being out late at night was always scary for her, but this was different. Somehow, she was convinced that the world knew she was about to escape, and seemed bent on preventing her from doing so. Not only had she tripped on the stairs on her way down from her bedroom, duffel bags in hand; not only had the front door creaked louder than it did in old horror movies; not only had the family dog start barking like she was bent on breaking in instead of breaking away; but now, her phone was dead.

She sighed, straining her eyes to see further down the long, winding road of the rural neighborhood. Al had promised to be here at 3 a.m., and it was looking like he would be late. Not that she knew for sure, she reminded herself. It wasn’t like she could check the time.

Even a minute of waiting opened up space in her brain. As much as she tried to preoccupy her mind elsewhere, it stubbornly kept returning to the one thing she wanted to avoid thinking about. That's the thing about brains: they like to think.

Georgia’s brain was particularly bent on thinking about the exact expression her mother had made earlier that night, the disgust in her father’s voice when he said she was his son. She had known they wouldn’t accept her, but she was an adult, goddammit. She deserved some basic respect. To be listened to and considered instead of yelled at like a child.

Alexei had listened to her rant, as he always did. They had been friends on discord for a few months, and Georgia had never met anyone who listened as well as he did, giving support and comfort at just the right moments. That night, however, he gave her something even better.

He gave her a way out.

Finally, the bright glow of headlights rounded the corner, blinding her momentarily. She brought her hand up to shield her eyes as the black truck pulled up next to her. She took a few steps back, onto the lawn, to get a better look at the person behind the wheel.

There was no need, though. The door opened and the driver stepped out, a tall man with half bleached hair and a concerned expression.

Al.

They had called before, of course, and even video chatted a few times, but it was different to see a person right in front of you. It was easy for her to forget that the person holding all her deepest secrets was flesh and blood, and not just a collection of pixels on a computer screen.

But here he was. Real. Real and ready to take her away.

“You ready, Georgie?”

She nodded without hesitation.

The first part of the drive went by in a blur. Driving through the streets she had grown up with for the last time, so familiar and yet so foreign in the darkness, was a surreal experience. Once they were on the freeway, her mind cleared a bit, and she turned to Alexei with a smile.

“I… I can’t believe it. I’m out.”

“You are,” He said with a grin. “Did you leave the note?”

“Yup. They know not to expect me back.”

“Serves them right. I brought you some food, if you’re hungry.”

He reached into the back and pulled out a mcdonalds bag, grease soaking through the paper in a leopard print pattern.

“Mostly thirsty,” she said, accepting the bag gratefully. Alexei pointed to a drink in the cupholder with a smile.

“I got you a sprite.”

“You are literally a lifesaver,” she said with a smile, sticking in a straw and taking a huge sip.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

Georgia turned to him, confused. His tone worried her, and she took another sip nervously. “What… what do you mean?”

“You saved yourself, Georgie. I might have helped, but you’re the one who’ll bring about your future.”

She sighed in relief. “Yeah, I suppose so. Sorry, I’m just… nervous.”

“That makes sense. But you don’t need to be nervous. I’ve got you.”

They drove in silence for a while, Alexei focused on the road and Georgia watching the blurry lights fly by. But… it wasn’t just the lights that were blurry.

Suddenly, everything was spinning in and out of focus. She gasped in surprise, and Alexei looked over.

“Everything ok?”

“I… I don’t… everything is spinning, and I can’t…” Georgia closed her eyes as pressure behind her eyes built up in a painful burst of light.

She dimly registered Alexei pulling over, shaking her shoulder, calling her name. He was holding her upright, pushing her into a position where she wouldn’t fall over.

“Georgia, open your eyes, goddammit! I need to make sure I don't use too much, I haven’t used this one before…”

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Al leaning over her, concern on his face. The world was spinning, but he seemed to get some comfort out of seeing that she was conscious.

“How many fingers am I holding up, Georgie?” She saw his hand, swaying a foot or two away from her face. Was his hand swaying, or was she? It didn’t matter.

“Four…no, three?”

He put his arm down and smiled. Something about his smile chilled her right down to the bone, but she couldn’t place it. “Good enough,” he said, retreating back into the driver’s seat and buckling himself in. “Go on and close your eyes, Georgia. I’ve got you now. No need to fight it.”

Some small voice in her said that something was wrong, that she needed to fight and get out of this car. But the voice was so quiet and the world was still spinning, and so Georgia closed her eyes as the car pulled back onto the road. And as she let herself drift into comfortable oblivion, she told herself that at least she had escaped. She was out.

She was free.

#Poor Georgia has no clue what shes gotten into #whump #whump fic #whumptober 2023 #no.1 #fic

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repulsiveliquidation · 2 years ago

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Royalty

Ona Batlle x Reader

An alternate ending to "She's going to be okay." which can be read as separate works! [La Princesa] [Royalty] [Angel in the House]

Fluff with angst. Enjoy!

word count : 4.3k

“Hold on, mi amor. I’m right here, please hold on.”

“Bonita, we’re going to be late!”

“Coming, just forgot my phone!”

You held both your kit bags while you waited by the door. Ona was scrambling to find her phone, you watched with amusement at her frantically searching for it.

“What–it was just here?!”

“Look at your right hand, beautiful.”

“Why–oh.”

“That was the fertility office.” She says quietly, Pina inhaling sharply which caused Patri to smack her arm.

“Baby, what did they say?”

“It worked.”

She says it so softly you didn’t hear her.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Your wife. Now bearing your child.

“What the hell has gotten into you all? What’s all the yelling for?” Alexia walks in, Lucy and Kiera in tow, prank abandoned.

“Y/N knocked Ona up!” yells Mapi (who else would) grabbing you by your shoulders and smiling proudly. Ingrid walked over and smacked Mapi on the head.

“I didn’t knock her up you moron, I only gave her the fertility shots. Technically the doctor did.” you tell everyone, Ona glued to your side.

“Congratulations to you both, you will be the best parents.” Alexia tells you, hugging you both tight.

“Do you remember the conversation we had a few months ago, Jonatan? About us wanting to start a family?”

“Sí. Is it good news?”

“Ona’s pregnant.”

“That would be perfect, Jonatan. Thank you for everything.”

2 months pregnant.

“Ona!”

Alexia walks up to you, her coffee in hand as she watches Ona and the girls.

“How is she?”

“She’s alright. The morning sickness was bad yesterday, I think the baby is giving her a break today.

“She’s glowing, you know.”

“That she is. She’s beautiful.”

5 months pregnant.

“Cariño? It’s time to wake up angel. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment in two hours.”

“Is it that time already?”

“Sí. Come on, I’ll make you breakfast too.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“You’re the mother of my child, you deserve the world and more.”

“Mrs. Ona L/N? Doctor Johan will see you now.”

“Thank you.”

"De nada, third door on the right.”

“Good afternoon, how are we feeling today?”

“Do we want to know the gender?” the doctor asks.

“Could we get it in an envelope? We’d like to find out together with our family.”

“Of course, you both going to have a very healthy baby.”

6 months pregnant.

“Lucia, please don’t make me regret making you and Kiera in charge of the baby shower. If you fuck it up, Ona will slaughter me.”

“Don’t worry you worry wart. It’s going to be perfect.”

“Hey angel, nothing’s taken your fancy?”

“Why don’t you wear one of my jerseys? Maybe an old one we could glamour up?”

“You look so good in your outfit though, I don’t want to look underdressed.”

“Darling, you could show up wearing a fucking traffic cone and I’d say you were beautiful.”

“Hey, I told you. Don’t swear in front of El pequeño.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. I’ll grab one of my England shirts eh?”

“Go ahead. I hope you like sleeping on the couch though.”

“Where’s Mapi?”

“Ingrid, I swear if she is up to something–“

“You’re going to have to get in line, I’ll be sending her STRAIGHT to heaven if she pulls some shit–“

"Hola mi princesa".

3AM, 6 ½ months pregnant.

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Something’s wrong with the baby.”

“It’s probably just Braxton Hicks love, want me to give you a massage like last time?”

“Y/N, there’s blood.”

“It’s okay baby, you’re going to be okay.”

“T-There’s so much blood, Y/N…”

“Shh, shh, I know. She’s going to be okay.”

You pick her up and rush to the car, putting her in the passenger seat and clambering into the driver’s seat. You hold her hand and drive fast, speed limits be damned. She’s a mess, crying and clutching her stomach. She’s also begging, begging La Princesa to hold on.

“Please, mi amor. Hold on for us. Please!” she begs, tears flowing down your cheeks too. You’ve never seen her in such distress before, your heart aching, wishing you could take it away from her.

It’s three am in Barcelona, there’s barely anyone on the streets. You get to the hospital, leaving the car right in front of the A&E. you jump out and run to Ona’s side, picking her up again and running into the emergency room. You’re yelling for a doctor, a gurney in front of you to put Ona into. They rush her into surgery; you’re left there with her blood all over your front and you don’t know what to do. The love of your life could die and your baby might not survive. Your hands shake as you call the one person you knew would know what to do.

“Y/N? I’m here hermosa. Where is she?”

“Alexia! Oh Alexia.” You begin to sob again, tears and snot running down your face. You’ve been crying the whole time, clutching at the bloody hoodie you have on. Alexia’s heart breaks at the sight of you. She rushes over and pulls you into her arms, you sob harder into her shirt. She’s crying too, holding you tight and whispering soothing words into your ears.

“I’ve called the rest of the girls. We’ve got you.”

“I can’t live without her, I don’t know what to do. I feel so useless just SITTING HERE! SHE NEEDS…needs me…” you yell and cry out, Alexia holding you closer.

“Shh, hermosa. What she needs is for you to be strong for her. She’s a tough girl, trust me.”

“Alexia! Y/N! We came as soon as we could. Where is Ona?”

Mapi, Ingrid, Pina, Patri, Lucy and Kiera walked into the emergency waiting room. They ran to the two of you as soon as they heard your sobs. They hugged you tight, their own tears joining yours. The both of you were sisters to them, your pain shared with all the girls who vowed to be there for you both any way they could. Mapi and Ingrid went to get an update on Ona, Lucy and Kiera went to get coffee for everyone while the rest of them stayed with you. Alexia hadn’t let go of you, stroking your hair softly as the others rubbed your arms and soothed you.

“Nothing yet, she’s still in surgery.” Ingrid tells the group, sitting beside Mapi who has her head in her hands.

“She’s going to be okay, bonita. Ona will be okay.” Alexia whispers in your ears as fresh tears flow down your stained cheeks.

“Three hours, what the fuck are they doing to her?!” Mapi grumbles, clearly frustrated with the lack of answers as she goes to the nurses desk for another update.

You’re all still sitting in the waiting room, cups of coffee in hand. Lucy and Kiera had also gotten you a change of clothes, getting rid of your bloody garments. Alexia handled Jonatan, explaining the situation, he gave everyone a couple days off to focus on Ona and you. Just as she got off the phone to tell you all, you spoke.

“You all don’t need to be here, you’ve got better things to worry about. We’ve got a game Thursday to focus on. Go, I’ll text you if anything changes. You’ve done more than you need to for me.” You tell them quietly, holding back tears.

“We aren’t going anywhere, pea. We want to be here with you.” Kiera tells you, kneeling in front of you as you look at her wet eyes.

“Football be damned, you two are more important right now.” Alexia says, you look at the captain for any sign of a lie. Her face is stoic, almost daring you to rebuttal her statement.

“I don’t know what I would do without you all. Thank you, you have no idea how much you being here means to me. How much it means to Ona and La Princesa.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? She’s been in there THREE HOURS! THREE FUCKING HOURS!”

“Mapi.”

“Seriously, what the hell–“

“Mapi!”

“What!”

“That’s enough.”

“Y/N, we need answers! They can’t–“

“Mrs. Y/N L/N?”

Your head shoots up and you scramble up to the doctor upon hearing your name. The girls follow, Ingrid and Lucy holding your hands.

“And they are?”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of them. Where is my wife?”

“She’s in recovery. She’s had preterm labour which we’ve managed to stop. She is 26 weeks along, we realistically want her up to at least 30 to 33 weeks before we decide if we want to have her deliver early. We need to monitor her closely for the next 48 hours to make sure that she doesn’t go into labour again. The nurses will have her ready for you in a while. She’s doing well.”

“Y/N? Y/N?”

“We’ll get her darling, she’s talking to the doctors.”

“I want her.”

"Sí, nena, ella está justo afuera. Está bien."

You walk in just as Alexia reasons with Ona. She bursts into tears when she sees you. Your eyes are bloodshot, you look tired. You rush to her and sit on her bedside, pulling her into your chest. The girls filter out to give you some privacy, sitting in the hallway patiently.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay, she’s okay.”

“I was so scared…”

“I know, darling. I’m so proud of you, you’re so strong Ona. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mi Reina. Nothing.”

“She’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, we’re going to make sure of it.”

“Lucy, you didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense, we all fought about who would pick you up from the hospital anyway.”

“What about my car?”

“Kiera came with, she’ll drive it back.”

“Thank you both for everything.”

“Claro, let’s get you both home.”

You help Ona into the back and climb in with her. She leans into you, still feeling tired from being in the hospital. Your arm is around her, kissing her hair softly. You keep your other hand on her belly, rubbing softly. She closes her eyes and enjoys the feeling, a wave of relief going over her. The word terrified doesn’t begin to describe it when she was in the car on the way to the hospital the other night and when you were just standing there as she was hauled away from you. She really thought she was going to die and the fact that you weren’t beside her almost did. The doctors were working fast, she was loopy and light-headed, annoyed that they wouldn’t answer her questions of how her baby was doing. She was panicking but they quickly anaesthetized her and she calmed.

As they told her about what had happened she couldn’t hear them. She knew they were talking but nothing was registering. She only wanted you, her mind set on wanting to check on you and make sure you were okay. Even in her demise she worried about you, a quality you admired very much.

“We’re here.” Lucy called, snapping her out of her trance. You carried her into the house and onto the couch, the girls fussing over her the moment she laid down. You kissed her forehead and smiled, muttering a soft “I love you,” before walking into the kitchen. Ingrid and Mapi kept her company, Patri and Pina gave her a massage as Alexia, Lucy and Kiera were talking in the kitchen. Lucy pulled you into a hug when you walked in, you let out a long sigh as she held you.

“Jonatan has given you the week off.”

“Thank him for me will you, Ale?”

“Already have, bonita.”

“Can I have a word with you all in the living room?”

“All of you have been the best family ever, you being there for us has been more important than you will ever know. I speak for both of us when I say that nothing we do will ever make up for all you have done for us this week.” Ona nods in agreement, tears flowing down her cheeks which Mapi wipes off her. She continues for you, Ale standing beside you and pulling you into her side as your own tears follow.

“I love you all, thank you so much for helping us. We don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“We are family, hermosa. No one in this room would rather be anywhere else. If the roles were reversed, you would have done the same if not more.”

“I can think of one thing that would make up for all of this.”

“What Patri?”

“You bring La Princesa home.”

9 months, 4:30am.

“Y/N, please wake up.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop breathing funny.”

“Y/N, wake up. I’m being serious.”

“What, are you okay? Is it the baby?”

“My water just broke.”

“Oh. OH. BABY INCOMING. FUCK, WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THAT?! WHERE’S THE HOSPITAL BAG? KEYS? YOU?!”

You scoop Ona into your arms, rushing out to the car. You help her in and buckle her up, running back inside to grab her hospital bag and your keys. Ona was laughing in the car, clearly the calmer of the two. She was in mild pain but nothing too serious. You jump into the car and drive, panicking already. At a red light she takes your clammy hand and kisses it, smiling up at you.

“I’m okay, hermosa. I’m not in a lot of pain.”

“What if something goes wrong? Oh god what if we get stuck in traffic and we have the baby in the BACK SEAT?!”

She laughs harder, clutching her stomach heartily. It annoys you.

“Why are you laughing? This is serious, amor!”

“Please get us to the hospital safe, hm? You’re acting like you’re the one having the baby and not me.”

“FUCK YOU, YOU’RE NEVER KNOCKING ME UP AGAIN!”

“Technically baby, it was a doctor that knocked you up but don't worry, I was in the room.”

“SHUT UP, YOU’RE BEING USELESS RIGHT NOW.”

You chuckle as she stops pushing, her dilation up to 9cm already. Just a few more hours till you get to see your babygirl. The midwife suggests you climb into bed with her, helping her move forward for you to scoot in behind her. You hold her close, stroking her damp hair out of her face.

“You’re doing so well, hermosa. She’s going to be here soon, all thanks to you. You’ve made my dreams come true, I’m forever grateful.”

“You’re changing every single dirty diaper.”

“Gladly. I would gladly do that, my love. I love you.”

“Hola, hermosa. Oh, you girls look so beautiful.” Alexia said as the girls walked in with her. They were beaming, the sight of Ona holding La Princesa melted their hearts. Ona was glowing, proudly holding our bundle of joy. Born 3.9kg, she was a healthy baby girl. Mapi was crying (already), Patri and Pina taking photos as Lucy and Kiera patted you on the back and watched Ona fondly.

“Here, baby. You take her.”

“Everyone, meet Eliana Alexia Maria Batlle L/N.”

“What?” said Alexia and Mapi at the same time. Naming her after them was a no brainer, you didn’t want to spoil the surprise when Mapi suggested it at the baby shower. The two of them have been role models in both of your lives; giving your daughter their names was an easy decision.

Mapi was being consoled by Ingrid, sobbing harder than Eliana when she was born. Alexia hugged you so hard you were winded, chuckling and rubbing her back as she cried into your neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I already love her so much.”

“Mapi you will wash your hands TWICE before you come anywhere near my child.”

You handed Eliana to Alexia, she sat with the baby and held her like she was made of glass. Alexia spoke to her softly, promising her new goddaughter that she will love and cherish her, to teach her football and to protect her from the world as tears welled in her eyes.

Mapi held her next, kissing her forehead softly as Ingrid looked absolutely smitten over her shoulder. Mapi introduced herself and cooed at her, Eliana holding her finger which made Mapi vow then and there that she would die for this child.

“Mapi.”

“¿Sí?”

“As you all know, Alexia is already her godmother. But, Ona and I talked about it and we’ve decided that we want you to be her godmother too. The protective nature you had in the emergency room made me realize that Eliana needs you the same way we did. I have no doubt that she will be safe with the two of you.”

“This is my proudest moment. Thank you both, she is already so special to the two of us. I love you both.” She looks down at Eliana fondly, muttering “I love you, princesa. Bienvenidos al mundo.”

“Are you sure, baby? We can go home, don’t worry.”

“I want to see the girls. Besides, we could use the babysitting.”

“Is that my goddaughter I see?!”

Mapi runs up to you and takes Eliana’s carrier from you, cooing at her as she sits in the shade and talks to her. Ona takes your hand and walks over to the benches as the girls come off the pitch to greet you both. You say quick hellos and run back inside to change into your training kit.

When you come back, Alexia is holding Eliana close as the girls look at her with pure adoration. Patri gives you a nod and you understand, her words from months ago coming back to memory; La Princesa was home.

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