#Quicken Support Number | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puffins-muffins · 9 months ago

Text

Control - The Reunion

Pairing: Jax Teller (AU-ish) x FemaleLawyer!Reader

Word Count: 7,008

Summary: Years after leaving Charming, you’re drawn back into SAMCRO’s world as Opie calls on you for help. When you come face-to-face with Jax for the first time in a decade, the undeniable tension between you resurfaces, stirring old emotions you thought you’d let go of.

Warnings: 18+ only please, cursing, Jax being a cocky shit.

A/N: Y’ALL!! The support this little fic of mine has received over the past week has made my Charlie obsessed heart SO HAPPY! I appreciate each and every one of you. So here’s part 2. Also! Not a lawyer and am relying on Google for lawyery things. This is my first Jax/SOA AU-ish fic. This one’s going to be a slow burn, I hope you stick around. Feedback - likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated. Beta'd by just myself, all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy! 💜

Part 1 - The Beginning

It had been nearly a decade since you left Charming, distancing yourself from the chaos that once consumed your life. A career opportunity had pulled you back to California just over a year ago, far enough from the ghosts of your past but close enough to feel the danger of reopening old wounds. In that time, you’d built a reputation as one of the top defense attorneys at your firm, becoming known for your relentless drive and sharp instincts. The sacrifices—the people, the memories, the pain you walked away from had seemed worth it as you carefully crafted this new life.

That afternoon, you were engrossed in case files, mentally preparing yourself for the courtroom. Your phone buzzed on your desk, and you glanced at the screen, noting the unfamiliar number with a familiar area code. Charming.

You froze, heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, you answered, “Hello?”

There was a pause, a beat too long before you heard a voice that stirred old memories. “Hey… it’s Opie.”

His voice was unmistakable, carrying the weight of years and the unspoken bond you once shared with him and SAMCRO. You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening. You hadn’t heard from Opie in what felt like a lifetime, and yet, hearing him now, everything came rushing back—the long nights, the brotherhood, the laughter, and the pain.

“Opie,” you said, your voice softer, filled with uncertainty. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” he replied, his tone thick with emotion. There was no small talk, no easing into it. “Look, uhh—I didn’t wanna bring this to you, but I didn’t know who else to call. It’s about Jax.”

You felt your chest tighten. Jax.

“He got arrested,” Opie continued. “Murder charges.”

The words landed like a punch, knocking the wind out of you. “Murder?” you echoed, barely believing it.

“It’s bullshit,” Opie rushed to explain. “The cops have had it out for him for years. You know how it is in Charming. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this, and now they’ve got it. But… we think it’s serious.”

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes for a moment to gather yourself. Jax. It had been years since you thought about him, really thought about him. But now, hearing that he was tangled in something like this, old emotions began to stir. You’d worked hard to bury those feelings, to keep your life separate from what you left behind.

“Opie,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “why me? I’m not part of your world anymore.”

There was a silence on the other end, then he spoke, quieter now, more earnest. “Because we trust you. Jax… he needs someone who will fight for him. You’re the best. I’ve known you were back in California for a while now, just didn’t say anything—cause I respected why you left. But the things you’ve done in court, we need someone like that. He needs someone like that. And to be honest, I—we, only trust you.”

You felt a pang in your chest, hearing the desperation in his voice, the weight of the trust they were placing in you. For a moment, you thought about hanging up, walking away would be the smart thing, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t ignore the pull of Jax Teller.

“I’ll look into it,” you said quietly, the words coming out before you could stop them. “But I’m not making any promises, Ope. This isn’t—”

“I get it,” Opie interrupted, his relief evident. “I get it. Just… thank you. I’ll send you the details.”

Hanging up, your mind raced. Jax was trouble, and he’d always been trouble. No one else in the world brought out your impulsive side the way he did. It was part of why you left, to escape the version of yourself that couldn’t say no to him. You’d always been careful, meticulous, and in control—except when he was involved.

Opie’s text pulled you from your thoughts. As you read over the sparse details he’d sent, that familiar instinct to defend kicked in. You ran a hand over your face, feeling the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. You had been strong enough to stay away before, but could you live with yourself if you didn’t at least try to help him now?

Finally, you let out a slow breath, the internal battle subsiding as resolve took over. You grabbed your phone again, the decision made.

“Liz,” you said, as your assistant answered. “I need you to get me everything you can on the Sons of Anarchy MC—contacts, history, whatever you can dig up. And find out where they’re holding Jackson Teller.”

The words were out, and there was no going back.

As you hung up, a familiar feeling settled in your chest. It was the same reckless rush you’d felt so many times before, the pull of something you knew you shouldn’t do but couldn’t resist. And no one, not even you, could ignore it when it came to Jax.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked into the San Joaquin precinct like you owned the place—every step deliberate, every movement dripping with confidence. Eyes followed you, whispers rippling in your wake, but you didn’t bother acknowledging the attention. You didn’t need to; your presence said enough.

Sheriff Trammel glanced up from his desk, his eyes narrowing as he processed the sight of you. First came curiosity, then something resembling shock. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t expect to see you around these parts. What brings you back? Visiting an old friend?”

There it was—the assumption, the lazy attempt to place you in a box marked the past. You almost smiled. Almost.

“I’m here to see my client,” you replied coolly, eyes sharp as they met his.

Trammel’s brow furrowed for a moment before he connected the dots. “Your client?” He blinked, caught off guard. And then it hit him, the change in his expression obvious. “Jackson Teller?”

“That’s right,” you confirmed, tone even but with a bite just underneath. “I’m his attorney.”

His smirk dropped, irritation replacing it as he straightened up, arms crossing over his chest. “Well, ain’t that a surprise,” he drawled, clearly trying to reassert control. “You do know what he’s been mixed up in, right?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I know exactly what he’s involved in. What I don’t know is why he’s been stuck in an interrogation room for hours without at least a phone call.” Your voice was razor-sharp, no patience for his games. “If you need a refresher on how this works, Sheriff, I’ll be happy to provide one.”

Trammel’s jaw ticked, his attempt at authority slipping. “You don’t know how we do things around here,” he warned, voice dropping as if that was supposed to scare you.

“And you clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with,” you shot back, leaning in just enough. “You’ve got no grounds to hold him without due process. Now, unless you’re begging for a formal complaint and the inevitable walkout, I suggest you let me see my client. Now.”

A heavy silence followed, the tension between you palpable. Trammel stared at you, clearly weighing his options, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew you weren’t bluffing. With a tight-lipped sigh, he finally nodded to the nearest officer.

“Take her to Teller.”

As you followed the officer down the hall, the adrenaline that had been pushing you forward settled into a more focused determination. You had anticipated pushback, but this? They were dragging their feet, hoping to keep Jax trapped in a system designed to work against him. It only fueled your resolve.

When the door to the interrogation room finally opened, Jax was slouched at the table, looking more worn than you’d ever seen him—his face harder, the weight of his life etched into every line. But despite the exhaustion, that familiar glint of defiance still burned in his eyes. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, time seemed to stop. His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face as if he wasn’t quite sure you were real.

“Jesus,” he muttered, sitting up straighter, his voice rougher than you remembered. “You?”

You stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, your eyes stayed locked on his. You saw the momentary relief there, quickly buried beneath a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Yeah, me,” you said, keeping your tone steady, even though being in the same room with him again after all these years aroused something deep inside you.

As Jax took you in, his gaze locked onto yours with a slow, deliberate intensity. He leaned back in his chair, his movements unhurried, as if savoring the moment. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, just enough to send a rush of heat through you. It was the same look that used to drive you wild, but there was something more now—an edge, an awareness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

His blue eyes raked over you, slow and searching, like he was taking in every change, every part of you that had evolved since you last stood this close. But underneath the layers of disbelief, there was something familiar—a hunger, a pull that had never truly disappeared. His gaze lingered, appreciating the woman you’d become, and for a moment, it felt like the air between you crackled with electricity.

"Never thought I’d see the day," he murmured, his voice low, rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the smirk deepening as he leaned forward just a fraction. "So, you’re back… for me."

His words oozed his signature swagger—seductive, teasing, but laced with an undercurrent of something darker. The way he looked at you now, like he could strip away every layer you'd built up over the years, made your pulse skip. There was a heat between you, undeniable, the tension from the past flickering back to life in an instant. Despite everything, despite the time and distance, Jax still had that maddening ability to make your heart race, stirring up emotions you’d long since tried to bury.

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let his attitude slide. “I’m here because Opie called,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended, trying to ignore the flutter of your chest. “This is business, Jax. So, the quicker you drop your cocky bullshit, the quicker I can figure out how to get you out of here.”

That damn smirk deepened, his head tilting in that familiar way, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes as if no time had passed. “Cocky, huh? You sure you’re not just remembering how much you used to—”

“Don’t be disrespectful,” you cut him off coldly, your voice like ice, laced with a warning. There was a flash in his eyes, the playful arrogance dimming slightly.

His eyes scanned your face like he was searching for cracks in your professional façade, trying to find the girl he once knew beneath the hardened version of yourself standing before him.

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re not special, Jax. You need a defense, and Opie called in a favor. That’s it.”

Jax tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Sure, that’s all it is. No way you missed me, right?” His lips curled into that signature smirk, the one that used to unravel you in ways you’d never admit.

Your jaw tightened, refusing to give him an inch. “I didn’t miss the chaos or the danger. But I’m also not about to let your recklessness pull you under.”

The smirk stayed, but his gaze darkened, his voice lowering a notch. “Recklessness, huh? Funny, I remember a time when you didn’t mind that part of me. Actually, you really kinda liked it.”

He leaned in just enough to make your pulse quicken, eyes narrowing as they raked over you, searching for any crack in your armor. “Or maybe,” he said, voice low and taunting, “you’re just too scared to admit you’ve still got a soft spot for Charming…and for me.”

Pausing, his gaze lingering on your lips for a breath too long. “Maybe you’re afraid you’re not over me.”

You slammed your notebook shut, the sound slicing through the thick tension. “I know what you’re trying to do.” You paused, struggling to suppress the old feelings he provoked within you, heat flushing your cheeks. The way his gaze lingered on your lips sent a shiver through you. He was pushing you, just like he did all those years ago.

“This isn’t about feelings, Jax! It’s about saving your ass. If you’re too proud or too stupid to let me help, I can walk out that door right now and you can rot here. I promise you that I have better things to do with my time.”

The room went silent. Jax studied you, the playful glint in his eyes finally fading, replaced by something closer to frustration, maybe even hurt. His cocky grin faltered, though his guard remained firmly in place. “Yeah? You’d walk out?” His voice was lower now, more serious, his disbelief still evident. “After all the shit we went through. Color me surprised.”

You held his gaze, standing your ground. “You walked away from me first, Jax. Don’t forget that.”

For the first time since you walked into the room, he didn’t have a snappy comeback.

The tension hung between you, thick and unresolved, as the weight of the past settled in the silence.

And as you stared at Jax, your mind wandered, taking in every detail of the man in front of you. He looked different now—older, more mature, but no less magnetic. In fact, the changes had only made him more striking in a raw, rugged way. The boyish charm that used to come so effortlessly was still there, buried beneath the exhaustion in his eyes. His blonde hair, slightly shorter now and slicked back, showed streaks of silver. The faint peppering of gray in his beard only added to the hardened edge that framed his jaw. He was still strong, still the same powerful presence, but there was a heaviness to him now, like the weight of his choices had settled deep into his bones.

Despite the roughness, despite everything the years had taken from him, Jax Teller was still undeniably attractive. The kind of man who could make your heart race with just a glance—the dangerous pull he’d always had, only now more potent. The way his blue eyes seemed to pierce through you, the way he carried himself, the confidence that bordered on arrogance, it was all there, all of it pulling at you in ways you didn’t want.

But this wasn’t the Jax from those carefree days at the park or late nights at TM. The version of him who used to tease you relentlessly, making your pulse quicken, had been worn down by the life he chose. The violence, the betrayals, the loss… it was all written on his face. For a moment, your resolve wavered. The dangerous temptation to fall back into old patterns, to get too close again, tugged at you.

And then Jax broke the silence. “Yeah, but you actually left.”

That stopped you in your tracks. The accusation in his voice, the weight of it, hit hard, settling in the pit of your stomach. This version of Jax was ruthless. The room was heavy with silence, both of you staring at each other, years of unspoken hurt rising to the surface.

But you weren’t about to let him flip this on you.

“I left,” you repeated, the words sharp, “because there was nothing left for me. You made your choice, Jax. The club, the women… you chose that life over us. You knew it, and so did I.” Your voice hardened, fueled by years of buried frustration. “Don’t try to put this on me like I’m the one who abandoned you.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes remained locked on yours. You could see the struggle in him, the way his jaw tightened, the way he fought back against what you were saying.

“So yeah,” you continued, your voice steady, “I left. I chose a life where I wouldn’t have to wonder if the next phone call I got would be someone telling me you were dead. You know, like my father.”

The words landed hard, slicing through the air. You saw the flash of pain in Jax's eyes as he stiffened at the mention of your dad. And for a moment, neither of you said a word, but the truth had to be spoken—it was the reason you left, the reason you couldn’t stay in that life.

“I built something for myself. And now I’m here, trying to help you, despite all of that. So maybe it’s time you stopped acting like a shit and let me do what I came here to do.”

His eyes stayed on yours, but now they weren’t filled with that teasing cockiness anymore. There was something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to admit.

Finally, Jax let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He leaned back against the wall, breaking eye contact for the first time, the weight of your words settling over him.

“I guess I just never thought you’d actually go,” he muttered, voice quieter now, the defensiveness finally giving way to something more vulnerable.

For the briefest moment, you almost let the softness in his tone get to you, almost let it bring up the memories of the man you’d once loved so fiercely. But you couldn’t afford to go there. Not now.

You straightened your spine, shifting back into lawyer mode. “Well, I did. And now I’m back, for this. So, do you want my help or not?”

Jax glanced up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a resigned nod, he finally dropped the bravado completely.

"Yeah, Pep” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need your help.”

And just like that, the wall between you shifted. The weight of his words, and that damn nickname—it hit you in a way you hadn’t anticipated, like a suckerpunch to the gut, and a rush to your chest, stirring up memories you’d buried deep.

For a split second, the weight of everything between you seemed to vanish, replaced by a memory of a simpler time. You swallowed hard, fighting to stay steady, and nodded once, flipping your notebook open again, determined to stay in control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could feel the weight of the eyes on both of you, the tension thick between the rows of onlookers. It wasn’t just another day in court; this was the opening move in a game of chess that would decide whether Jax would spend the next decades of his life behind bars.

He stood tall, his posture relaxed, but you could see the strain in his face, the way his jaw clenched tightly as the judge read over the charges. Murder. Conspiracy. And the bail—the Judge already threatening to keep him behind bars. It was a deliberate message, one meant to keep him locked up and out of the way. One you knew too well.

You glanced at Jax from the corner of your eye, noting how composed he seemed despite the gravity of the situation. But then again, that was him—always steady, even when the world was falling apart around him. Still, you caught the tension in the way his hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.

The DA wasted no time, framing Jax as the leader of a violent motorcycle gang, a man entrenched in crime, a threat to society, and someone with every reason to flee. It was the narrative they always spun, but it still landed heavily in the room.

The judge leaned forward, his gaze heavy with scrutiny. "Given the serious nature of the charges against you Mr. Teller," he began, his voice measured, "I am inclined not to grant bail."

A subtle ripple of murmurs moved through the room, but you didn’t flinch. You lived for this part—standing in the line of fire, fighting for your client. This was what you were born to do.

Clearing your throat, you stepped forward, your voice steady and sure. “Your Honor, I understand the gravity of the charges, but Mr. Teller is not a flight risk. He has deep ties to this community—his family, his responsibilities, and his roots are firmly planted in Charming. He operates a successful business that helps rehabilitate recently released inmates, providing them with support and job opportunities.

“I’d also like to submit a character statement from former Chief Wayne Unser of the Charming PD, which corroborates Mr. Teller’s commitment to his community and the positive contributions he has made over the years. He has shown unwavering dedication, and there’s no reason to believe he would abandon those responsibilities now.”

As you approached the bench to hand the document to the judge, you could feel the tension in the room, but you weren’t finished.

“Furthermore, Your Honor,” you pressed on, “there is a glaring lack of concrete evidence provided by the prosecution at this time. What we have here is more of a narrative than a solid case. My client is being painted as guilty by association, rather than through any real proof. The due process he’s entitled to has already been compromised by rushed charges and incomplete evidence. Denying him bail under these circumstances would be fundamentally unjust.”

You could sense the weight of the room shifting, the prosecution casting quick, uneasy glances at their notes, preparing a rebuttal. But you weren’t going to let them get the last word.

“All we’re asking for, Your Honor, is the opportunity for Mr. Teller to continue living his life while we prepare his defense. He’s not going anywhere, and the absence of substantive evidence speaks volumes.”

The judge sat back, contemplating your argument, and you braced yourself. His eyes flickered to Jax briefly before returning to you.

"Bail is set at $500,000," he finally declared, the gavel heavy in his hand. "And Mr. Teller will surrender his passport."

The decision came down like a hammer, the thud of it reverberating through you. You glanced over at Jax. His expression didn’t waver. No flinch, no sign of surprise, just a small nod, as if to say, ‘We knew this was coming.’ His eyes met yours, steady and calm, while the weight of the judge’s words hung in the air.

You swallowed hard, regaining your focus. There was no time to react, only to plan. Your mind was already turning over the next steps, fast and sure. You’d have to move quickly now.

And just like that, court was adjourned. The room erupted into murmurs as people filtered out. But you stayed put for a moment, watching as Jax was cuffed again, his wrists bound in front of him. He met your eyes briefly, a flicker of something passing between you. Trust? Maybe. Or maybe it was that same pull—the one that made it impossible to stay away, no matter how much you tried.

You exhaled slowly, gathering your things, the weight of what’s next pressing down on you like a storm brewing just on the horizon. There was so much left to prepare for, so much at stake.

As they led Jax away, he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. You returned it, knowing that this was just the beginning. You would do what you came here to do—protect him, defend him, win this case. But as you watched him disappear into the hallway, the past, as always, lingered too close for comfort.

As the last of the courtroom's noise faded, you found Jax seated in the small holding area, his posture tense, arms resting on his knees. He glanced up as you approached, a flicker of frustration in his expression as he leaned back against the wall.

“They’re really putting you in a tough spot with that bail,” you said, your voice calm despite the frustration you felt.

“Half a mil,” Jax muttered, shaking his head, a bitter edge to his tone. “They want me to fucking rot in here.”

You shifted, standing a little closer. “Are you able to cover the 10%? Fifty grand?”

Jax gave a slow, skeptical shake of his head, running a hand over his beard. “That’s the problem… I don’t know if we can pull it all together in time. The club’s tapped from all the heat we’ve been under, and most of my assets are tied up in shit I can’t touch right now. I’ve got some, but I don’t know if it’s enough.”

You crossed your arms, thinking through the logistics, trying to calculate how quickly you could move things around. It wasn’t just about the money—it was about timing, resources, and connections. You looked at him, the weight of his doubt hanging in the air. He didn’t like feeling helpless, and you hated seeing him like this.

“I’ll call Opie,” you said after a moment, your voice steady, full of resolve. “We’ll figure something out.”

Jax met your gaze, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge how serious you were. “And if we can’t?” he asked, the vulnerability in his voice barely masked.

You didn’t blink. “We will,” you promised. “I’m not letting you sit in here any longer than you have to.”

He watched you for a long moment, his skepticism giving way to something that resembled trust, though he still seemed unconvinced. “Alright,” he said finally, though there was still a tension in his voice. “But if it doesn’t happen—”

“It will,” you interrupted, cutting off his doubt. “Let me handle it.”

Jax’s expression softened, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Just hang tight and I’ll have you out of here as soon as possible.” You reassured him.

He sighed, the weight of the situation still pressing down on him. “I hope you’re right.”

You gave him one last look, then turned to leave, as you stepped out of the holding area, the cold air of the hallway wrapped around you, you hit dial on Opie’s number. It only rang once before he picked up, his voice steady but laced with concern.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.

“Opie, I need you to pull together whatever you can for Jax’s bail,” you said, urgency threading through your voice. “The judge set it at $500,000.”

“Shit.” Opie growled. “That’s a lot of cash on very short notice. We might be able to scrape together 30 or 35 at most, but—”

“Do what you can,” you said, trying to sound more encouraging than demanding. “I know it’s a lot, but please, Opie, just focus on getting the cash as quickly as possible. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. He knew all too well what getting involved in Jax’s life again could mean for you.

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of his words. “I know what I’m doing.” Your commitment unwavering.

He paused, and you could almost feel him weighing your words, knowing the bond you shared with Jax. “Alright. I’ll rally the guys and see what we can do.”

“Thanks, Ope,” you said, a faint hint of relief hanging off your voice. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

You hung up, your heart racing as you weighed your next steps. It felt insane, but the idea of Jax trapped in that cell was simply unacceptable.

You were ready to dip into your own savings if it meant securing his freedom—a leap of faith rooted in the conviction that he deserved a chance, despite everything that had happened between you.

With a surge of determination, you navigate your way through the courthouse, already brainstorming ways to cover the bail gap. You knew all too well how difficult it was to say no to Jax, to resist the magnetic pull he always had over you. His presence was like a drug, intoxicating and familiar, making it impossible to ignore the depths of your feelings for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky as you stood outside the county jail, leaning against your car, arms crossed. It had taken most of the day, but between Jax’s assets, the club’s contributions, a few favors, and your own money, you had gathered enough to post his bail. You handled everything from the legal side, and now, all that was left was to wait.

When the doors finally swung open, Jax emerged, free of his cuffs, his movements deliberate as he sauntered toward you. That familiar strut—the same one that used to drive you wild was still there, but it was different now. Worn by time.

You glanced up just as he stopped in front of you, hands sliding casually into his pockets. His smirk made a brief return, a shadow of the cocky kid you once knew. But his eyes... they carried something more broken now.

“This isn’t over, Jax,” you said before he had the chance to speak, your tone sharp, all business. “We’ve got a long way to go before trial, and I need you to cooperate. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low, rough around the edges. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. “I’m serious. I need everything from you—details, information, the truth—if we’re going to win this.”

Jax raised an eyebrow, that smirk lingering. “You think I’m holding out on you?”

“I think you’ve spent most of your life holding out on everyone.” you shot back, your voice cool, cutting through whatever charm he thought he was working. “I need full transparency, Jax.”

You were always so good at calling him on his bullshit. One of the very few people who even dared to.

For a moment, his expression shifted—just a flicker of something underneath the surface. The smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. He stepped back, crossing his arms as he leaned against the hood of your car, his eyes scanning you like he was trying to size you up all over again. Like he was testing the waters, seeing if the person standing in front of him was still the same woman who knew him better than most, or if time had changed that.

It was like the years between you hadn’t existed, like you were both right back where you started. Only now, the stakes were higher, the weight of everything unsaid and unresolved hovering between you.

The ride was quiet at first. The hum of the engine and the passing landscape were the only sounds filling the space between you and Jax.

You kept your eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, doing everything you could to ignore the tension that thickened the air inside the car.

Jax sat beside you, his gaze a palpable weight, even though he hadn’t said much since you pulled away from the jail. He’d offered a brief, low thank you, but that was the extent of it.

Your mind raced with everything unspoken, years apart, and buried feelings neither of you dared to confront. The last time you’d been this close, everything had been different. Now, the proximity felt like teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the drop.

Jax shifted, clearing his throat as if to break the silence. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Bail me out.”

You kept your eyes locked on the road, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. “It’s my job.”

“Is it?” His tone was playful, but there was an underlying challenge in his words. “There’s no way my guys could scrape together 50k that fast. If you’re risking your own money, Pep—that doesn’t sound like just a job.”

He knew you too well, as if he could still read your thoughts. His words hung heavily in the air, the truth simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

You didn’t answer right away, focusing on the road ahead, trying to steady the swirl of emotions threatening to pull you under. He wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit that.

Instead, you took a breath, your voice measured. “I’m doing what needs to be done. That’s all.”

He glanced over at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, like he could see right through the wall you’d put up. “Sure,” he said, the knowing look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t buying it. “You always were good at getting what you wanted.”

You looked at him, the comment hanging between you like an unfinished sentence, laced with the weight of the past. Jax shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering over to you as the silence stretched. You could feel it—the weight of everything, the tension that always seemed to hang between you. It was almost suffocating.

“You were impressive in there,” Jax said, breaking the silence once again. His voice was low and rough, but genuine. A smirk played on his lips, and it tugged at something inside you.

“You sound surprised,” you teased, a lightness creeping into your tone as you welcomed the distraction from the charged atmosphere in the car.

He chuckled, leaning back against the seat. “Nah, not surprised. Just… damn, you’ve changed.” His gaze roamed over you, like he was trying to reconcile the woman beside him with the girl he once knew.

Jax’s grin widened, clearly reflecting on your words in court. “I especially liked the part about how I rehabilitate former inmates at the garage.” His laughter echoed in the confined space.

You let your smile shine through. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it?” A mischievous smirk playing on your lips, “I mean… being president of the Sons is kind of the same thing, don’t you think?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before adding, “I’ve just perfected the art of storytelling.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. “Yeah? You make it sound almost convincing.”

“Well, I’m also really good at getting what I want,” you replied, relishing the lighthearted banter even as a familiar heat simmered beneath the surface.

He studied you, his gaze piercing, making you feel heavy, almost relaxed, underneath it. “But it’s more than that. You were always smart, always tough. Now… it’s like you’ve grown into it. Like you own it.”

There was an intensity in his voice that made your chest flutter, a recognition of everything you’d become in his absence. It wasn’t just admiration; it was respect—something deeper and more meaningful than it had ever been between you.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “Thanks,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as his words unraveled emotions you hadn’t confronted in years.

His gaze lingered on you, heavy and unyielding. “Guess I’ve been missing out,” he added, a smirk returning to his lips, though it felt softer this time, as if he was wrestling with his own realizations about you and the past.

You tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened, the way the years and distance didn’t seem to matter when you were this close to him. It was dangerous territory, this pull between you—familiar, yet different. Both of you had changed, but some things were harder to leave behind.

“Don’t get used to it,” you said with a small smile, still trying to keep the mood light. “I’m not always going to be the one bailing you out.”

Jax laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

The ride back to Charming always felt endless. The road stretched out before you, but all you could focus on was the man sitting beside you, the charged silence thick between you both. The air in the car felt heavy, buzzing with unspoken tension, making your mind wander in directions you didn’t want.

Desperate for a distraction, you reached for the radio, just as Jax did the same. Your hands collided, the sudden touch sending a jolt through you, electric and impossible to ignore. The contact was brief, but it was enough to send sparks skittering up your arm, your breath catching for just a second.

Jax froze too, his hand lingering over yours for just a moment longer than it should’ve, both of you caught in that split second of something undeniable. You didn’t move, and neither did he. The heat of his skin against yours, the brush of his fingers—it was like a shockwave, pulling you back into memories you’d been trying so hard to suppress.

You glanced over at him, finding him already watching you, his eyes dark, intense. The air between you humming with a vibrant, electric tension.

Neither of you said a word, but the silence spoke volumes. You pulled your hand away first, the moment breaking, but the charge still lingered in the air, leaving you both more unsettled than before.

You pulled into the familiar lot at TM, the sight of the place hitting you like a wave. It had been a long time since you’d been back, but the memories came rushing in all at once—the sound of engines revving, the smell of oil and metal, your dad’s laughter, Jax’s smile. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, and you struggled to keep your composure.

Your grip tightened on the steering wheel as you tried to steady yourself. Anxiety twisted in your stomach, your mind flooding with the past.

Jax shifted beside you, breaking you from your thoughts. You turned to him, forcing yourself to focus, to stay present. There wasn’t time for nostalgia, not with everything ahead of you.

“You comin’ in?” he asked, his voice smooth. “The guys would love to see you.”

Your heart lurched at the thought. Walking through those doors, seeing faces you hadn’t seen in years—it was too much, too soon. You weren’t ready for that.

You shook your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “No, not this time,” you replied firmly, glancing toward the clubhouse.

Jax seemed to understand, his eyes softening with a knowing look. He didn’t push.

As he reached for the door, you cleared your throat, keeping your voice even, though your pulse quickened with anxiety. “I’ve got a few cases to wrap up,” you said, glancing over at him. “But once that’s done, I’m all in. I’ll be back in a few weeks, and we’ll get to work. Until then, Liz will handle discovery and start gathering everything for your defense. You can trust her—she’s a better paralegal than I ever was.”

Jax didn’t break his gaze, the weight of it making your thoughts scatter. He gave a slow nod, his voice quiet but firm. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”

You nodded in return, your mind racing, trying to stay focused on the work ahead rather than the tension simmering between you. This was just the beginning—a long, messy road loomed, and the past still lingered too close.

“Listen, Jax,” you said, your tone turning serious. “It’s important you stay out of trouble. You need to minimize your time with the club—no unnecessary risks, no run-ins with the cops. We can’t afford any slip-ups.”

He tensed, his jaw tightening. “You’re telling me to stay away from my own club?” There was a sharp edge to his voice, a flash of something that made the air feel heavier.

You shot him a pointed look, not backing down. “I’m telling you to be smart,” you said, matching his intensity. “I’m trying to keep you out of prison. Help me do that. No stunts, no risks. You’ve got too much riding on this.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, the tension in his frame unmistakable, but after a beat, he nodded. “I’ll keep my head down.”

“Good.” You softened just slightly, letting some of the weight ease from your voice. “This is only the beginning, Jax. We’ve got a long way to go.”

For a moment, he hesitated, fingers lingering on the door handle before he spoke again. “I appreciate you doing this, Pep,” he said, his voice holding a depth that caught you off guard.

That god-damned nickname hitting you square in the gut. You swallowed hard, “Just stay out of trouble,” you reminded him, keeping your tone firm despite the way he was making you feel.

Jax gave you a nod, hesitating as though he had something more to say. But instead, he gave you that old, familiar wink and stepped out of the car. As he headed toward the clubhouse, you watched him, a knot forming in your chest that you couldn’t shake.

Alone again, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. The weight of everything left unsaid—it hung in the air long after he was gone.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

Part 3 - The Attraction

#jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller fic #jax teller #charlie hunnam characters #charlie hunnam #soa au #soa #soa fic #jax teller fanfiction

370 notes · View notes

misspygmypie · 10 months ago

Text

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2179 Click here for Part 3

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando stood in the paddock tapping his foot impatiently as he checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. Today was race day and while the adrenaline from the race was always thrilling it was the thought of seeing Y/N and her son that made him particularly excited this morning.

Oscar walked in and his eyes widened as he saw Lando practically bouncing on his toes. “You’re really pumped today. I take it you had a good evening with them?”

“Last night was amazing. We had dinner together and Noah fell asleep on my lap. Y/N and I had a fantastic conversation too! I’ve been thinking about them a lot. I just can’t wait to see them today.”

“It’s great to see you so happy about it.”

Before Lando could respond Y/N and Noah entered the hospitality area. Noah’s eyes were wide with wonder, soaking in the sights and sounds of race day. Y/N looked relaxed and happy, her smile warm as she scanned the room.

“Good morning, champ” Lando called out with a grin, waving enthusiastically. Noah’s face broke into a grin as he spotted him, he wiggled himself out of his mom’s hold and moments later got scooped up by the young driver.

“Are you gonna win today?” he asked with earnest curiosity.

Lando’s eyes twinkled as he held Noah close. “I’m going to do my best. It’s wonderful to have you here cheering me on!”

Noah nodded solemnly, his tiny face serious. “I’m sure you’ll win. You’re the best!”

“He’s been saying that all morning,” Y/N joined in, “I think he’s your biggest supporter.”

“There’s just one little thing missing,” Lando replied before putting the boy down and darting off towards a table in the back. He returned a few moments later, carrying two neatly folded shirts. One was a child-sized shirt and the other was slightly larger but still snug. Both shirts had the name Norris and the number 4 printed on the back. Lando handed Noah his shirt first. “I thought you might like to wear this today.”

Noah’s eyes grew wide in awe as he took the shirt. “I always wanted one of those because it’s got your name on it!”

“That’s right,” Lando said, crouching down to help Noah put on the fabric over his head and helping him getting his arms through the small holes. “Now you have one and you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Once Noah was all set Lando turned to Y/N holding out the larger shirt. “And this one’s for you. Just in case you want to show a bit of support too.”

Y/N accepted the shirt with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lando. This is really sweet of you.”

As she slipped it on the Brit felt his heart beat faster. Seeing Y/N in his shirt, the fabric hugging her figure perfectly, made his pulse quicken. The way she looked in it was effortlessly stunning and the sight of her wearing something so personal to him sent a rush of warmth through him.

Noah beamed, his shirt fitting perfectly and he looked up at Lando with stars in his eyes. “I’m going to cheer so loud for you!”

Lando chuckled, then led them into the garage, where the atmosphere was already buzzing with activity but far more controlled than in the paddock.

He led them to a quieter corner where he had set up a special area for them. “I thought Noah might like to be even more involved,” Lando said with a grin. He handed the boy a pair of large, padded headphones. “These are for you, they’ll let you listen to everything that’s going on in my car. How cool is that?”

“Wow, really? This is so awesome!”

“Enjoy the race, buddy, I’m going to get suited up now,” he directed at the boy and took a step toward Y/N. “Before I go, I just want to say thank you for coming and supporting me.”

He opened his arms and, without waiting for a response, pulled Y/N into a gentle hug. As he held her close he softly placed a light kiss on the top of her head. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Y/N, surprised but touched, hugged him back and smiled. With that Lando headed towards his car, leaving Y/N and Noah in their special viewing area.

Will, Lando’s engineer, had been observing the interaction and an idea popped into his head. “Hi, Noah! I hear you’re going to be our special guest today. Do you want to help me with something very important?”

Noah smiled at the man and listened to what he had to do.

_____

Once Lando was in his car and settled for the race he heard a crackling over the radio. “Hello, Lando! Can you hear me?”

The driver’s eyes widened in surprise and a chuckle escaped him as he realized who it was. The sound of the young, enthusiastic voice was both adorable and unexpected. “Wow, Noah, is that you?” he said, his voice warm and amused.

Noah’s voice crackled through the radio with an endearing, high-pitched cheerfulness that immediately brightened the garage. “Yes, it’s me! I’m doing the radio check. How do you hear me?”

The crew, used to the serious tone of race day communications, paused and exchanged amused glances. The atmosphere in the garage was noticeably lighter as Lando laughed quietly. “Loud and clear, Noah. You’re coming through perfectly. How’s everything on your end?”

The 4-year-old, clearly delighted that the radio check was such a big success, did a little happy wiggle in his seat. “Everything’s good and everyone’s working really hard. Good luck, I’m cheering for you!”

“That’s great to hear and thanks buddy, I’ll do my best out there.”

“Great job, Noah,” Will’s voice came through next. “You’re all set. Lando, we’re ready to go when you are.”

After spending the first half of the race in the garage Y/N and Noah decided they wanted to see more of the cars and found their seats in the spectator area. They watched as the cars whizzed by, the sound of engines loud and Lando’s car flying past them near the front of the pack. Y/N felt her heart race with every lap, her gaze flicking between the track and her son’s excited face.

“Look, Noah! Lando’s in the top three” Y/N pointed out as they approached the final laps.

Noah’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Go, Lando! You can do it!”

As the final lap of the race drew to a close they were on the edge of their seats, eyes glued to the track. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Lando crossed the finish line in second place, securing a spot on the podium. Y/N’s heart swelled with pride and she glanced down at Noah, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I knew he could do it, mommy!”

During the podium ceremony Lando stood proudly on the second-place step, a beaming smile on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd and after searching for a little while he locked eyes with Y/N, raising his hand in a friendly wave, his grin widening.

When the ceremony ended, Y/N and Noah made their way back to the paddock, eager to see Lando once more. They finally spotted him chatting with his team but his attention was immediately on the boy he saw running towards him, his small arms outstretched.

Lando’s eyes lit up and he quickly scooped Noah up, lifting him into a warm, enthusiastic hug.

“Hey there, champ” Lando said, his voice filled with affection. “You did an amazing job earlier and I’m so glad you’re here.”

Still holding Noah, Lando turned towards Y/N with a smile that spoke volumes, embracing her tightly. The hug was unexpected but warm and genuine and it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

Lando’s team, who had been observing the interaction, exchanged knowing looks. They noticed the connection between Lando and Y/N, something that went beyond the typical fan-driver relationship.

After a few more minutes of conversation Lando took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he looked at Y/N while Noah was being entertained by one of his team members. “I was wondering… would you be interested in having dinner with me? I’ve arranged for a babysitter at the hotel, so Noah will be in good hands.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, the invitation somewhat surprising her. “I’d love to,” she replied smiling, her heart fluttering in her chest, “but is it really okay with the babysitter?”

“Absolutely,” Lando nodded with a reassuring smile. “I want you to enjoy the evening without any worries. What do you say?”

Y/N glanced at Noah for a second and then brought her attention back to the young man in front of her. “I’d be happy to join you.”

“Perfect,” Lando said, his smile broadening. “I was hoping you would agree.”

_____

An hour and a half later Lando paced restlessly in his hotel room, his mind swirling with nerves. The dinner with Y/N was rapidly approaching and despite the excitement he found himself overwhelmed.

His phone buzzed and for a second he feared it was Y/N telling him she couldn’t make it and was relieved when he saw it was a text from his team mate.

Oscar: Hey, mate! Heard you’ve got a big night ahead. Need some company or advice?

Lando let out a deep breath and quickly responded.

Lando: Yes, please. I’m losing my mind right now.

A few minutes later there was a knock on Lando’s door. He opened it to find Oscar standing there with a reassuring smile. “Thought I’d drop by and help you out. How’s it going?”

Lando stepped aside to let him in, still fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m a mess. I’ve never been this nervous before a date. What if I mess up?”

Oscar took a seat on the edge of the bed and glanced at Lando’s outfit, a smart but casual ensemble consisting of black pants and a simple white dress shirt. “You look great. Seriously. What’s got you so worked up?”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to the mirror trying to smooth out some crinkles in his shirt. “It’s just, what if Y/N doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, I haven’t known her and Noah for very long. What if I’m reading it all wrong?”

Oscar leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “From what I’ve seen she seemed genuinely interested in you. And Noah adores you, kids usually have a good sense of these things.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lando nodded slowly but still looked unsure. “It’s just… I can see a future with them. Even though it’s been such a short time, something about them feels right. I mean, Y/N is so incredibly beautiful, inside and out. And Noah, he’s just the cutest kid ever. I can’t stop thinking about how perfect they are.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you really are smitten, huh?” He asked amused,” who would have thought that Lando Norris, the ladies’ man, would be here thinking about settling down?”

Lando blushed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect it either. But it just feels different this time. I’ve never felt this way so quickly about someone. I mean, Y/N is just… she’s so kind and genuine. The way she smiles and the way she talks, it’s like she lights up the room. And Noah, he’s just this perfect little kid. I’ve barely known them, but it feels like there’s something really special here.”

Oscar chuckled, clearly enjoying Lando’s heartfelt monologue but wanting to reassure his friend. “If you’re feeling this way, I’d say it’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m getting ahead of myself? What if I’m imagining something that’s not really there?”

“Look, sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. It’s clear you’ve made a great impression on both of them. Just be yourself tonight, trust me, that’s all you need to do.”

Lando took a deep breath, trying to absorb Oscar’s words. “Thanks, Oscar. I guess I’m just overthinking things.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Oscar said with a grin. “Now, let’s make sure you look sharp. You’re already halfway there.”

With Oscar’s help, Lando made final adjustments to his outfit and took a few moments to steady himself. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and a hint of confidence began to return.

“Alright,” Lando said, looking at himself in the mirror with a determined nod. “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar walked up to his friend, giving him an encouraging nod and brotherly pat on the back. “Good luck, mate. Go and have a great time. I’ll be here waiting to hear all about it.”

Lando smiled, feeling a renewed sense of calm. “Thanks, Oscar. I appreciate it.”

_________

Click here for Part 5!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @ririyulife @deafeningunknowntyrant @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @eloriis @yawn-zi @landossainz

#ln4 x reader #lando imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando fluff #lando fic #lando x y/n #lando norris x y/n #landonorris #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

573 notes · View notes

milf-murdock · 1 year ago

Text

The Accident

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Simon gets the call that you’ve been in an accident and are in the hospital. Warnings: Health scare, mention of hospitals, accident (non graphic), brief mention of injuries (non graphic), hurt/comfort, Soft Simon A/N: This piece is dedicated to a very sweet anon who has been through a lot. Anon, I hope this brings you some comfort <3 I’ve also decided to submit it to @glitterypirateduck's May Writing Challenge! This is one of my favorite tropes, so I hope you all enjoy! Special thank you to @sim0nril3y for taking a look and for all the support

The knife glides effortlessly through the tomato, the metal utensil familiar in Simon’s grip. He makes quick work of the produce, fingers moving rapidly and precisely. “Knife skills aren’t just for the field,” he chuckles to himself as he adds the chopped remains to a bowl before turning his blade on a shallot.

Just as he slices into the root, the clattering vibration of his phone against the countertop interrupts. Simon frowns at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. Not many people had this number; he wasn’t one to get stray phone calls, which is exactly how he likes it. He has half a mind to send it to voicemail, but something tugs at his edges. At the last second he swipes across the screen and raises the phone to his ear. The line is empty for a moment.

“Simon?” The sound of your hoarse voice has Simon’s spine straightening, instantly on high alert.

“What’s happened.” The sharp words come out more like a statement than a question. Simon’s heartbeat quickens.

“I’m okay,” you start, but your wobbly voice betrays you. "But there was an accident—" Simon is in motion. Dinner is forgotten on the counter as he heads for the door, stepping into his boots on the way.

“Where are you?” There’s a commotion in the background, some kind of beeping that Simon can’t make out. He catches your hesitation as you wait to reply.

“Love. Where. Are. You.” His words are clipped, and for a split second he fears the phone might actually splinter in his hands given how hard he’s clenching the device.

“I’m in A&E. I—the ambulance just brought me here.”

Simon’s world tilts before him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in deep. One single stabilizing breath is all he allows himself before opening his eyes, resolute determination clear on his face as a decade of training takes over.

“I’m on my way.” The phone clicks off as he grabs the keys off the hook by the door and rushes to the car.

The drive is a blur; he doesn’t pay attention to how fast he’s going, or what color the stoplights may be. Traffic laws are relative—he’s a man on a mission. His sole focus is getting to you. His heart pounds in his chest as he navigates the final turn, the hospital finally coming into view.

The car barely comes to a full and complete stop at the entryway before Simon’s door flies open.

“Sir, you can’t park here!” A disgruntled attendant calls out to him as he exits the vehicle, but Simon doesn’t even slow down, stepping around the irritated employee before barreling through the hospital entrance.

Only to be brought to a halt at the open lobby before him.

Shit. He hadn’t even thought to ask what room you were in. The frustration intertwines with the panic, and Simon has to force it down.

He’s here. He’ll find you.

And so Simon finds himself at the mercy of the kind, elderly receptionist, who seems to be taking her sweet time locating your information.

Simon tries not to crack the counter beneath his grip, foot tapping against the ground in irritation. You could be in surgery, you could be bleeding out, any number of things could be happening right this moment, and there is nothing he can do. Simon silences these thoughts, keeping the panic at bay. “Keep it together, lieutenant,” he reminds himself silently.

The receptionist, Shelley, her name tag reads, is unfazed by his erratic state, eyes squinting as she adjusts her glasses and leans back from the screen. Simon runs a hand down his face, using every ounce of self control he has to keep up a semblance of propriety.

“Ahh,” Shelley announces triumphantly. “Here they are! I found them.” She turns her gaze to the hulking man in front of her, taking in his large form and tentatively eyeing the tattoos along his forearm. “Sorry, what was your relation to the patient again?” She asks, a note of uncertainty laces her tone.

“I’m—” he hesitates. No words come to the tip of his tongue. He’s not a boyfriend for christ’s sake. Not your husband, though he wished more than ever he could use that word right now.

“Spouse? Partner?” Shelley raises an eyebrow, trying to help fill in the blanks here.

Simon swallowed hard. “Yeah, partner. Just, can you tell me where they are? Please.”

He’s not sure what comes over him as he tacks on that final plea. The desperation is clear in his words, but he couldn’t care less. Fuck it, he is desperate. Desperate to see you. Desperate to know you are okay—see it with his own eyes, feel your hands in his.

Shelley’s pointed gaze turns to one of sympathy. “Room 315, dear. The lift is to the right.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Simon’s in motion once more. No time for the lift, he thinks to himself as he heads to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor. Brown eyes frantically scan every room number as he searches for yours before finally finding the correct digits outside the room furthest down the hall. The metal of the door handle is cool beneath his touch as he pushes open the door, charging into the room.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, eyes frantically scanning your body, taking stock of each and every visible injury. He can hardly control the wave of emotions that threaten to pull him down as he takes in your bruised and bandaged appearance.

They’ve already set your arm in a sling, and there’s a large bulk encompassing your entire right leg, the bulk of it obvious even under the thin hospital blanket. An array of cuts and scrapes mar your perfect face, and the sudden onset of pure, unadulterated rage threatens to swallow him whole.

‘I’m going to kill them,’ the words echo in his mind–a dozen violent deaths planned out for whoever did this to you.

“Simon,” your hoarse voice calls out to him, but he can’t hear you over the sound of the roaring in his head.

‘I’m going to hunt them down. And I’m going to fucking kill them for this.’

“Simon,” you say his name louder, firmer, and attempt to sit yourself up. Pain radiates through your body, piercing through the haze of pain meds, and you can’t help the cry of pain that escapes your lips.

That is what pulls Simon out. On instinct, his feet move towards your bed, hand reaching out to clasp around your free hand.

Your lower lip trembles. “Simon.” The word is pitiful on your lips–a plea, a prayer, a cry for help.

It’s enough to pull Simon from the depths of this rage–revenge can wait.

“I’m here.” Simon’s voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, and the dam breaks, tears flowing fast and freely. “It was awful,” you gasp out between sobs. Simon makes soothing shushing sounds as he holds your hand tight in his own, his other hand reaching up to gently brush the tears away, taking care to avoid the scrapes that litter your skin as you recount what details you can remember of the accident.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “‘M sorry I wasn’t there, babe.” Bile threatens to rise in the back of his throat as the guilt settles in.

“Should’ve been there, should’ve never left your fucking side.” He stares at the layers of gauze wrapped around your leg, hidden beneath the thin blanket.

“Simon. Look at me,” you insist, waiting for those brown eyes to turn back to you. “Don’t go down that road, Si. There was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

“You don’t know that,” he bites back. Simon immediately regrets the harshness of his note. “You don’t know that,” he tries again, softer this time. “Should’ve been there.” He runs a hand over his face, the adrenaline is fading, causing the events of the past hour to finally catch up to him. He exhales sharply and looks back up at you, eyes determined.

“But ‘m here now. It’s over. I’m here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “And I’m not going anywhere, love.”

True to his word, Simon stays by your bedside the entire three day stay in the hospital. He denies your pleas to go home and sleep in his own bed, insisting on sleeping in the rough, uncomfortable hospital recliner. Not only was the furniture laughably small for a man of his stature, but after the first night, Simon is convinced it was designed as some kind of long-term-torture device. Not once does he complain though, dismissing your worries with a casual wave of his hand. “Slept in worse conditions in the field, love. This beats a forest floor.” Though by night two, Simon isn’t so sure.

He’s always struggled with nightmares, but those nights in the hospital, his dreams turn to something worse: losing you in a car accident. The scene replays over and over in his mind’s eye until he’s woken up with a start, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. His eyes instantly lock on to the vital signs monitor above you, watching the thin green line of your heartbeat bounce up and down in a steady rhythm. He slows his own breathing down to match pace with yours, staring down at you as you sleep soundly. He watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest, further confirmation that you’re alive.

When he finally gets to bring you home, he acts as though you’re made of fine china, driving ten under the speed limit. He carefully guides you into the house, hands ready to catch you as you struggle with the metal crutches.

“Fuck,” you spit in frustration. “They made it look so easy in the hospital.”

After the second time you almost trip over them, Simon’s exasperation gets the best of him.

“Easy, swee’heart,” he implores, a note of desperation in his voice. “Just got you back, yeah? Can’t have you goin’ right back to A&E.”

He wishes more than anything he could just scoop you up into his arms and carry you straight to the bedroom, but with your leg in its current state, he has to settle for just hovering, perpetually at the ready to catch and support you. He swears the walk from the car to getting you settled in bed takes an entire year off his life.

That first night back at home together, Simon lays awake, watching you sleep. The combination of finally being back in the comfort of your own bed, along with the lack of obnoxiously loud machines beeping and being encumbered by wires, means you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Simon lays beside you, as close as he dares to get, still so weary of your injuries. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your temple, just above where a deep cut runs down your face. His finger hovers just above your skin as he traces the shape. “‘M sorry, love. I promise, I’ll take care of ya. This won’t happen again.” His words are barely above a whisper, drowned out by the soft snores of your breathing. He presses one more gentle kiss to you before turning out the light.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghostchallenge

751 notes · View notes

andy-15-07 · 11 days ago

Text

A Surprise on the Red Carpet

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1623| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Well i was wondering if you could write one with pedro x reader and she has her first big premiere for her new action movie and he cant be there cause of his own press tour (they are married) and at the premiere in london he surprises her on the carpet and at the interviews he says hes the proudest ever and end with smut or fluff? :)) @kellyxo1

The velvet rope at the Odeon Leicester Square felt impossibly heavy beneath your trembling fingers. You smoothed the neckline of your emerald-green gown,your first leading role in a full-on action thriller, Feral Heart, and tonight was the London premiere. Paparazzi bulbs snapped in staccato bursts, and every chime of a photographer’s shutter made your heart flutter.

Your publicist, Simone, hovered at your elbow. “You’re glowing, darling. Breathe. This is your moment.”

You forced a smile. “I know. It’s just… Pedro’s still in Tokyo on his press tour. He promised he’d call before I stepped onto the carpet.”

Simone gave you a gentle squeeze. “He’ll make it up to you. Now go on,smile for the cameras!”

You took a deep breath and made your way down the carpet, waving at crowds and pausing for interviews. Ladies’ Evening, BBC, Vogue,smiles and gracious answers flowed in equal measure.

“Y/N! Congratulations on Feral Heart! How does it feel to be leading this summer’s biggest action hit?” asked a BBC host.

Your pulse quickened. “It’s surreal. I’ve dreamt of roles like this since I was a kid. I’m so proud of our team,it’s been months of stunts, late nights, and learning to throw a punch convincingly.”

“Your husband couldn’t make it tonight?” the host pressed lightly, brow arched.

You bit your lip, glancing toward the theater entrance. “He’s in Tokyo for his own press tour. We’ve been juggling schedules across time zones. I miss him, but,”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your clutch. You peeked at the screen: PEDRO ❤️.

Your breath hitched. You tapped to answer. “P-Pedro?” you whispered.

His voice crackled through the speaker, warm and familiar. “Love, where are you? I have something very important to ask you,on the carpet.”

You blinked. “What? On the carpet? Pedro, I’m in the middle of interviews,”

“Trust me,” he said, voice low, urgent. “Just stay where you are. I’ll find you.”

You covered the phone and looked up. Simone was urging you forward toward a cluster of journalists, but you waved her off. “Excuse me,” you said, turning on your heel to scan the crowd.

Moments later, you felt a soft hand on your waist. You turned, heart in your throat, and there he was,Pedro Pascal, crisp in a midnight-blue tuxedo, hair perfectly tousled, that mischievous grin lighting his eyes brighter than any camera flash.

“Pedro!” you gasped, instinctively stepping into his arms.

He kissed your temple. “Surprise.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles. You nearly lost your balance under the rush of adrenaline, but he steadied you, hand warm against your back.

“Everyone, this is my wife, Y/N!” Pedro called out to the throng of cameras. “And I just couldn’t stay away.”

Reporters pivoted, pressing forward. “Pedro, what brings you here? You were supposed to be in Tokyo!”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I broke one promise to make another. I’m here to support the most badass action star I know.”

Your cheeks warmed. You leaned into him, voice soft. “You’re amazing.”

He bent to kiss your forehead. “Not as amazing as you.”

The interviewers circled. “Pedro, you must be proud,Y/N is dazzling tonight. Any thoughts on the film?”

He turned and faced the cameras, posture confident. “I’m the proudest I’ve ever been. Y/N embodies strength, vulnerability, and grace on screen,she kicks ass and melts hearts in the same breath. Feral Heart wouldn’t be the same without her.”

“Age is just a number, but he’s ten years older,” someone teased.

Pedro lifted an eyebrow, grinning. “And those ten years taught me that life is short. I’d move heaven and earth to be here for her premiere.” He winked at you. “Now, let’s give the people what they came for. Shall we?”

You laughed, heart soaring, and walked hand-in-hand down the rest of the carpet. Paparazzi roared with excitement at the unexpected reunion. Once past the final flashbulb, you slipped inside the theater where seats were filling quickly.

Inside, a hush fell over the crowd as the lights dimmed. You found your seats,Pedro in the aisle next to you,and watched the opening montage. Every scene felt electric, every stunt more thrilling knowing you’d experienced them firsthand. When your character, Captain Rayna Holt, vaulted from a speeding train, you stole a quick glance at Pedro. He held your hand, eyes shining with pride.

By the time the credits rolled, the theater erupted in applause. You rose to your feet, adrenaline still pulsing. Pedro stood beside you, leading the standing ovation.

Backstage, Simone popped champagne corks, and the cast celebrated. You wrapped your arms around Pedro. “Thank you,” you breathed. “For everything.”

He kissed you deeply. “Thank you for letting me surprise you.”

You rested your forehead against his. “You made my night unforgettable.”

He grinned. “I aim to please.”

The celebration spilled into a nearby after-party tent. Music thumped softly, cocktails gleamed under fairy lights, and laughter ricocheted off the walls. You and Pedro slipped away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner by the heated patio doors.

“Here’s to you,” he said, lifting a flute of champagne. “To your success tonight, and every night after.”

You clinked glasses and sipped the bubbly. “To us.”

He set his drink aside and drew you close. “You ready for that ‘unforgettable’ ending I promised?”

Your pulse jumped. “Definitely.”

He pressed a finger to your lips. “Not here.” He dipped his head to kiss your throat, warm and fragrant with your perfume. You shivered as his lips grazed your collarbone, then traced a path down to the neckline of your gown.

“Pedro,” you murmured, breath catching. The after-party buzzed behind you, but all you heard was the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He looked up at you, eyes smoldering. “Just a bit of privacy,” he whispered. He led you through a side door into a small, dimly lit lounge off the main hall,velvet couches and low tables, the perfect little oasis.

Once inside, he closed the door quietly and pressed you against it. His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’ve wanted you all night.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “And you got me.”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you, slow and intense. You deepened the kiss, sliding your hands under his jacket to feel the warmth of his chest.

Pedro’s lips trailed down your jawline to the hollow of your throat. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes. “May I?” he asked, voice husky.

“Please,” you breathed.

He swept a hand around your waist, lifting you until you were on your tiptoes. Then he dipped you backward onto the chaise lounge, his body following yours in one fluid movement. You felt the cool velvet beneath you, a delicious contrast to the heat generated by his proximity.

His hands worked at the straps of your gown, freeing your shoulders, before sliding the fabric down your arms. You lifted your arms to help, revealing your bare skin in the soft light. Pedro’s breath hitched.

“Every inch of you is art,” he murmured, trailing a finger down your collarbone.

You shivered. “You’re all I want right now.”

He smiled, and his hands moved across your torso, unfastening your bra beneath the dress. The moment the straps fell away, he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened. Your back arched as a moan escaped your lips.

Pedro kissed each breast, then trailed kisses down to your navel. He paused, looking up at you. “You’re incredible.”

“Show me,” you whispered.

With that, he lowered himself, pressing his mouth to one breast and sucking gently. You tangled your fingers in his hair as waves of pleasure built through your chest. He alternated breasts, teasing you until you were trembling.

Then his lips found your neck, sucking a warm mark above your pulse point. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair again, tugging lightly. He chuckled against your skin.

“Easy,” he teased. “I want you for the long haul.”

You smiled, breathless. “Me too.”

He kissed your stomach, inch by inch, until he reached the hem of your gown. Gently, reverently, he peeled the fabric up and over your hips, exposing you completely. The cool air brushed your bare skin, and you shivered.

Pedro’s fingers traced down your inner thigh before dipping between your legs. Warmth and wetness greeted him, and he dipped a finger inside you, slow and deliberate. You moaned, hips lifting involuntarily.

“Always so perfect for me,” he murmured, stroking you with two fingers now, rhythm building. You writhed beneath him, breath coming in ragged gasps.

He leaned down to kiss you, tongue sweeping into your mouth as he continued to pleasure you. You arched your back, meeting his movements, and the combined sensations,his mouth on yours, his fingers inside you,sent you spiraling.

“Pedro…” you moaned. “I’m close…”

He stroked you faster, thumb brushing your clit until you came with a cry, body trembling. He held you through every pulse, then withdrew his fingers and captured your mouth with his, sharing a heady kiss.

When you came down, you lay tangled in each other’s arms once more. Pedro pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ve loved you since the first day,” he whispered. “Tonight, I’m just glad I got to celebrate you the way you deserve.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, smiling. “Best surprise ever.”

He grinned and laid his forehead against yours. “Anything for my leading lady.”

Outside, the after-party music pulsed and laughter drifted through the walls. Inside this cozy lounge, wrapped in each other’s arms, it was just the two of you,married partners, star-crossed lovers, and tonight, triumphant. And as the city lights of London flashed beyond the windows, you knew this premiere would be unforgettable,for work, for love, and for you both.

125 notes · View notes

ihrthoney · 5 months ago

Text

for us

pairings: namgyu x preg!reader

warnings: angst & fluff :p

an: i started my first big girl job but im motivated so ill try to post more :)! i haven’t posted in a minute and i hate pregnancy tropes but i make the exception for squid games lol. i will make a part two!

nam-gyu was many things, an addict, a partier, an idiot and a sweetheart. the sweetest ever, actually.

unfortunately for you you worked at club pentagon, which is how you met the physical embodiment of an acid trip.

who he was when he was sober was something you cherished and kept close to your heart. it wasn’t hard to weave your way into his rotten lungs, but soon enough you became his air, his new high.

after learning you never did substances, he switched positions at the club and asked you to get a safer job, not wanting you to inevitably cave to the horrible things that he tries.

you scold him of course, reprimand him and argue about hating how he acted when under the influence. for a while he managed to stop, wanting something serious and stable.

but then he met thanos, he came home obnoxiously intoxicated. nam-gyu was so star struck that he saw a famous rapper that he didn’t understand why you locked him out of the room, until he woke up the next morning with a headache he only got when he was on drugs.

apologies spewed out of his mouth, wishing for a second chance. his wish was granted, he found another outlet for “extra money” and promised you both a fresh start.

until the extra money vanished off the face of the earth and now he was in incredible debt.

the few months of bliss now gone, thoughts of continuing such an unstable relationship this far into life didn’t seem like a good idea. the arguments were bad, mostly on your end as you couldn’t get him to stop begging and spilling empty promises,

“i’ll make the money back and i’ll work harder to make more for you, please baby i’m so sorry.” the sight of him on his knees and holding your legs would’ve been kind of sweet if this wasn’t the millionth time he’s promised to be better.

to his disappointment, you walked out of his life that night, asking him to only find you when he grew up.

he was determined to make the money back, nam-gyu had no hesitation when calling the number on the card.

seeing thanos’ face on the big screen in the unfamiliar room brought a bitter taste in your mouth. you felt bad, seeing as he had the talent but like your ex he succumbed to the high instead.

your ex. that fucking moron. that piece of shit doesn’t even know you’re carrying his damn kid.

a week after you walked out of his life, you guys met up one time to exchange clothes and what not but one thing lead to another and here you were in hospital debt. finding a stable job was hard, especially when you worked as a bartender most of your adult life.

the stress was eating you alive, renting the nice place you had was not cheap and the nice landlord could only be nice for so long because you had to start paying more.

the past few months have been rough and you really wish you had the support of your ex even if he wasn’t the greatest, he was yours and that’s all that really mattered.

standing in line to sign the consent forms made you nauseous, afraid of what’s to come. as you’re walking back to your bed, you get stopped by a hand on your shoulder,

“yn?”

you feel your heartbeat quicken as you turn around and look at your ex boyfriend.

“why are you here?” his hand is still on your shoulder, slightly moving up and down your arm.

he always had a thing for keeping a hand on you, he said it grounded him.

“the same reason everyone is, debt.”

the expression on his face makes your chest ache, he looks so concerned that it makes you a wee bit mad, “what debt are you in? you’ve always been financially responsible!”

he was right, out of you two you made the smarter choices. it dawned on you that you had yet to tell him you’re pregnant with his kid.

“yn? what happened? did someone scam you? i know some people that could find them.” his tone deepening as he becomes more serious, “no! it’s not like that. it’s complicated..”

the worry in your voice makes his eyes fill with worry, “baby, you can tell me.” the name makes you push away from him but the distance is immediately gone as he closes it, pulling your hands into his own. you can’t look him in the eye, scared he’s going to be mad at you.

you’re going to keep it no matter what but the thought of him hating you and your kid makes your heart crack.

the swirled hormones make everything seem so much more intense, tears start to fill your eyes which makes his widen. his hands, ever so warm, hold your face and tilt it so you’re looking at him.

“what’s wrong, i’m here ba-“

“i’m pregnant, nam-gyu.” he pulls his hands off of your face like he was burned, an expression of hurt and anger swirls in his eyes,

“who’s the father?” you look at him like he’s stupid, which only makes him more upset. “why are you looking at me like that?”

does he seriously think i got with someone else?

nam-gyu is distraught, the thought of you no longer being in love with him makes him sick. the fact that you’re carrying someone else’s child makes any will to live disappear. suddenly he doesn’t care that he owes money to anyone, there’s no chance to get you back. “does he treat you well? are you happier?”

“i’m not seeing anyone new, nam-gyu.”

“you shouldn’t be playing games if you’re pregnant. you could hurt yourself or the baby.”

despite his own lack of rationality when making choices, he was always so careful with you.

you threw any rationality you had and spit out the truth,

“it’s yours.”

now he was looking at you like you were stupid, “what?”

“the baby. it’s yours. you’re the father. i’m carrying your child.” he blinks at you slowly, taking in the information you just dropped on him,

“it’s.. you’re carrying.. our baby?” nodding your head, you step forward and take his hand and guide it to your stomach.

“after we broke up, i started to feel sick so i took a test. i didn’t know what to do, i couldn’t find a good job near my place, moving is too expensive, i was afraid to reach out to you. i owe the hospital so much because i’m paying by month but i ran out of savings and then this guy came up to me and gave me a card to make money.”

by the end of your ramble, nam-gyu pulled you in for a tight hug, smoothing your back with his hand. softly, he coos into your hair, “i would’ve never denied you. had you called, we could’ve figured this shit out together.”

you argued back, “how was i supposed to know that? you promised me over and over again but nothing changed!”

despite missing the warmth, you again create a distance by pushing him away from you, although it’s no use given how he holds your arms but he still keeps the distance out of respect for you.

“i have changed! i’m here, i’m going to win that money and i’ll take care of you.” his eyes plead, the hands that hold you start to shake.

“you’ll win it? alone?” the logic hits him and he laughs at his own idiocy, “we’ll win, i’ll make sure we both get out of here. we can put the money together. it’ll be more than enough for us to start over!”

you’re skeptical, sure the chance of winning is there but.. is your trust in him still there?

“if we win-“

his hands move from your arms to your stomach, “when baby, when we win-“

your eyes roll at his optimism, “if and when we win, you need to quit drugs. cold turkey. no excuses, no more second chances. if you so much as look at a drug, i will kill you and raise this kid alone, do you understand me?”

he mocks a soldier, hand to his head and stance straight, “yes ma’am!” the pose barely lasts as he starts to giggle, following you to your bed while holding onto your hand.

there was more to come, you had a feeling that much money wouldn’t come so easy, but things felt just a tad easier with him.

#ᝰ honeywrites #HES HELLA OOC IM SORRY #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A HC #IM REWATCHING HIS INTRO SCENES AND HE JUST SEEMS SO SWEET #SO CUTIE PIE #i needed to let this out of my system #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #squid game fluff #namgyu x reader #namgyu x you #nam gyu #player 124 #namgyu squid game

387 notes · View notes

aeri-skzver · 3 months ago

Text

stress relief/w Changbin

mdni

“Jagiya…why are you so tight…!” Changbin grunts as he fucks into you. You were folded in a mating press, your wrists were held together with one of Changbins as he thrusts into your creamy pussy you couldn’t recall the number of times he made you cum already. “B…b..binnie! ‘s big!” you whine as Changbin continuously plowed your poor cunt. Your poor cunt was sensitive and sore from the harsh pounding, you felt as though Changbin was rearranging your insides with his thick length. It all started off with Changbin coming home frustrated cause he didn’t manage to find what was wrong with the track he was working on that bugged him so much, so you as his supportive girlfriend wanted to help him by talking it out but Changbin had other plans pulling your panties down as soon as you sat on the couch and eating you out like you were his favourite meal to now fucking you like there was no tomorrow. “Are you gonna cum bunny?” Changbin grunts as he quickens his thrusts one of his hands coming to your over sensitive clit to circle it. “F..f..fuck…! Y..y…yes binnie! ‘m so close! D…d..don’t stop! D..don’t stop!” i squeal the knot in my stomach was ready to burst at any moment. “C..cum then jagiya cum for me.” Changbin groans as he feels your walls contract on his pulsing dick before unloading inside you shortly after. “O..one more round okay jagiya let me really get all the frustrations out p..please?”

i rlly hope this is okay cause it’s my first longer drabble but feedback is appreciated! likes and reposts are appreciated aswell if you enjoy reading☺️

212 notes · View notes

kiryoutann · 6 months ago

Text

warning(s): MDNI, ANGST, simon riley being an asshole (like really), kind of gore description as metaphor for REAALLYY desperate love??? non-consensual tracking by reader (SURPRISE!!)

Simon might be the worst denialist ever. Because, how could he say it was all casual?

“I forgot something in your car.” You tell him.

Simon's frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he seemed to contemplate your words. It was absurd—after all these weeks, here you are, standing in front of his apartment, having somehow discovered the address, and claiming to have forgotten something in his car.

But he doesn't say anything, just continues to make his way to the car. You follow closely behind him. He opens the door to the passenger seat, then steps aside to let you check the car. You stretch your hand under the passenger seat, blindly feeling for anything, brushing through the dust and small gravel collected there until you finally touch something cold and metallic.

Pulling it out, the phone you had planted there weeks earlier came into view. You knew this meant Simon had laid his eyes on it too. It wouldn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out you had been tracking him this whole time.

Fucking hell. Simon remembered what he had said about modern phones. He closed the car door with a sharp click, then turned to you.

“So you’ve been followin’ me, then?”

“You didn't return my texts,” you stated bluntly.

"I asked you a question." He growls, almost like he's threatening you.

You observed the anger brewing in the depths of his dark eyes, radiating from him like a hot flame. Good, you thought silently. At least there was something that riled him up; otherwise, you would be suffering alone while he goes to fuck any willing bodies he can get his hands on.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask again. “Why does it say your number is no longer in service? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he snap, voice dripping with venom. “You think I owe you an explanation?”

Your blurry vision missed a flicker of change in his expression. When the tears escaped and the world came into focus again, all you saw was Simon gritting his teeth, jaw locked. He turned and began to walk away.

You followed him, quickening your pace to catch up. “Simon! Simon, wait!”

Despite your best efforts, he continues to keep his back turned to you, refusing to even spare you a glance. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly hell-bent on creating a vast gulf between you. You called out his name once more, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night, but he kept right on walking.

“Yes, I deserve an explanation! I don’t know why you’re being like this. We were fine the last time we were together. What happened? Why did you just disappear on me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket to get him to stop and face you. He came to a halt. A jolt of electricity surged through you as he encircled your fingers with his own, but it soon faded as he let go of your grip on the leather. Something inside you dropped away, leaving a shameful hollow space inside.

Simon towers over you, his stature imposing and intimidating. He locks a hard glare on you. “I asked you a question, didn't I?” His voice fell to a dangerously low tone. “Why the fuck have you been following me?”

The dam holding back your tears broke, leaving you choking on your own sobs. How could he not know? All these tears, all these cries… how could he still fail to see that it was all for him? To be stripped bare only for him to overlook it. Should you skin yourself alive then? To tear your heart out, to hold the raw, bleeding organ in the palm of your trembling hand as an offering?

“Because I want to know where you are,” You settle for the simpler version, hyperventilating as you take a breath. “You know my place, my workplace... You even went to my cousin’s wedding. And yet, I know nothing about you, Simon. Nothing.”

“You think just ‘cause we fucked a few times, that gives you the right to pry into my life?”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. The world was ruby-colored, either from your boiling anger or the hemorrhage from the sharpness of his words. Your jaw clenched, your gaze sharpened.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you spat. “You know we’re not just fucking.”

The clenched fists at your sides tremble, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or hurt or the weight of your own expectation to make him see it. Or perhaps it’s all three. How could he speak like this when there's a specific section in your dresser for the clothes he frequently brings and leaves, when he constantly returns and stays longer even as the morning has risen, when he drove you to the countryside and dances and twirls you around like those old couples do? Not when he embraces you until your tears subside, nor when each of his kisses offers that one thing you've chased your whole life.

There’s no way this isn’t love. He just needs to stop denying it.

Simon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Then you read it all wrong, darlin'."

The way he said it was cold, without a shred of sympathy—but nothing was colder than the way Simon continually turned his back to you as he continued to walk farther and farther away, as if all he wanted was to get as far away from you as possible. Disgusting woman in love. But you never got the hint, did you? You kept following him, running after him like a stupid little dog created solely to love, love, love, and never be loved back.

[sneak peek of chapter 13 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING.".]

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

#𐙚 — a man's heart is truly a wretched wretched thing #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x fem reader #x reader #reader insert #cod men x reader #cod x reader #call of duty men x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley x reader angst #simon riley x reader fluff #simon riley smut

189 notes · View notes

verstappenf1lecccc · 7 months ago

Text

“Trust, Love, and Protection”

Warnings-: unwanted advances unwanted touching!

protective and supportive toto with a hint of fluff otherwise this is angst and is based off a serious topic.

The bright lights of the Las Vegas Grand Prix were blinding as they illuminated the night sky. The buzz of excitement filled the air, a constant hum of engines roaring, the thrill of high-speed racing, and the glitter of Hollywood flashing in the distance. It was a weekend of glitz and glamour, and everyone was there — from international celebrities to famous athletes and high-powered figures in the racing world.

But for her, standing on the edge of it all with her husband, Toto Wolff, and their son, Jack, the overwhelming attention was starting to feel more suffocating than exciting.

While Toto had always been protective of her, there was something about the sheer number of admirers at the Las Vegas GP that made her uneasy.

The fact that her husband was such a high-profile figure in the Formula 1 world meant that all eyes were constantly on their family.

That, in itself, wouldn’t have been a problem, but the way some people particularly certain men looked at her made her skin crawl.

As the evening wore on, she found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

She was used to the occasional lingering glance, but tonight, it seemed as if every other person was trying to catch her eye.

She could feel the weight of their gazes, like fingers brushing her skin, and it made her want to shrink into herself.

She had been trying to keep it together, to put on a brave face for her husband, who was occupied with the team, the sponsors, and the whirlwind of the weekend.

She wanted to be supportive.

She wanted to enjoy the moment.

But it was hard when so many men were treating her like a trophy on display rather than a person.

Her discomfort reached its peak when an actor a D-list one at that approached her.

He was slurring slightly, clearly tipsy, with an overbearing grin on his face as he leaned too close.

“Hey, you’re Toto’s wife, right? You’re even more hot and slutty up close,” he said, his voice dripping with lust.

She forced a smile, trying to be polite, but his hand brushed against hers.

She instinctively pulled back, but he wasn’t having it.

He leaned in too close, his hand now resting on her waist in a way that felt far too intimate. She stiffened.

“I’ve seen you around,” he continued, oblivious to her growing unease.

Her stomach turned.

She opened her mouth to say something to tell him to back off but just as she did, the crowd around them shifted, and she couldn’t spot Toto anywhere.

“Don’t be shy, darling,” the actor continued, his eyes scanning her in a way that made her want to shrink into herself.

“You know, I always thought you were more beautiful in person. Maybe we should hang out sometime, just the two of us, I’ve got a big hotel room booked if you get what I’m saying”.

Her pulse quickened.

She felt trapped, helpless.

As the actor’s hand slid a little too low on her back, her body tensed with disgust.

She could feel her skin crawling, and all she wanted was for Toto to show up and pull her away from the situation.

“I’m sorry, I think I need to go check on Jack,” she said, her voice a little too tight.

The actor blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback, but he quickly raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright, no harm done.”

The discomfort was still there, the feeling of being objectified, of being looked at as something to be taken, not cherished.

She wished she could just disappear, wished that Toto could take her away from all of this.

She quickly found Jack, who was standing by the barriers, playing with his toy car, quietly observing everything.

He was unusually quiet, which was strange for the usually lively little boy.

He looked up at his mother, his innocent eyes full of concern.

“Mummy, you okay?” Jack looked up at her, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” she lied, kneeling down beside him, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

“Just a little tired.”

But Jack wasn’t convinced.

His sharp eyes were always able to tell when something was wrong.

After all he was his father’s son and always knew when something was up with his mother. As she stood up, he grabbed her hand, his little fingers curling around hers.

“You don’t look okay, Mommy,” he said softly, his voice full of concern.

“Are you sad? Did something happen you can trust me mummy I won’t tell I swear” his little voice spoke.

Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the wave of emotion that suddenly washed over her.

She forced herself to smile at him, but it felt hollow, like the weight of the world had pressed down on her chest.

Jack tilted his head, clearly not buying it.

“Mommy, why do you look like you are going to cry?” he asked, his tiny voice filled with confusion. “Did someone make you sad?”

Toto had been nearby, talking to a few sponsors, but as soon as he heard Jack’s voice and looked between his son and his wife, noticing the subtle shift in her demeanour.

His own heart tightened as Y/N’s smile wavered, the cracks showing through as the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over.

He hurried over to them, his face a mask of concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his deep voice soft yet filled with urgency.

Before she could answer, Jack spoke up, his innocent words piercing through the air.

“That man, Mommy he made you cry. That actor.”

Toto’s expression darkened immediately.

He looked at her, hurt flashing in his eyes. “What actor?”

Her eyes widened.

She hadn’t meant for Jack to say anything. She’d hoped to shield Toto from what had happened.

“I—” she began, but her voice faltered.

Toto’s gaze never left her, his concern growing more intense. “What happened? Who was it?”

His protective instinct kicked in.

He hadn’t known she’d been dealing with uncomfortable advances all night, and the thought of someone making her feel this way especially in front of their son drove him to the edge of fury.

She looked away, trying to avoid his gaze, but he cupped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me, darling. I need to know.”

Jack was still holding her hand, now glancing up at his father, sensing the tension in the air.

“It was that actor… the one who kept touching her, Daddy,” Jack added, voice small but firm.

Toto’s jaw tightened. He turned back to his wife, his voice lower now, softer.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “Don’t hide from me, darling,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t want to cause a scene, Toto,” she whispered, her voice shaking as the emotions she’d been bottling up came to the surface.

“I didn’t want to start any drama. I just… I wanted to get away from him.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts roaring to life once again.

He gently kissed her forehead before looking down at their son.

“Jack, go with your aunt, okay? I need to talk to Mommy.” Jack, sensing the gravity of the situation, nodded quietly and ran off to join their family friend, not fully understanding but sensing his mother’s distress.

Toto didn’t waste a moment. He pulled Y/N close again, his arms enveloping her tightly as he held her against his chest.

Toto’s heart broke at the vulnerability in her voice.

His hand gently wiped away her tears, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

“Darling,” he said softly, “I trust you, I just don’t trust them. You’re my everything, and no one-no one —should make you feel this way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, trying to hold back the tears.

Toto stepped forward, pulling her into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured against her hair, rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions.

But the tears didn’t stop. Y/N’s sobs were quiet but heavy, the kind that you couldn’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard you tried.

Y/N hiccupped through her tears, trying to compose herself, but the feeling of being violated, of being treated like an object, wouldn’t leave her.

Toto gently cupped her face, tilting her chin so she would look up at him.

“You don’t have to protect anyone but yourself, darling,” Toto said, his voice firm but gentle.

“I’ll make sure we leave this place as soon as you’re ready. You don’t have to be here if it doesn’t feel right.”

She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of the night lifting slightly as she melted into his embrace. Toto was her safe place. His love was her anchor.

“You know that jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she said, voice quiet. Toto chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “I like to see you smile more, not cry.”

Y/N sniffled, her heart swelling with love for the man who always knew exactly how to comfort her. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Toto let out a breath of frustration, but his expression softened.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Toto replied, his hand gently caressing her back. “I’ll always protect you, Y/N. Always.” “I’m sorry, darling. I should’ve been more attentive. I was too caught up in all of this… all these people… but I should’ve been with you. You should’ve never felt alone.”

He took a deep breath, his voice unwavering.

“I will make sure nothing like that ever happens again. Not on my watch.”

And as the lights of Las Vegas sparkled in the distance, Y/N realized that in Toto’s arms, she was safe.

The world could throw its distractions, its unwanted attention, and its people at her, but as long as she had him and their son by her side, nothing could take away her peace.

Jack tugged at his father’s hand.

“Daddy, Mommy’s really sad. Can we take her home?”

Toto nodded. “Yes, Jack. We’re going home. Right now.”

He pulled his wife close to him, wrapping his arms around her protectively, and he whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. But I’m here now, and I will always protect you. Always.”

With a final glance at the chaos of the event around them, Toto guided his family through the crowd, their son Jack happily holding his mother’s hand as they walked to their car.

Toto stayed close to her the entire way, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his hand never leaving hers.

He was determined that from this moment forward, she would never have to feel like that again.

As they climbed into the car, Toto turned to her, his voice soft and sincere. “I love you more than anything. Don’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me. I’m here for you, always.”

She smiled, feeling the weight of the night begin to lift. “I love you too.”

And for the first time that evening, she finally felt safe.

#f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #formula one #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x reader #angsty toto Wolff #toto wolff #toto #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fandom #f1 fic

237 notes · View notes

feedybot · 2 months ago

Text

Lighter Than Air

She stepped onto the scale, her brows knitted together in concern. I leaned casually against the bathroom doorway, coffee in hand, the very picture of nonchalance.

“Ugh. I feel so bloated today,” she muttered, fingers brushing her rounder stomach. She had to lean forward slightly to see past it now—something she hadn’t yet noticed. Not really.

The scale chirped its cheerful tone and displayed the number I’d programmed in that morning: 62.8 kg.

She blinked.

“Wait… seriously?” A breath of relief escaped her lips, and her whole body seemed to relax. “Huh. Guess I’m just being paranoid.”

I smiled. “Told you. You’ve been really good lately.”

She nodded, clearly comforted. The tight elastic of her sweatpants dug visibly into her sides as she moved, but her mind—blissfully trusting—accepted the number as truth. She tugged at the waistband, brushing it off.

In reality, she weighed just shy of 83 kg now. I’d watched her body grow month after month, softening, filling out. Her belly that used to be flat now swayed slightly when she moved too quickly. Her thighs, once slim, pressed together in a pillowy seam. Her arms had softened, her face rounded out beautifully, but her focus always came back to that magic number on the screen.

It had started innocently enough. A firmware tweak, a hidden override—just two or three kilos at first. She’d been stressing about a plateau, and I wanted to encourage her. But when I saw the way she smiled—believed—when the number dipped lower… I couldn’t stop. Not when she let her guard down. Not when she kept indulging just a little more, day by day.

I played the supportive boyfriend to perfection. I meal-prepped for her. I insisted she take progress photos—then quietly deleted the ones that showed too much change. Every time her clothes felt tighter, I blamed the dryer. She giggled, shrugged, and reached for more snacks.

But now… now it was catching up. Her pace had quickened—binge sessions disguised as cheat days, workouts replaced by naps, leggings giving up the fight. The lies were compounding. She was starting to suspect, I could tell.

That afternoon, I returned home to find the bathroom door slightly ajar. Her voice floated out—tight, angry, confused.

“…it has to be wrong. This can’t be right. No way I weigh this much.”

I froze.

She stood at the mirror, two scales side by side: the fake one… and a brand-new, unconnected model. My heart stuttered.

She caught my reflection behind her and turned sharply. “You didn’t tell me the scale was rigged.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

Then, I smiled gently and stepped closer. “I didn’t want you to worry. You’re beautiful… and happier now than you’ve ever been.”

She stared at me, mouth parted, disbelief painted across her face. But her eyes dropped—just briefly—to her exposed stomach, soft and round beneath the hem of her shirt. She didn’t pull it down.

The silence stretched.

And I knew—she might yell, might cry, might storm out. But she wasn’t stepping off that scale. Not yet.

She didn’t move.

Her eyes flicked between the two scales again, as if one might suddenly correct the other. But both sat silent now—one mocking her, the other revealing her. Her breath caught in her throat.

I took another slow step forward. My hand rose instinctively, hesitated for just a moment… and then came to rest on the soft swell of her side. She flinched—but didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the number,” I said softly, fingers sinking just slightly into the pliant flesh at her waist. “It’s just data. But this—” I slid my hand forward, letting my palm drift over the curve of her belly, warm and yielding under her stretched t-shirt. “This is real. This is you.”

She was trembling, whether from anger or confusion or something else entirely, I couldn’t say. But her breathing had deepened, and when I cupped the underside of her belly in both hands, lifting it ever so slightly, she exhaled like she’d been holding it in for hours.

It was heavier than I remembered. Not long ago, I could trace her shape in one smooth glide. Now it took time—my thumbs gently pressing in at her waist, then spreading around the blossomed softness of her belly, my fingers brushing over the stretch where her thighs met. She was growing. She had grown, right under her own nose.

“I never lied to hurt you,” I whispered, watching her eyes flutter half-shut. “I just didn’t want your brain to ruin what your body already knew.”

She bit her lip, gaze locked on my hands. My thumbs circled slowly along her sides, memorizing every new contour—the deeper roll above her hips, the way her navel had deepened into a soft shadow.

“You’ve been gaining for months,” I murmured, reverent. “And you never even noticed. Not because you weren’t smart. Because I made sure of it. Because I wanted to see what would happen… when you stopped trying to shrink yourself.”

Her hands twitched at her sides, uncertain. But she didn’t push me away. Not even when I leaned in, lips brushing just above her ear.

“You’re stunning like this.”

She turned slightly, her widened hips brushing against mine, and for the first time… she didn’t try to hide it. She didn’t try to suck in, or pull down her shirt. She stood there, breathing heavier, belly out, silent.

Letting me touch her.

Letting me see her.

#wg text #wg fiction #wg writing #belly expansion #feedee belly #feedee girl #feeder feedee #feeding kink #feed me #make me fat #fat girls #soft feedism #weight gain denial #growing feedee #cute belly #feedee encouragement

96 notes · View notes

eydi-andrius · 1 year ago

Text

Sore Loser (Love and Deepspace Characters x F!Reader)

Synopsis: After a very shitty day, you thought playing Kitty Cards with him will make your day better.

A/N: Girl, I hate this damn game. Lmaoooooo!

🗡️ Xavier 🗡️

Xavier didn't mean anything from it. He was just playing by the rules of the game, using his advance cards to parry and block your attempt to stop him from freezing your turn, four times by now. He was so focused on the game that he did not notice how your face became harder, and your eyes stared coldly at the board, now filled mostly with Xavier’s number cards. His kitties were cheering for him, and you watched helplessly as your kitties cried from defeat.

“That was a good game.” Xavier smiled to himself, as he saw how the game ended beautifully for him. He saved up as many good advance cards and used them at the right moment. He was so proud of himself and he can't wait to see your face. You usually analyze how he won, and take notes of what you did wrong. However, when he looked up, his joyous face turned down, and his heartbeat quickened when he saw how cold and mad you were. Your anger wasn't directed at him, instead, you were staring at the board coldly. But he knew at that time, he fucked up.

“I’m tired of this stupid game.” The chair scraped the floor, as you stood up so fast and grabbed your coat, placed atop the top rail.

“Hey wait!” He tried to stop you from walking out but he accidentally bumped into the board, almost toppling the cups and kitties over. In panic, he tried to support the wobbling table, and sighed with relief when it stopped shaking. He tried to find you afterwards, but he lost sight of you.

It has been two days, and as his partner hunter, it shouldn't be impossible for you to meet, but you must have been so mad because whenever he asks of you, you decline his calls and only reply in messages as promptly and professionally as an HR. He tried looking for you on your table, but most of the time, you were out or doing something else, whenever he came over. He was about to give up apologizing and accept his fate that he pissed you off at a game, so bad, you decided to cut him off, when Jenna ordered all the alpha team to meet at the unicorns headquarters for a debrief.

And he was right, you were there, but you were sitting in between two hunters he knew nothing about. He wasn't listening at all, he can always check on the information later, but he was afraid that if you manage to sneak out again this time, your relationship will fall apart and he doesn't like the sound of it, even when it wasn't going to happen because he will make sure of it.

“Let’s talk.” Before you can even stand up from where you were sitting, Xavier immediately moves over in front of you, calling your attention in front of the other hunters, making you unable to turn him down.

“Sorry. I should have known you were playing to enjoy that day. I didn't mean to make you mad. I will make sure to be more sensitive in the future about your needs. I know I can be slow at times, sometimes emotionless, but I don't want to repeat the same mistake and lose your company over a silly game.” Xavier started right after the door closed, leaving the two of you alone together. He looks tired. There were visible dark bags right under his eyes. He must have been torturing himself after you gave him the cold shoulder.

You feel silly now. You were not mad at Xavier for winning. It was just a shitty day and you were just looking forward to having a good day and resting with Xavier at your side, when it seems like even the Kitty Cards were against you. Xavier keeps on getting good cards, and you keep getting the most useless advance and number cards. You sighed and closed your eyes. You shouldn't have run away from him. Now, you made it worse and made him feel like he should tiptoe around your mood, instead of enjoying each other's company in your free time.

“Please, don't. It wasn't like that. I was just annoyed about my day at that time and losing was the final straw for me. I’m sorry that I made you feel like that for days. But I wasn't sure how to confront you, especially when I was just acting like a sore loser. Have you not been sleeping well? You have a bag under your eyes.” Worried, you cupped his cheek and moved his face closer to yours, inspecting and noticing how his face looks paler, dry, and tired.

Instead of saying anything, he hums at your touch, and he moves forward, resting his head on your lap.

“Let me take a little sleep. I miss you.” He said before dozing off, and you stroked his hair while he slept.

❄️ Zayne ❄️

Zayne is bad at playing the Kitty Cards game. Due to his fatigue, sometimes he mistook some colors as the same, making his turn score nothing. But today was a bit different. Zayne keeps on winning, and he keeps on using advanced cards that will be fatal on your turn. He steals your advance cards, takes away your good number cards, and freezes your turn. Meanwhile, you keep on getting advanced cards that mean nothing when you have no good cards at hand.

“I win again, huh.” It was obvious that Zayne didn't mean anything from that, other than him wondering why he won again. But maybe you're already at your limit and hearing that made you snap.

“Well good for you. I’m going home.” It was all you have told him before you left him dumbfounded on his seat, leaving him alone at the cafe.

Whatever you did back there was just embarrassing. It was just a game but you took it personally. You're not going to wonder if Zayne refuses to talk to you now, other than being your physician, after that embarrassing display of attitude when you lose. You're not even sure how you're going to talk to him today.

It's your physical exam and it's been two days since you always kept him on read or only replies with emoji. You have to toughen up and apologize. Zayne did not deserve being treated that way.

Upon opening the door to his office, you breathed in, swallowing all the courage you needed. You walked towards the chair and sat in front of him. He was busy typing whatever on his computer, but you know, he already glimpsed on your way, because you felt his heavy stare for a second, before it went back to his task at hand. It didn't take long when he finished and stared you down. It was so awkward and it was at this moment, where you wished to be swallowed down by the earth and be gone. You gulped and opened your mouth to apologize when he started talking first.

“You didn't tell me you were injured that day.” You shivered at the icy tone in his voice. Just like his evol, Zayne can also be cold and scary. He didn't even need for you to emphasize on what he just said, because you already knew what he was talking about. A wanderer caught you off guard hours before meeting Zayne and it scratched your arm. The wound is not that deep, and you already put first aid on it so you never thought about it much, until the small wound did not heal as fast, and almost gave you a fever when it deepens. You realize now that it was the guilt of keeping you're injured to Zayne, and also, being a sore loser from the pain.

“It was very small. I don't want to bother you on your day off so….I kept it.” You squeak, when he glared at you, for being nonchalant about it.

“I don't care if it was my day off. It was my duty to take care of you. I hate it when you lie to me about being fine, when you know too well I can help you.” He continued scolding you, as he inspected the scarring wound, and offensively stared at it.

“I’m really sorry.” Was your only answer, to both, hiding your wound from him and to him receiving the burnt of your pain.

“Also, you can always ask me to switch our cards. I don't mind.” Zayne added as he patched you up.

🧜🏻‍♂️ Rafayel 🧜🏻‍♂️

Rafayel is the ultimate king of petty.

You already know that right from the start but nothing prepares you for the way he massacres you from the game Kitty Cards.

During at the last hurrah of your showdown, Rafayel finally revealed his advance cards, he uses freeze to stop you from playing, uses advance cards that will turn your cup scores into one, kicking out your highest score kitties from the colored cups, and replacing it with his, stealing your deny cards, and using it against you. It was so bad, that on the inside, you felt your blood boil on how cruel it was. If he did it the first time, you would be proud of him, but he’s been winning all the rounds, and every time, it ends up with him brutally winning. His wins hit a nerve and you finally snapped.

“Ha! Please don't cry. Losing isn't that bad.” He said proudly, as Rafayel nodded to himself. He loves teasing you and he enjoys your banter together. He knows at this point, teasing each other is a form of bonding.

He was celebrating his win when he noticed how quiet you were. When he opened his eyes, the smug look on his face dropped and he stopped in his tracks. The look on your face was devastating and he never saw that before. Your scrunched up face, eyes filled with upcoming tears. When both of your eyes met, there seemed like a switch in you, that made you burst into tears. Rafayel, who doesn't know how to handle your outburst, tries his best to console you. But he did not expect that you were still mad at him, so when he tried to hug you, you pushed him away and ran.

Since then, you have refused to reply to his texts. You even muted his calls so you won't have to answer it. Whatever you did that day was so embarrassing that you’d rather sever whatever relationship you have with Rafayel instead of relieving how sore loser you were. It was just a game, and you cried like a baby from it. There were times that you're trying to justify your tears by saying maybe Rafayel’s insults were too much that day, and it was the reason why you burst into tears, but there would be nothing so petty as pushing someone away and running due to losing from a board game.

Sighing, you just accepted that Rafayel will probably stop talking to you. It is what it is as you continue to go on with your day, when your phone blares and a notification about Rafayel being in danger popped up in bold letters. You did not hesitate as you rode your bike and flew to Rafayel’s whereabouts.

You burst through his studio door, and your eyes caught his figure slumped on the floor, leaning to his couch.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did you slip on your paint brushes again?” You asked worriedly, as you touched his shoulder, arms and legs, to see if he injured himself again. You were so worried and kept asking many questions that were meant silently, you were about to unleash the hulk at him for not answering, when you stopped on your tracks when you noticed the frown on his forehead and his glare.

“Really? Do I have to injure myself so you can notice me?” He bit down and you whimpered, not from his anger but from guilt.

“Sorry.” You apologized. You look down and twiddle your thumbs, not knowing how to dissipate the awkwardness of the situation and Rafayel’s glare.

It took a moment before you hear Rafayel’s sigh in defeat and open his mouth to talk again.

“You could have just asked me, and I will allow you to cheat by putting my kitties in different cups, or even by replacing my advance cards. All you have to do is say please.” He continued, exasperated.

All you can do is look down in shame and murmur an apology for acting so childish.

“Just….. don’t ignore me again like that, please. It doesn't feel good when the most important person in your life suddenly stops talking to you.” He added, his voice quivered a bit and you wince when you realize how your action affected him. Opening up his old wounds.

“I’m really sorry, Rafayel. I promise to be better next time.” A silence falls between you again. It took a moment before you realize despite how mad he was, he refuses to move his left hand. The air of guilt slowly turned into worry again.

“Did you injure your left hand?” You asked worriedly and slowly touched his left hand when he flinched and gritted his teeth from the pain.

“Probably sprain it when I fell.”

“You fell!?”

“It's fine, Ms. Bodyguard. I bet it will heal tomorrow. Just feed me for now.” He chuckled at your worried face and you watched him move his left hand with no worry, following your reaction from it. You just shake your head at how silly that was, and was so happy he was okay, before you stood up, helped him up, and treated him like a prince just for today.

#eydi andrius #fic title: sore loser #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

589 notes · View notes

mantou-rin · 1 year ago

Text

How I think Yaku will react if your best friend held his hand instead of you. (Not proofread as usual, sorry if there are mistakes!)

Kinda inspired by this TikTok I saw recently

You were on your way home from a gathering with the Nekoma boys and some of your classmates - your best friend included.

Your hand was held snugly by Yaku’s as the group took a slow walk back to the train station when an idea struck. You had seen this particular Tik Tok recently and you wanted to try it out on your boyfriend to see his reaction. Quickly you told Yaku that you wanted to ask your best friend about something and excused yourself to turn around to find her. You then proceeded to tell your friend about the idea you had and asked if she was up for it, to which she gladly agreed - she was after all your number one supporter for your sometimes quirky and wild ideas.

You saw your friend quicken her pace and she was soon right behind Yaku. You had your phone out to capture your boyfriend’s reaction as you saw her slip her hand into his.

Almost immediately Yaku jumped and hurriedly pulled his hand out of her grasp, turning to look at the ‘culprit’

“Eh, why is it you?” He asked, clearly surprised.

It wasn't until he heard you (and some other Nekoma boys) chuckling did he finally connect the dots.

You saw him pout as his hand quickly gestured for you to come back to his side, and you quickly returned to him, your hand finding its way into his grip which felt tighter than usual, he definitely didn't want you running off again.

“How did you know?” You asked him.

“It just…didn't feel like you, it's hard to explain to be honest.” Came his reply.

You made a mental note to never fool this man again, it seemed like his senses were way too sharp anyway.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #yaku morisuke #yaku x reader

232 notes · View notes

harrywavycurly · 1 year ago

Text

Southern Comfort Part 4: Fiddlesticks

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

A/N: Harry might’ve just fallen in love but who knows? I hope y’all enjoy and this is mainly just giving his side of the phone call✨

Harry rubs at the back of his neck as he looks at the clock in his kitchen as it changes to eight fifty nine, now all he has to do is wait arguably the longest minute of his life before he can hit the call button on your contact page he has ready to go on the screen of his phone. He can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous for a phone call that wasn’t related to his career. He can’t exactly explain why he finds himself wanting to talk to you ever since he wound up with your number three nights ago but he knows it has something to do with the fact he can be himself with you since you don’t know exactly who he is minus the few details he’s given. You accept him and all his little quirks because as he’s learned over the last day or so, you have a few of your own as well. While he wants to try to learn everything there is to know about you he knows it’s not exactly fair since he can’t share everything about himself with you, or at least not yet. He shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts swirling around in it as he looks at the clock.

Harry reaches for his phone the moment he sees the numbers change to show that it’s finally nine. He puts his thumb over your contact ready to hit the call button when he feels his heartbeat quicken as he sees the words My Texas Tornado flash across his phone screen causing his eyes to go wide as he realizes that you’re the one calling him. He almost drops his phone trying to hit answer while bringing it up to his ear, he gathers himself a bit before he tries to quietly clears his throat.

“Hello-” before Harry can finish his greeting your voice is coming through his phone introducing yourself to him, finally giving him your actual name and he swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound and it takes him off guard making him have to grip the edge of his countertop for support. “It’s lovely to finally uhm meet you but you do know I was set to call you right? You didn’t have to-”

“It’s nice to meet you too sugar plum.” Harry smiles at how thick your accent is, almost like he can picture each word practically rolling off your tongue. “But I did wait five minutes for you to call and then decided I should take things into my own hands.” He looks at his clock and feels his brows furrow when he sees it still says nine in the morning, he looks down at his watch to check if it says the same thing and it does.

“Five minutes? Love it’s just now a minute past nine.” He explains as he runs a hand through his hair and that’s when he hears it for the first time, your laugh. It’s loud but also soft as it hits his ears and swiftly moves to the top of the list of one of his favorite sounds. He feels himself grin as he tries to picture what you look like when you laugh because if the sound is anything to go off of he just knows you look absolutely beautiful when you laugh.

“Oh fiddlesticks I forgot I set my clock five minutes fast so I’m never late to anything.” Harry can’t help but chuckle as you explain yourself. “Don’t you laugh at me Harry that’s not polite and you’re a gentleman remember?” He feels his cheeks get hot when you say his name and he’s very thankful in this moment that he lives alone because he can’t imagine how silly he looks all flush faced and giggly while just standing in his kitchen with his phone up to his ear.

“My apologies love but you just said fiddlesticks how was I supposed to hear that and not laugh?” He asks as he quickly pulls the phone away from his ear so he can put you on speaker before placing it on the counter next to his electric kettle. He hears you let out a huff and then some shuffling and what he can only assume is the sound of a door closing making him raise an eyebrow at his phone.

“Why don’t they make mugs easier to hold while also talking on the phone and trying to lock your front door?” He doesn’t know if you’re actually asking him or not but he likes the way your voice sounds when you’re flustered. “Like I have a purse and all that but you can’t go putting a coffee mug in your purse or that’ll get really messy really quickly.” He hears the sound of your keys jiggling as you place them back into your purse.

“Well they do have those things called handles that are supposed to be good for that sort of thing.” He can practically hear you rolling your eyes and that makes him fight the urge to laugh. “Off to the store?” He asks as he grabs his phone and heads for his living room.

“You have a good memory honeybuns.” Harry smiles and shakes his head at the petname having difficulty picking which one he likes the best now that he’s heard them all in your sweet thick southern accent that he has decided reminds him oddly enough of honey.

“I want to say thank you but in all honesty you did just tell me these plans yesterday.” He admits as he places the phone on his coffee table before sitting on the couch and leaning forward so his elbows are resting on his knees and his hands are clasped together so he can rest his chin on them.

“What time is your meeting?” Harry hears a faint sound of a bell that lets him know you’ve entered a shop of some sort. “Hold on for a moment sugar.” Before he can say anything in response he hears some shuffling and then the sound of someone’s voice saying your name. “Hey Kathy! I’m just seeing how Teddy’s feeling?” Harry leans back so he can get comfortable on the couch as he listens to you talk to Kathy. “Oh bless his little heart.” He feels his face drop at the slight sadness in your voice. “Well let me know if y’all need anything okay? And tell him we miss him in class and can’t wait for him to be back whenever he gets to feeling better.” Harry can just tell by the tone of your voice that you’re being sincere.

“Is Teddy feeling poorly?” He asks once there’s a few moments of silence letting him know your conversation with Kathy was over.

“Is that how you say he’s sick? If so then yes poor Teddy has the flu and just can’t seem to shake it so I’m gonna make him some of my chicken soup and his mom Kathy some banana bread.” Your answer makes Harry wonder if this is something you do all the time, make soup for the sick kids in your class and banana bread for people you know. “You think everyone likes chocolate chips in their banana bread?” Harry chuckles as he hears you let out a huff and the sound of a pen clicks in the background.

“I’d say maybe do half with and half without just to be safe?” He suggests as he looks down at his watch and sees it’s now half past nine. “Have you even made it to the store yet love?” He hears you take a sip of your coffee and he can just imagine you standing in the middle of a grocery aisle with your list and coffee mug in one hand and your phone in the other while contemplating if you should add chocolate chips to the whole pan of banana bread or not.

“I happen to live down the street from my favorite grocery store so don’t worry honey I’ve been here a good ten minutes already.” Harry smiles as he hears you take another sip of your coffee. “What time is your meeting sugar? Are you ready for it? I don’t want you getting your ass kicked and name taken again.” Harry’s head leans back as he laughs causing his hand to fall to his stomach, he can tell by the way your voice has a tinge of worry to it you’re being serious and that’s what makes him laugh even harder because the words you just said don’t match the sincerity of your voice. “If you don’t stop laughing at me I’ll make you add ten dollars to the douche bag jar Harry.” That’s what does it, Harry full on starts cackling as he slaps his hand on his leg and he feels the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them closed.

“I’m sorry love.” He tries to sound genuine but he knows it’s no use because he’s still half laughing as he speaks. “You sound so worried but you’re also saying things like kick ass and take names so it’s just a little jarring.” He explains as he hears you drop something into a cart as he tries to get himself together on the couch.

“I just don’t want you to get beat up that’s all.” Harry nods as he wipes at his eyes and takes a few deep breaths finally feeling his laughing fit coming to an end.

“My meeting is at ten thirty and I’m prepared for it don’t worry it’s just a check up to make sure we are on track with things timing wise and I know that we are because oddly enough I’m ahead of schedule with a few things.” He tries to pick his words carefully as he hears you drop a few more things into your cart.

“Oh see now that’s how you flirt with someone sugar plum.” Harry feels his hands get sweaty at your words.

“Saying I’m ahead of schedule does it for you huh?” He hears you make a fake soft whispering moaning type noise and he feels his mouth drop open.

“Oh yeah that’s exactly what does it for me.” Everything in Harry’s mind knows you’re messing with him but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like the wind just got knocked out of him as you tease him causing your accent to sound even thicker as your voice goes lower. “What things are you checking up on in this meeting?” He appreciates you quickly moving the conversation along because he honestly wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do it himself.

“Uh well I’m not-”

“I get it sugar plum you don’t have to tell me.”Harry smiles at how understanding you are as he fumbles over his words. He briefly looks down at his watch and feels his smile instantly drops.

“I’m sorry to have to leave you in the middle of your grocery shop but I’m afraid I have to head off in a minute.” He hears you let out a fake huff of annoyance that makes him chuckle as he stands up and grabs his phone off the coffee table so he can head for his front door where he keeps his car keys and wallet.

“I truly don’t know how I’ll manage the rest of my day without you laughing in my ear but I’ll do my best to get by.” Harry rolls his eyes at your teasing words as he grabs his wallet. “Have a good meeting honeybuns.”

“Thanks love you enjoy the rest of your shopping trip and let me know how your banana bread comes out.” He can practically hear you smile as he speaks while he slips his wallet into his back pocket.

“I will sugar don’t worry.” He hears you drop another item into your cart. “Well go on and say bye and hang up or you’ll never get off the phone.” Harry chuckles at how blunt you are with your honesty because it’s true, if he doesn’t hang up now he’d happily spend the rest of the day on the phone with you.

“Bye love.” With that he hangs up the phone and smiles when he sees your name on his screen before he slides it into his pocket. “I’m so fucked.” He mumbles to himself with a smile as he grabs his keys and heads out the front door.

169 notes · View notes

itacats · 5 months ago

Text

In His Steady Hands

FT: Soap x Reader

Warnings: Chronic illness, emotional vulnerability, mentions of anxiety, descriptions of dystonia episodes (muscle spasms, physical struggle).

SUM: Soap’s unexpected visit disrupts your carefully constructed solitude, exposing the vulnerabilities you’ve worked so hard to hide. When an episode overtakes you, Soap’s unwavering support and kind words challenge your fears of being a burden, showing you the possibility of connection beyond your walls.

A/N: This one’s for the overthinkers out there 🤍. Remember: the right people will stay, even when you feel like a storm. 🌀✨

In His Steady Hands Masterlist

Part 6: Breaking Down Walls

It had been a number of weeks since you'd last heard from Soap, but that didn’t make his sudden appearance at your door any less jarring. There was no warning, no message, just a knock that broke the silence of your cramped apartment. You’d been trying to push him from your mind, but now here he was, standing in your doorway, his presence like a storm. You should’ve known this moment was coming, but it still felt like an intrusion—an explosion in the midst of the fragile peace you’d tried to carve out in the quiet of your isolation.

You were barely holding it together. Your mind had been consumed with the weight of college exams, the stress of work, and the exhausting task of keeping your walls high. You’d lost countless hours of sleep and it made your limbs feel like they were constantly filled with the static of an old TV. Every day felt like a battle, but the hardest part had been keeping yourself hidden, away from anyone who might see the cracks you tried so hard to keep sealed.

But Soap... Soap had never been good at staying away, had he? And now here he was, eyes soft with concern, standing in front of you like he had every right to be there. Your breath caught in your chest. You could feel a familiar pressure tightening around your ribs and strangling your spine, your body bracing for a confrontation you weren’t ready for.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, the words barely more than a whisper.

Soap's smile softened, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his gaze. “I’m here for you, whatever’s going on. We need to talk."

You felt your pulse quicken, the room closing in. You didn’t want this—not now, not when you were barely keeping yourself together. The storm inside you, the waves of emotion that you’d pushed down for so long, started to break. The fear, the self-doubt, the exhaustion—they were too much. And in a split second, you felt the telltale signs of your dystonia taking hold—the static turning to strangulation. You tried to breathe through it, to keep it at bay, but it was no use.

Your body betrayed you.

It always did.

Suddenly, you were seized with spasms, your muscles locking up, the tension in your limbs making it impossible to control your movements. The world tilted, everything slipping out of focus as the episode escalated. The room seemed to pulse with your heartbeat, every beat echoing like a hammer in your ears. You stumbled back, hand grasping for support, but it was as if the ground itself had become unsteady.

"No," you gasped, your body jerking, your vision swimming. You tried to steady yourself, but your muscles wouldn’t cooperate. This was happening, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You had always kept this hidden from him—the truth of what you lived with every day. The secret you carried, buried deep within yourself, was no longer something you could conceal. And now, Soap was witnessing all of it. You felt the fragile thread of connection you’d managed to build with him slipping away, your fear swelling into something suffocating.

But to your surprise, Soap didn’t step back. He didn’t pull away in confusion or disgust. His voice, calm and steady, cut through the chaos. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his hands steadying your shoulders, guiding you down gently onto the couch. His words were like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of panic. “Just breathe with me, okay? I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his eyes—just concern, just a quiet determination to help. It should’ve been easier to pull away, to shut him out, but something in his presence grounded you. You wanted to hide, to escape, to push him away, but the warmth of his touch, the steadiness in his voice, made it impossible to retreat this time. You had always feared that showing this side of yourself would make him leave. But now, as your body shook and your breath came in ragged gasps, Soap didn’t leave. He stayed.

“Focus on me, alright? You’re okay,” he continued, his hands gentle as they rested on your trembling arms. He didn’t demand answers, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. He just stayed with you, unyielding, his presence a constant amidst the overwhelming swirl of your symptoms.

You didn’t know how long it took—minutes, hours, or maybe just a few moments—but gradually, the episode began to ebb. The spasms subsided, leaving you shaking, drained, and utterly exhausted. But somehow, you weren’t alone in the aftermath this time around. Soap was there, by your side, his hand steady on your arm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to regain your breath, the tension in your chest had eased, if only slightly. There was still a lingering tremor in your limbs, but it was easier to bear with him by your side.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke. “I didn’t want you to—”

He cut you off gently, placing a finger to your lips. “You don’t need to explain. You don’t owe me anything.”

The aftermath of the episode left you shaken, vulnerable in a way you’d never allowed yourself to be before. Every nerve in your body felt raw and exposed, as if your own skin had turned against you. Your breath came in shallow bursts, but there was a sense of relief, too—relief that Soap hadn’t turned away like others in the past. He hadn’t recoiled in fear or disappointment. He was still here, quietly waiting, a steady presence in the storm that had threatened to drown you at a moment’s notice.

You couldn’t hide anymore. The walls that you had painstakingly built to protect yourself from the world, to shield others from the dark reality of your condition, crumbled in an instant. With your defenses in ruins, the flood of emotions you’d kept locked away for so long came rushing to the surface. Fear, shame, loneliness—they all surged forward, and there was no holding them back.

You could feel the tears welling up, threatening to break through the rubble of your walls, but you tried to hold them at bay. It was too much. Too much to admit. Too much to face.

“I—I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your own vulnerability. The words barely felt like your own, slipping out in a shaky rush, almost as if you were confessing a crime. “I’m scared that... that one day, it’s going to be too much for you. I’ll just... weigh you down. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the reason you... leave.”

The silence that followed your confession was thick, but it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t the silence of rejection or disdain. No, it was the silence of someone listening. Really listening. Soap didn’t rush to speak, didn’t fill the space with empty reassurances or awkward words. Instead, he sat beside you, his presence as unwavering as it had been during your episode.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but it cut through the heaviness that surrounded you. “You’re not a burden,” he said simply, his words acting as a balm for your frayed nerves. “You’re a person. You’re not broken, not something to be fixed. You’re just... you.”

His words weren’t the grand gestures of someone trying to solve your problems. They were something far more grounding—simple, honest, and unyielding. He didn’t see your dystonia as a burden to bear; he saw it as a part of you, a part of the whole person you were. And that was something you hadn’t expected, didn’t dare to hope for in the slightest.

“I don’t see you as a burden,” he repeated, his hand gently reaching out to cover yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in a quiet reassurance. “You’re not too much. You never have been.”

And then, something shifted within you. You could feel the tightness in your chest loosening, the anxiety you’d carried for so long beginning to ebb away in the presence of his unwavering kindness. You weren’t sure if you were ready to fully let him in, but with every word, every gentle touch, you found yourself inching closer to trusting him.

“I’m scared of being too much,” you admitted again, quieter this time, but the weight of the words wasn’t so suffocating. “Scared that one day, you won’t be able to handle it. Because so far no one’s been able to... hell, not even me.” A slight bitterness was caught in your voice as the last part left your lips.

Soap’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with something that could only be described as certainty. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t care about your condition. I care about you—all of you. The good, the bad, and the messy parts. That’s what makes you who you are.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe them. You didn’t have to hide anymore. You didn’t have to pretend. For all the fear you’d felt about being too much, about being seen as broken, Soap’s words showed you that there was another way to be seen.

Slowly, the last of your walls began to crack. The defenses you’d spent so long building began to crumble, piece by piece, letting in the light you’d kept so carefully at bay. You could feel trust creeping in, tentative at first, but slowly, it began to take root. It wasn’t an instant transformation, but it was a beginning—a quiet, fragile beginning.

Soap didn’t rush you. He didn’t push you to talk more than you were ready to. He just stayed, sitting beside you, his hand resting lightly on yours. There was no expectation, no hurry. Just presence.

And in that moment, you realized something you hadn’t allowed yourself to believe before: maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought. Maybe, just maybe, you could trust him. And in turn, trust yourself to be seen.

Want to see what's up next? Click here!

#bt extra #call of duty #cod #fanfic #cod fic #gn reader #soap x you #soap #soap x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #dystonia #civilian au #in his steady hands

55 notes · View notes

estellan0vella · 1 year ago

Text

I'll Be Right Here ❀ Toji Masterlist HFBU

You’re home alone, and the house is quiet. Toji left for work early this morning, promising to be back by dinner. The clock ticks softly on the wall, and the faint hum of the refrigerator is the only sound filling the room. You’ve been feeling fine today, just a little tired, but that’s not unusual.

You sit on the couch with a book in hand, trying to lose yourself in the story. The sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow on the room. You glance at your phone, checking for any messages from Toji. There’s nothing new, so you put it back down and return to your book.

Suddenly, a strange feeling washes over you. It’s hard to describe, but you know this sensation all too well. It’s the aura that precedes a seizure. Your heart races, and you feel a wave of anxiety crash over you. You try to focus on your breathing, grounding yourself in the present moment, but the feeling intensifies.

You reach for your phone again, trying to call Toji, but your hands are shaking too much to dial the number. Panic sets in as you realize what’s happening. You need to get to a safe place, somewhere you won’t hurt yourself if you fall.

You manage to get off the couch and stumble toward the bedroom. Each step feels heavier than the last, and your vision begins to blur. You make it to the bed and sit down, feeling the room spin around you. Your thoughts are jumbled, and it’s getting harder to think clearly.

You lie down, trying to get into a position where you won’t hurt yourself. The seizure hits you hard, and everything goes dark.

When you come to, you’re disoriented and confused. Your body feels heavy, and your head is pounding. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. You blink a few times, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

You hear the front door open and close, followed by the sound of footsteps. Toji’s voice calls out, “I’m home!”

You want to respond, to let him know you’re here, but your throat feels dry, and you can’t seem to form the words. You hear him moving through the house, and then his footsteps quicken as he comes down the hallway.

He appears in the doorway, and the moment he sees you, his expression shifts from casual to concerned. “Hey,” he says softly, coming to your side. “What happened?”

You manage to whisper, “Seizure.”

Toji’s face tightens with worry, and he gently lifts you into a sitting position, supporting your back with one strong arm. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod weakly, though you’re not entirely sure if you are. “Just… tired.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I should have been here.”

You lean into his embrace, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly. “You can’t be here all the time.”

Toji’s hold tightens, and he kisses the top of your head. “I know, but I hate that you had to go through this alone.”

He helps you lie back down and covers you with a blanket. “Just rest,” he says gently. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You close your eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the seizure pulling you back into sleep. Toji stays by your side, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your mind. You know he’ll be there when you wake up, ready to help you through whatever comes next.

When you wake again, it’s dark outside. The room is dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the bedside table. Toji is sitting in a chair beside the bed, his eyes fixed on you. He looks relieved when he sees you’re awake.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to assess yourself. The headache has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs has lessened. “Better,” you reply, your voice still a little shaky. “Tired, but better.”

Toji nods and reaches out to hold your hand. “I made some soup. Do you think you can eat something?”

You nod, realizing you’re hungry. He helps you sit up again, propping pillows behind your back for support. Then he leaves the room for a moment and returns with a tray holding a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of water.

He sits beside you on the bed, carefully spoon-feeding you the soup. It’s warm and comforting, and you feel a little stronger with each bite. Toji’s presence is reassuring, and you’re grateful for his patience and care.

As you finish the soup, you glance at him and see the worry still etched on his face. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “Really. It’s just part of having epilepsy.”

He sighs and sets the tray aside, then takes your hand in both of his. “I know, but I hate seeing you like this. I wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” you tell him. “Just being here helps more than you know.”

Toji looks at you, his eyes softening. “I love you,” he says quietly. “And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest. “I love you too, Toji.”

He leans in and kisses you gently, his lips soft against yours. “Get some rest,” he says when he pulls back. “I’ll be right here.”

You lie back down, feeling more at ease. Toji stays beside you, his hand holding yours as you drift off to sleep. You know there will be more challenges ahead, but with Toji by your side, you feel ready to face them. His love and support give you the strength to keep going, even on the hardest days.

And as you fall asleep, you’re grateful for the man who stands by you, no matter what.

#jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsukaisen #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #toji zenin #epilepsy awareness #epilepsy

104 notes · View notes

nicnak20 · 4 months ago

Text

Poor sport:

*While at your child's soccer game, a parent insults you and Nicholas's child loudly, causing Nicholas to lash out and lose his own temper.*

(I'll do more ones with Nicholas where's he's losing his temper. I think it's sexy when he does.)

The afternoon sun, warm and benevolent, kissed your cheeks pink as you stood beside Nicholas, cheering for Cedar. The air hummed with the excited buzz of a Saturday soccer game – the squeak of sneakers on the green field, the rhythmic thud of the ball, the shouts of encouragement from parents lining the sidelines. You loved these moments, these slices of Cedar’s childhood where joy and innocent competition intertwined.

Cedar, your seven-year-old son, darted across the field, his small legs pumping with determined energy. His dark brown hair, a shade lighter than Nicholas’s but just as thick, bounced as he chased the ball, a miniature version of his father’s focused enthusiasm. You and Nicholas exchanged a proud smile. This boy, your son, was the center of your world, a vibrant testament to your love and commitment.

Nicholas squeezed your hand, his brown eyes, so warm and gentle, crinkling at the corners as he laughed at Cedar’s near-miss goal attempt. He was a haven, this man of yours. Kind, sweet, caring, loving – the words seemed inadequate to capture the essence of his heart. Protective, understanding, patient, cheerful, warm, gentle, smart, affectionate, doting, devoted - they were just facets of the diamond that was his soul, each reflecting a different aspect of his unwavering goodness.

You leaned into his side, the familiar comfort of his presence a soothing balm in the often-chaotic rhythm of life. He smelled faintly of his favorite sandalwood cologne and sunshine, a scent that always grounded you. You were lucky, you knew, deeply and truly lucky. You had built a life filled with warmth, laughter, and above all, love.

The game intensified. Cedar’s team was down by one goal, the tension on the sidelines thickening like honey. You could feel your own pulse quickening, a nervous energy humming beneath your skin. Nicholas, ever the composed one, simply tightened his grip on your hand, his silent support a steady anchor.

Then, it happened. A shrill, unpleasant voice cut through the cheerful din, sharp and laced with unwarranted venom.

“Look at number seven! Pathetic! Can’t even kick straight. No wonder they’re losing, with players like that!”

You froze, your blood suddenly turning to ice in your veins. Your eyes darted across the sideline, searching for the source of the ugly words. It was a woman standing a few feet away, her face pinched with disdain, her gaze fixed on the field, but her words unmistakably directed. You followed her line of sight and your heart plummeted. She was looking right at Cedar. Number seven. Your son.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You wanted to believe you had misheard, that it couldn’t possibly be aimed at a child, at your child. But the woman continued, her voice rising in volume, as if relishing the attention her negativity was drawing.

“Seriously, who let that kid on the team? He’s dragging everyone down. Maybe he should just stick to playing video games, something he might actually be good at.”

Each word was a barb, piercing the joyful atmosphere and landing like a physical blow. You felt your face flush, your hands clench into fists. How dare she? How utterly dare she speak about a child, about Cedar, in such a cruel and dismissive way? He was seven years old, for heaven’s sake, learning, growing, having fun. He was kind, gentle, bright, and full of innocent enthusiasm. He was everything good and pure in the world.

Beside you, Nicholas had gone utterly still. His hand, which had moments ago been warm and comforting, had turned rigid, the grip almost painful. You glanced at him, your worry spiking. You knew Nicholas to be the most patient man alive. He weathered storms of frustration with serene calm. He was the embodiment of gentle strength. But you also knew, deep in your heart, the fierce protectiveness that lay beneath that placid surface, especially when it came to Cedar.

His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek twitching almost imperceptibly. His eyes, usually pools of warm brown, were now dark, stormy, fixed on the woman with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You had rarely, if ever, seen him like this.

The woman, oblivious or perhaps enjoying the attention, continued her tirade. "Honestly, some parents just push their kids into things they're not cut out for. It's embarrassing to watch."

That was the breaking point. Something shifted in Nicholas. The air around him seemed to crackle with a sudden, potent energy. He released your hand abruptly, the sudden loss of contact making you feel a pang of unease. He took a step forward, his movements deliberate, his gaze locked onto the woman.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what was about to happen. You had never seen Nicholas lose his temper, not like this. A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach.

He moved with a surprising swiftness, closing the distance between them in a few strides. His voice, when he spoke, was low, dangerously controlled, but it carried across the hushed sidelines, silencing the other parents who had started to turn and stare.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice like honed steel, “Did I hear you correctly? Were you just making those…comments about my son?”

The woman, startled by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence, blinked at him, her pinched face momentarily losing its smugness. "Well, yes, I was just…observing…that, you know, some kids are just not…good…at soccer." She stammered, the volume of her voice diminishing significantly.

Nicholas leaned in slightly, his height and broad shoulders suddenly making him seem immense and intimidating. His voice remained low but it was laced with an arctic chill that could freeze fire.

“Observing?” he repeated, each word clipped and precise. “You call those hateful, belittling remarks about a seven-year-old child ‘observing’? My son, who is out there trying his best, having fun, and learning, is the target of your pathetic need to feel superior by tearing down a child?”

The woman’s bravado seemed to evaporate, replaced by a nervous tremor in her lip. "I…I didn't mean…" she began, her voice wavering.

“No, you meant to be cruel,” Nicholas interrupted, his voice rising slightly for the first time, but still controlled, still sharp as glass. “You meant to inflict pain with your words, to belittle and demean a child who has done absolutely nothing to deserve your vile negativity. And let me tell you something, as someone who is clearly deeply unhappy and insecure if you feel the need to attack children to feel better about yourself, you are everything that is wrong with this world.”

A collective gasp rippled through the nearby parents. You stood rooted to the spot, a mixture of shock, pride, and a strange sense of relief washing over you. You had never heard Nicholas speak like this. It was raw, powerful, and utterly devastating. But it was also undeniably justified. The woman had crossed a line, a line that should never be crossed, especially when it involved a child.

He didn't stop there. He continued, his gaze unwavering, boring into her with an intensity that seemed to shrink her in place.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Utterly and completely ashamed. Instead of offering encouragement, instead of supporting the children who are out there on that field, you choose to spew poison. You should be lifting them up, not trying to crush their spirits. And if you ever, ever, speak about my son, or any child for that matter, in that way again, you will have to deal with me. Do you understand?”

His voice, which had risen in volume momentarily, dropped again to a low, menacing growl. The woman, now visibly trembling, could only nod, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and humiliation.

Nicholas straightened up, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. He turned away from her, not giving her another glance, and walked back to you. The silence on the sidelines was thick enough to cut with a knife. Every eye was on him, on you.

He reached for your hand again, his touch still firm, but now, you could feel the warmth returning, the tension slowly easing. He turned to you, his expression softening, his brown eyes filled with a storm of emotions – anger, protectiveness, but also a hint of regret, as if he was surprised at his own outburst.

“Are you alright?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper.

He squeezed your hand. “I’m…I’m okay. Are you?”

You nodded, still a little stunned. “I am. I…Nicholas, what you said…it was…”

“Necessary?” he finished for you, a wry smile touching his lips, though his eyes still held a shadow of the anger. “Perhaps not my finest moment of composure, but yes. Necessary.”

You leaned into him again, relief flooding through you. He had defended Cedar, fiercely and unequivocally. He had shown the woman that her words had consequences, that you wouldn't stand by and let anyone hurt your child. And while you knew Nicholas regretted losing his temper, you also knew that deep down, a part of him felt it was the only way to deal with such blatant cruelty.

The game continued, the energy on the sidelines subtly shifted. The cheerful buzz was gone, replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere. But something else had changed too. There was a new respect in the air, a quiet understanding that certain lines should not be crossed, especially when it came to children.

You watched Cedar run across the field, his smile bright, oblivious to the drama that had unfolded on the sidelines. He was still chasing the ball, still full of joy, still your perfect, wonderful son. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that with Nicholas by your side, Cedar would always be protected, always loved, always cherished.

Even if it sometimes meant Nicholas had to step outside his gentle nature and unleash the fierce protector within. And in that moment, you loved him even more, if that was even possible. He was everything you had ever wanted, and everything Cedar needed. He was, simply, your rock, your Nicholas.

#nicholas alexander chavez one shots #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fanfiction #lavender baby #nicholas chavez imagines #nicholas chavez x y/n #dad!nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chaves blurbs #nicholas chavez fics

27 notes · View notes