#Thank you for this ask when I saw it it made me laugh :]

[skyrigel]

Hi! I love all of your writing, could please do Benedict and best friend reader at a ball and he over hears some girls bullying reader and goes OFF and reader runs off and he thinks he’s embarrassed her but when he finds her she explains she found it super hot and then some smut please! 💖

You are in love 1 || B.B

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x best friend! Reader, + Polin

Warning: fem! reader, no description of reader, friendly flirting and teasing, mutual pinning, use of inappropriate words, reader has a step sister. Fluff and angst, part 1 of you are in love. Part : 2 will be smut

Rigel's note 🪩: Thank you for requesting, and the compliment<3333 *smooches* I hope you don't mind me doing it in two parts :) the title is taken from Taylor Swift's song " you are in love", it popped as soon as I read best friend reader, hope it's not as bad as it's in my head, sending love back, also part 2 soon.

" Perks of being a woman, you don't have to dance with Eloise bridgerton." You remarked when it was the fifth time Eloise stepped on lord White's toe.

Benedict snorted on his lemonade as he looked at you sideways, his iconic lop sided grin plastered to his smug face.

" I was her dance partner, " Benedict fake sniffed, wiping the fake tear, ", that too, before she started lessons."

You winced at the idea of Eloise before her lesson and gave Benedict a pat on his back for being ever the sacrifice.

" I thought that's why you danced wierd " you told him, smiling when he looked at you scandalously.

" Excuse me ?! " He narrowed his eyes, " you take that back ! " He slammed the glass down with force.

" Will not, you dance like...like a snowman ! " You beamed, slamming your fan down and glaring back, nose to nose, eye to eye.

" That never stopped you from dancing with me." He said smugly and retreated to his space with a satisfied look in his eyes when your jaw slacked slightly.

" You don't dance like a snowman with me." you told him in a small voice and that's when it hit you how gracefully he twirled you around when he was practically running away from other beautiful young ladies.

Benedict smiled, his eyes twinkling at you as he raised his brow, like in a question.

" And why would you think that ? " His mouth twisted and you didn't know what to say.

" Perhaps because I dance well...? " You tried and despite it being not the answer he expected, he laughed all the same.

" You dance like a ... a Kangaroo." Benedict thought hard and a muscle in his jaw twitched, he smiled proudly when he got the right word to annoy you.

" What's a kangaroo ? " You asked, you had heard it somewhere but it was easier to ask him than think hard.

" It's like..." Benedict motioned with his hands something like a vase," it's a cute animal." He finally said when nothing more could be made out from his gestures.

"Oh." You nodded and then it hit you, " Did you just call me an ANIMAL ?! " You snarled at him and he shaked his head with a chuckle.

" I called you cute too." He squabbled.

" Kangaroo's aren't cute ! " You jabbed at him and he chuckled, grabbing your wrist firmly, a spark so bright jolted inside you and you felt your face grow hot.

" Then I don't dance like a snowman—" you sticked your tongue out at him and he was lost in words, just looking, you saw the opportunity and yanked your hand away from his grip. He relented like a gentleman.

" You are always like..like running away and leaning off while dancing and it's so so snowman like." You argued and Benedict's eyes twinkled like moon.

" Have you seen a snowman waltzing ? " Benedict asked and you shaked your head, while clutching at your chest, you couldn't help the giggling.

" Yes if we are talking about a tall, handsome and smug snowman."

" You think I am handsome ? " Benedict ducked his head closer to your face and you felt your breath hitching in your throat, like air was punched out of your chest.

You rolled your eyes when it became too apparent that no word would come out of your traitorous throat and you couldn't help but gaze back at him, he looked back just the same, all fire and blaze.

" You didn't answer my question." He said slowly, each word carefully and it squeezed your heart how close his face was, how beautiful those eyes were, and that nose, and those cheeks, those lines when he smiled, he oftened and it was so warm and gorgeous, how you never noticed how captivating he was, every atom of his body was tied with an invisible thread with yours, a golden one. And you would be damned to think of that mouth, your lips parted at the ethereal site and Benedict smiled at that.

" No." You just said it, eager to say anything and break this moment, it was swirling you around in a storm.

" No ? " He questioned, frowning and he was handsome at that too, you were so doomed.

" You are silly like handsome, like some lord Byron poetry." you murmured softly, safe guarding the hammering heart in your chest and blinking at the sudden burn from his gaze on you, drinking you in, his brow knitted in funny way, a mock annoyance crossed his face.

" Lord Byron ?! Really, " he dropped back to his seat and you finally took a breath, then he covered his face like a damsel in distress and when he glanced sideways at you, he was smiling his brightest, oh, you just realised how goofy and precious and mesmerizing his smile was, you wished to stop time and paint it under your lids so everytime you close your eyes, you could meet him there, in your secret gardens and then a death like that would be sweeter.

" What ? " You exasperated when he refused to look away, even when your nose wrinkled and face basked in it's warmth, he wouldn't let go of you, taking each and every detail in like he was wishing to stop time too and paint you. He could, he was an artist.

" You called me poetry..." His mouth quirked up in a delightful grin, like it explained all the merry and you groaned, looking away as you huffed the tingling in your body that wouldn't go, your eyes landed on a very eventful moment.

" Is that our Colin ? " You raised your brow at Benedict who sat up straighter and turned his gaze to the other side of the hall.

" Why is he eye murdering lord Debling ? " You asked him, he winked and pulled your chair closer, not caring if any mama saw or perhaps lady whistledown herself.

" Penelope is dancing with lord Debling, and well she's laughing at something too, oh—" Benedict whispered in the shell of your ear and you barely nodded, Colin looked like he had enough, he was making his way through the crowd towards Pen.

" Forty shillings if he punches lord Debling." You piped up, Benedict shaked his head.

" You are gonna lose cupcake, he's gonna take Miss Featherington's hand and—" you gasped when Colin stopped abruptly, said something urgently and took Penelope's wrist between his hand, Benedict cocked his head to his side and winked smugly.

" And ? " You drawled and it amused Benedict beyond limits, like he has been waiting for it.

" Birds and bees." He said in a code like hushed whisper, you smacked the back of his head.

" I don't have a mother, you know." You told Benedict and he touched his upper lip with the tip of his pink tongue, he nodded along knowingly.

" Well, someone's gotta teach you."

" Mm.. you are my best friend." You would look anywhere but at him but your eye's were locked in his, he was being brave then so can you. One step, not much.

" I can not tell you birds and bee." Benedict said sincerely.

" Colin helped Pen ! " You said, nose flaring as he worried his jaw but didn't say anything.

" He told her how kids are made, something like going to a farm and then...well he kissed her but that's not the point." You blurted in a whisper, he listened intently.

" He kissed her already ? "

" Well a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell but a lady can, but that's not the point! " You pouted, his resistance crumbled but then again, bloody bridgerton.

" That's not my place cupcake." He was breathing hard, his mouth would open and snap close again, taking back all the things left unsaid.

" Well then—" you hated how choked your voice got, you tried, didn't you, it's not like you left it on god's cue, this was the biggest hint you could have given him and if he didn't got this, then only bricks might work.

Give him one more, a small voice said in your head, it was yours, but stronger and braver than you.

" —then you can tell me about love."

Benedict laughed on that, like it was the funniest thing you had said.

" You know what? I take it back, I am gonna ask someone—" you smoothed your skirt and began to get up when he pulled you down.

" Sorry, I didn't mean that, sorry, don't go leaving me stranded." He pleaded.

You looked at him hard, looking for any sign of humour and you found none, he was glittering when he clapped his tongue and opened his mouth, his soft tongue resting like a tired cat.

" Love," he began," is like music."

" Like music." You repeated, struggling with the fit laughter that shook your shoulders.

Benedict glanced at you offended but when he spoke next, it was how the poets said, with longing and desire, like bleeding for your beloved and when no blood was left then it was ink and parchment.

" You can hear it in the silence." He said, you remembered those afternoons when no word was said between you and your bestfriend and yet nothing was hidden and left unsaid.

" You can feel it on your way home." He said, penetrating his gaze in you eyes and he remembered damn well that night after he rescued you from the lake when you almost drowned, the terror of losing you, the spark of holding you closer than ever.

" You can see it with the light's out, it's so bright and golden." Everything is more beautiful with you Benedict, you told him one Sunny afternoon, basking under a tree while he read you poetry, Better than Byron.

" Loving that one person will make you love yourself, with them, you are enough." He was whispering now, chest heaving as his hand trembled and unknowingly yours found his under the table, locked eye's and joined hands and sacred whispered chants. It was enough.

" You aren't too much, or too little, or loud or boring, you don't have to be interesting or witty or anything, being youself with them is enough." I like myself with you, he had told you when you were sixteen.

" That's love, being safe with them is love, being their home is love, to be able to leave all shades behind and be naked in just body and soul and not being afraid, not being embarassed is love."

" Benedict..." Your voice was soft and sweet and it took him a moment to realise he was crying, when you gently wiped it's proof with your handkerchief.

" I...I will be back in a moment—" he stumbled out, still smiling a small smile and oh god what you have done, you have ruined him as well your self and nothing will ever be the same.

" Yes...." You said, because he was waiting for your approval, he nodded back when he got it and disappeared amongst the crowd as you watched him leave.

Love was indeed like music, the one you liked, it could be light as bee buzzing and sharp as thunder roaring in clouds, it could be slow and rhythmic and soft like water flowing, it could be the sound of his laughter and the way he drew his breath, it could be how he whined and joked and played and teased, for you, love was the music and muse of Benedict bridgerton and yes, you were very much doomed.

" What a pleasant site, a spinster smiling on her own, have you planned some scandalous plan of yours to bag some noble man ? " Claire wheezed in a duckling like laughter, shared with Asha Patil and Gissele Turner.

You refused to say anything, it only further added spice to their boring marital lives, with their husbands out and wombs empty.

" Would you look at her ? She's giving us that attitude, no wonder she's still unmarried ! " Scowled Asha, with her frizzy hair and crooked nose, her eyes coated in loathing of most tainted kind.

" She might had gotten the ring if she wasn't being Mr. Bridgerton's bitch." Gissele whispered it down to you and anger shot up through your veins and your eyes snapped to her, it didn't matter if she was your elder sister and the rage that blinded you was so fierce that you didn't feel when two big tears rolled down your cheek.

" Don't cry now, you can always be his mistress atleast." They all laughed, loud and big and white teeth flashing, with their fake diamond rings rubbing in your eyes but it was too blur, you saw nothing, you heard nothing, everything was drowning around you.

" Speaking of mistresses, Lord Hasting has bought a bigger estate for his mistress than your home in east London and I wouldn't blame him lady Hasting."

You can hear it in the silence.

It was your love's voice, it was your Benedict speaking and you lifted your mascara stained lashed eyes at him.

If you had known him less than you couldn't have known of the terrible anger that was shaking him, that smile was no ordinary, it was feral and stray, wanting to tear anyone who dared to come near, he was burning in anger that was beyond words.

Claire sizzled at that remark, turning her hand to her palm side and only moments ago she was flashing her ring and now, she was hiding it.

" Don't ruin your reputation by showing ungratefuls such as her your pity Mr. Bridgerton." It would've hurt less, were it Claire or Asha, but it was your own half sister, be it half blood but blood all the same.

" Lady Turner, i have no wish to speak to you, you have hurt my best friend beyond words, you had taken her affections for granted so if someone's ungrateful then it's sorely you, you don't deserve a sister like her, she's too good for all of us." He was carefully placing the word and his anger slipped between, his teeth grinded and breath hitched, you stared, just at him and him, everything was getting dimmer but you knew in that moment, you would know him in darkness.

you can feel it with the light's out.

He had done many things for you, Benedict stole Anthony's horse to take you out on a midnight ride, he nicked Colin's sword and taught you fencing, bought ribbons of your favourite pastel silk, saved your favourite sweets, and so many and so more, but this was something you couldn't have done yourself if you wanted, he had done it, he had stood up for you and it was the most gleaming moment of your life, he wasn't playing hero, he wasn't being mean, he was protecting your with your honour and Benedict, the gentleman who wouldn't hurt a fly, he was going to dagger them down with words alone.

He was speaking and speaking and they were all quiet, their eyes low and nose bowed down, he was speaking and speaking, words clear with pure affection and respect and then your felt it.

The warmness aroused in your womanhood and an inaudible gasp parted through your lips as you felt the slicky wet feeling caress your inner thigh and the sensation was so electrifying that you had to close your eyes in order to take a breath and even then, you could feel his words, soft and praising, " ......if you were half good as a woman she is....." He was breathless and he wasn't stopping and something inside you wanted to cup his face and tell him, don't Stop, never stop.

And then his eyes looked for you, he found your gaze and held it and you felt the shame, you couldn't do this to him, this burning desire would take you both down in flames and what it would be to become one, only in ashes, it was scaring you.

And before you could think of say anything, you were already on your feet, stumbling through the crowd with your gown kissing the floor behind you.

You didn't know where you were going but far, away and this feeling wouldn't let go, you knew well but you wanted air, the warmness that was spreading was maddening and the hunger was tugging under your skin.

He was calling out your name, you hated yourself but you needed to run, this love would ruin you, what if Benedict hated you if you told him how you felt, how you thought about him, would he call you a whore along with Gissele, would it hurt more ?

More than anything.

His voice turned to pleading as crowd thickened and you were getting out of his sight. You wouldn't look back, because if you did then you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from doing something very stupid.

You were out of the gates, descending down the stairs as one heel slipped out but you didn't care, you were on a run.

Johnny was already motioning the horses as you frantically climbed in, you could see Colin chasing down Penelope's carriage in a distance as you opened the window to inhale heavy gulps of air.

Would Benedict Chase you down too ? Would he come and look for you ? And if he did, what would you tell him ?

You are my best friend.

[youaresimplylovely]

"He Called me Pretty!" - CS 55

summary: in which Carlos and Y/N is baby sitting Penelope and Leo, suddenly Carlos calls his wife pretty which makes her all cute and giddy <3

pairings: Carlos Sainz x Pregnant Wife!Reader

warnings: none, pure fluff like fr

word count: 1,439

a/n: we r so close to 900 aaaa ily allllll u deserve to be fed with thisss also should i make a carlos sainz x pregnant wife reader series!?!!? also penelope's nickname as we all know is "p" <33

[re edited version, added: taglist, taglist form, and feedback form]

masterlist

Being pregnant was two things for you, awesome and horrific.

Cause who the fuck told you that it would be this horrendous? And a whole rollecoaster ride. First trimester was pure hell, that's what you would yap and yap all night and day long to your husband. What's great about him is he would always say "Ay mi amor you know if I could just take the pregnancy for you, I would." He'd chuckle, which made you a laughing mess.

Meanwhile, second trimester was a more chill, God how you thanked everyone who told you that. Now you were 6 months in, so close, so close Y/N. You'd repeat to yourself.

Boy were you thankful to have a husband like Carlos cause honestly your whole pregnancy consists of being mean to him, pouting like a kid, and being his big baby.

Like one night, the cold air brushed against your whole body making you shiver. A loud whine and groan escapes your mouth, eyebrows furrowing and mouth with a full on pout as you open your eyes seeing your husband take all of the duvet in. Not even leaving space for his beautiful pregnant wife!?!

You didn't say you anything, you just sat there pouting like a kid with your arms crossed while you stared at him. Carlos has a strong feeling and urge to suddenly wake up which he never really gets especially at 3am but boy did he had the feeling. He opens his eyes lazily, eyebrows furrowing like yours as he sees you pouting and glaring at him.

He groans. "mami?" he says in his groggy but still hot voice.

You didn't even answer him, you just pouted and gave him a playful but still slightly rough smack on his shoulder as you turn around to face the wall.

A chuckle comes out of Carlos's mouth, he loved his wife. He really did, even if it was one of these times. He smiles happily still sleepy as he wraps the duvet around your body while his hands gently pulled you in closer to him. He wraps his arms around your belly, gently rubbing it knowing that finally his beautiful wife is warm and happy as he mumbles words.

"You saying something?!" you snap, still with a pout on your face but that soon melted away feeling your husband's warm touch but most especially the duvet of course.

"That i love you." He utters, pressing kisses against your neck.

You smiles happily, putting your hands on top of your husband's which was still on your baby bump. "I love you too." you mumble as you drift off to sleep.

Few weeks later, you get a sudden text from Max and Charles asking if you could babysit P and Leo. You didn't hesitate to say yes, you loved the two of them, you and Carlos have been babysitting them for quite a while since Charles and Max always had these "best friend" times together. You beg to disagree, you were always team lestappen.

What you didn't expect is too see the two kids, yes Leo is considered a kid cause he is a freaking kid even if he's a dog and we love him. Anyways, you thought Max and Charles would be there to accompany them inside but instead when you opened the front door you saw P smiling happily like the little girl she is with her pink backpack and Leo wagging his tail and his tongue out.

"HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII" P exclaims happily with a bright smile as she opens her arms.

Your jaw dropped but you changed it to a smile, seeing the two of them. "Hiiii!" You match P's energy as you lean down to pick her up in your arms and Leo in the other.

P smiles happily seeing you as she wraps her arms around you and gives you kisses all over your cheek which she always does and so does Leo. You giggle, feeling the warmth of the kisses of the two kids, small licks of Leo on your left and P's kisses on your right.

"Maxie and Uncle Charlie went out again, maybe they're on a date." P giggles that was followed by a huff from Leo, the pup sure did agree to his older sister.

"I swear, your dads have more dates than me and your uncle Carlos." You mutter, making P laugh as you close the front door. Once you closed the door, Carlos came right downstairs with a smile on his face.

"If it isn't my two favorite kids." He chuckles, approaching you guys closer as he quickly gives P a peck on her cheek and eventually taking Leo from your arms.

You smile, watching Leo lick Carlos all over his face. Your head turns to P as you smile at her, gently putting her down to the couch while she lays down comfortably, inhaling the fresh air and the coldness of your house that she loved.

While P laid down comfortably on the couch and Leo and Carlos are having a sweet moment, you head over to the fridge to grab the puppuccino you saved just for Leo.

"Didn't Charles say no more puppuccinos for Leo mi amor?" Carlos chuckles, seeing you with the small cup on your hand.

"Yeah but this little cutie deserves to be spoiled." You giggle, kissing Leo on his head as you hand Carlos the puppuccino to give to Leo. "And you pretty girl." You smile, sitting next to P on the couch. "i made you cookies."

Those cookies lasted not even five minutes for P, she really loves your baking especially your cookies. As the hours passed, all four of you just stayed and chilled on the couch while watching tv. P was nestled in your lap, her head laying down against your baby bump that she loved caressing.

"You're big." She giggles, giving pecks on your baby bump as she eventually looks up at you with those cute little eyes of her.

"Yea, i sure am." You laugh, sighing softly. Lately, you've just felt so soft-hearted, you don't know why. You've been clingy to Carlos and he's absolutely into it. You really don't know but it's definitely a cute look on you.

You didn't even notice Carlos's soft gaze on you. He was staring at you like a teenager in love as he caresses Leo with his hands who was now asleep. Carlos was so happy to have you especially when you got pregnant. He loves and adores you so much that in most days you don't even notice his loving stares.

"You look pretty." He smiles softly, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek as he looks at you and that cute little sundress of yours.

It was like your world stopped and your heart melted so much. It's not that Carlos doesn't say you look pretty, in fact he does say it everyday but something was just different today. You felt the loving presence of your husband and his love for you.

You pout cutely, eyelashes fluttering as you smile at him. "What did you say?" You ask him softly, knowing damn you well you heard him but you wanted to hear that word again.

"I said you look pretty mi amor." He smiles, scooting closer next to you, his other arm wrapping around your shoulder as he places a soft kiss on your cheek.

You couldn't help but smile and giggle, you were like a little girl getting a doll. "He said i look pretty!" You say to P with pure happiness and joy.

"You are pretty!" She giggles, moving to your side to give you a kiss on your other cheek.

Carlos smiles at the beautiful sight but he wonders why that was your reaction even if he always said it everyday. "I always say that to you everyday mi amor." He says with a confused look but still with a smile on his mouth.

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I know you do, it's just it feels different now and i don't know i just love you so much that i feel so happy and giddy even if all you said was that i looked pretty."

He smiles, pressing a kiss on your forehead. "I love you more."

After being together for so long you still loved your husband and his cute but small actions that gave you butterflies even if it was just a simple "you look pretty." Still, you couldn't contain your excitement. "He said i look pretty!!" You squeal once again to P who was matching your energy.

@pear-1206 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @euphoricchills @charlesleclerx @inchident-jpg @amethyst-bitch @dr4g0ngirl @likedbygaslyy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @httpstoyosi @evermore55 @bibissparkles @lokideservesahug @darleneslane @shelbyteller @spookystitchery @bearryyy @justtprachisblog @alliwantisadonut @papaya-twinks @casperlikej @funnelcakeee @xoscar03 @snapeeballsack @silverxxs-world @thearchieves @destinyg237 @juliee4everial @thebasicbiatch @67-angelofthelordme-67 @tallrock35 @sya-skies @hockeyboysarehot @iloveyou3000morgan @sugaspawsmari @aymfsts @khaylin27 @be-your-coffee-pot @yettobedetermined7 @dhanihamidi @formula1simp @bokutos-babyowl @peachiicherries @youdontknowmeshh @nyramylove @annispamz @formulaal @scout-likes-sharks @valentine @oliviah-25

[remaining taglist for those who weren't tagged bc of the limit]

taglist form

feedback form

[sweetbans29]

Feud - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You and Caitlin navigate a long-standing basketball feud (based on THIS, THIS, and THIS request)

Warnings: mentions of injury, slight angst, happy ending

Word Count: 4.4k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I am saying this now, I do not think I will be doing a part 2 for this. Not anywhere in the near future at least.

If someone were to tell you by your senior year of high school you would have a rivalry going on between you and some girl from Iowa, you would call them crazy.

You grew up in Southern California - attending Mater Dei High School and playing ball year-round. You were looked at as one of the most promising college recruits alongside girls like Paige Bueckers and Caitlin Clark. As exciting as it is to be named alongside these girls - it also came with its challenges.

The media caught wind that you were talking to Iowa. Talking initially all about how Iowa was going to be a powerhouse of a team having both you and Caitlin. When you announced that you committed to South Carolina - that is when they immediately pitted the two of you against each other.

It was all funny to you since you had never met the girl. You were encouraged to not look into what the media was saying but there were times that just wasn't possible. You saw how they compared the two of you - never showing the full truth. Even in the facts, they would only take bits and pieces of it and try to show the world how one was better than the other.

When you got to college - it only got worse. You remember your first game against Iowa. It had been all the media could talk about - seeing you go up against Clark for the first time. You saw headlines that went from saying how you didn't want to live in Caitlin's shadow or how you couldn't keep up with Caitlin's growth. Other headlines talked about how she hated you so much that she made you choose a different state to go to school. All of it was a load of bull in your opinion.

At your first game against the Hawkeyes, you were more nervous about all the talk surrounding you and Caitlin than the game itself. You couldn't get the last headline out of your head - 'Caitlin Clark to run circles around SC's freshman'.

"Hey, don't let any of what they are saying get to you," one of your teammates Aliyah says breaking you from the trance you were in.

"Ya, no. I'm good," you say coming back to reality. Aliyah just nods, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

The team goes and plays an incredible game. You were up at the half and were ready to take the second half which is exactly what you did. It was probably your best game yet and you couldn't be more proud.

At the end of the game, someone comes into your locker room and asks you to step outside. You follow before heading to the pressor to find Caitlin standing in an empty hall.

You are surprised and nervous all of a sudden but make your way over to the girl.

"Hi," you say not really sure what to say.

"Hi," she says back. As if just as nervous as you, she awkwardly extends her hand, "I'm Caitlin." You shake her hand and introduce yourself. She continues.

"I wanted to meet you in person in a controlled environment," she says with a little laugh eluding to hiding your first meeting from the media.

"Ya, they have been sort of insane," you say with a laugh of your own. "You had a really solid game today - I can see why so many people love you." You look at the girl standing before you and see her begin to fidget.

"Me?" She says on the verge of shock. " You dominated that court today - I was having a hard time keeping up with you. If anyone had a solid game it was you." She says.

"Well, thank you CC." You say with a smile. "That means a lot coming from you."

"Of course..." She says.

"I am really glad you came here," you begin. "If I'm honest - the media has been a lot recently and I know you are nothing like they are making you out to be. I don't know how you have felt about it but I truly appreciate this gesture. We don't need to be the best of friends, but we don't need to be strangers."

"I like that, although I will never stop trying to beat you on the floor." She says.

"Oh, I expect nothing less. Now knowing you are a sweetheart, I have no problem keeping up this 'feud' the media is creating - it's what the people want." You say playful giving her a little push.

"Oh that won't be hard considering the second we step onto the court my only goal is to bury you into the ground," Caitlin says with a smile. "I am sure we can keep this up and give them what they want with ease. Just know, it is all love off the court."

The two of you exchanged numbers and went on your way. Over the course of the next few years, both of your paths crossed several times. At games, award events, and random camps. Every time the two of you were in the same building the media would eat it up - always posting photos of the two of you giving each other death stares (which never really happened, they just timed it perfectly to make it seem like that or take snippets completely out of context). Since you first met her, the media hasn't taken such a big toll on you. It also helped that she would text you whenever something overly threatening or mean came out. It had you falling for the girl every time - deciding to push the feelings aside, thinking it was just her being sweet.

It was your junior year when things heated up in the media even more than they had in the past. Going into March Madness, all they could talk about was you against Caitlin so much that it brought back all the drama that started when you were going into college. Through it all Caitlin had reached out and reminded you none of it was real. It was very sweet of her.

Your two teams were facing off in the final four and you could not be more prepared.

The game was a close one the entire time - neither team had more of a 5-point lead at any time. It all came down to the final quarter.

Tied going into it - both teams fought to go to the championship game. Two minutes into the quarter things took a turn for the worst.

You were guarding Caitlin - staying vigilant on defense, ensuring she didn't get a good shot. When she went up on a jumper you hit her arm while trying to block the ball drawing the foul. You cursed at yourself for allowing her to go to the free-point line.

She makes the first one with ease and sets back to the line for a second. Everyone anticipates it going in but the second she releases, you can see how her eyes shift as she begins to make her wait for the ball. You cut in front of her, jumping up going for the rebound as she does the same. You get your hand on the ball trying to hold onto it as you make your way down to the ground.

What you weren't expecting was to be shifted so much that when you came down you landed directly on your knee, causing you to let out a murderous scream. Your hands immediately let go of the ball and make their way to the center of the pain - your knee.

The stadium silences immediately - leaving only your cries as you curl up into a ball.

Caitlin - being the closest one to you is hunched over you with her hands on your shoulder while your teammates run to get medical.

"You're okay, you're okay." She keeps muttering as she really doesn't know what to do to comfort you. She knows she is the one who knocked you off balance in the air but never imagined this to happen.

"They are coming," she says trying to restore hope in you.

The medical team comes up and instantly knows they need to get you out of there immediately. They call for a stretcher which comes within seconds of them asking for it. Your eyes are glued shut as you bite the top of your jersey to avoid letting out any more screams.

The pain has blocked out anything and everything happening around you. You can't even remember how it happened, all you know is the centralized pain.

Caitlin watches as they remove you from the floor. She has never been this distressed when it has come to someone leaving the floor due to injury - not even girls from her own team. Cait makes the mistake of looking up at one of the monitors as they replay what happened and tears begin to form on the brim of her eyes as she clearly sees she is the cause of your injury. The media is going to have a field day with this but even more so - all she could think about was how she could ever begin apologizing to you.

Kate makes her way over to the shaking girl and pulls her into a hug.

"That wasn't your fault," she says in her ear. "Don't carry this."

Kate had been the only person on the team who knew the friendship that had been growing into more than Caitlin knew how to put into words. Kate could also see, Cait was very much at fault for what happened but knows how much Caitlin keeps in her head and shouldn't shoulder this right now.

Once you are taken through the tunnel - everyone does the best they can to regroup from the traumatic scene that had just taken place.

Your team was trying to regroup as they had to make adjustments on the court after losing their star player, also just trying to remain composed after seeing and hearing you go down. Kate was trying to get Caitlin to calm down and get her head back in the game. The crowd at this point remained silent until play resumed.

Your team lost to Iowa by 4 and no one could blame them. It was a hard loss but everyone was more concerned what the outcome of your injury would be over the ending of March Madness.

Once you were taken back, they decided it would be best to take you to the ER to get checked out. Shortly after arriving, they determined it was a transverse patella fracture which meant your patella broke into two and it would require surgery to fix if you ever wanted to play again. It was a no-brainer.

The next few days were a whirlwind for you - they kept you in the hospital as they prepped for the surgery and you started recovery after.

Your team came to visit and took turns rotating so you wouldn't be alone. Your manager thought it would be best to stay off of social media which you didn't argue with one bit. The last thing you needed was someone saying how your career was over. You went so far as to get a secondary phone and phone number just to communicate with the team and your family.

Once you were let go from the hospital to recover at home, you finally got your phone back and it was filled with messages. You scanned through them stopping at the one that caught your attention the most.

Phone in hand, you stared at the dozens of missed calls and messages from Caitlin. You clicked into her messages and began to read about how sorry she was and how she wanted you to let her know when you were home. You fought with yourself to listen to all of the voicemails she had left and settled on listening to the last.

You click on it and bring your phone up to your ear.

"Hi," she sounds completely defeated. "I know I have left you countless voicemails but I just really want to see how you are doing. This was never meant to happen - I...I don't know what was supposed to happen but it was not this." You hear the shakey breath that she takes before continuing. "I don't want to keep bugging you if you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I wouldn't even be listening to this and would have just deleted it but I know you are better than I am and just pray that this gets to you. That this gets to you before any of the media gets to you or spins the story into something it's not. Not that you owe me anything, but I ask that you don't listen to any of it. Don't do that to yourself because none of it is true. It is all lies that they have spun to their own narrative." She is crying now but does the best she can to cover it up. "This was never supposed to happen, I am so sorry." She struggles out and hangs up.

You imagined the first handful of messages were similar to this one and decided not to listen to them. It wasn't out of anger or resentment but you knew that in order for you to move on you couldn't hang on that moment.

The next few months consisted of recovery. You were determined to come back for your senior year and were going to come back stronger and more prepared than you have ever been. When the season started - you were back to training but weren't jumping back into games until the third week into the season.

Your manager did a really good job of keeping you out of the media - per your request leading up to the season. The first time you were brought back into the light was during your team's first game of the season. You were on the bench - coaching and encouraging your team. It wasn't the first time the media had seen you but the first time they got to talk to you. There were preseason training videos that were released that showed you back in practice but always highlighted other players on your team.

During this first game though, you were going to be mic'd up for a midgame interview.

"We are so excited to have you on the air as your team kicks off the season, can you give us insight on how recovery went for you?"

They were really just jumping in. You let out a little laugh and proceeded to answer the question.

"I am excited to be back - recovery was not easy and challenged me in more ways than I expected it would but I can honestly say it has grown me in more ways than playing would have." You say as your eyes are glued to the game happening in front of you. "That a way Tessa! Get back get back!" You yell to your team.

"We got word that you will be back on the court in a few weeks, are you excited to be playing for your senior year?" Was asked next.

"Of course. I have been itching to get back on the court - YES PAOPAO! AND ONE! - sorry, yes I am ready to get back out there and help my team on the court. We have a single mission and are ready to conquer." You say.

"Does that one mission have anything to do with Caitlin Clark?" One of the anchors asks, curiosity getting the best of them.

You take a second to compose your answer.

"I wish nothing but the best for the girl. She has really elevated the game and visibility of women's sports in general. If our paths cross again, which I can see happening - there are no ill intentions." You say and then give your exit, going back to the game.

Caitlin was watching and couldn't stop replaying the video. You never responded to any of her messages - even the ones that came further along in your recovery. You had cut her off knowing it was what you needed. She couldn't blame you but really wanted to pick up where the two of you left off - during your time of not talking she realized how much she wanted you in her life. You were one of the only people she met with the same mentality as she had and could share in the craziness that the media spat out. You brought out the best in her without even being in the building.

Cait watched you for what felt like the hundredth time and really hoped that your paths would cross this season.

Both of your teams went the whole season without playing the other. This only built the tension for the NCAA tournament. You had jumped seamlessly back in with your team and contributed to their undefeated season. Caitlin and the Hawkeyes fought hard coming back for redemption. As the tournament heightened and both of your teams kept winning - the media kept circulating articles about the faceoff everyone has been waiting a year to see, Caitlin and you on the court again.

Right before the Final Four - videos of your injury circulated again and pitted Caitlin as the villain in this completely made-up narrative. When hearing them - it took everything in you to not reach out to her. Everyone was telling you not to talk to anyone about Caitlin. Your manager also strongly advised you to not make any contact considering everything was under a microscope.

You did really well until you saw that Iowa was playing UConn in the final four. You had been friends with Paige for years now and knew they were ready to take on Iowa but something in your heart was rooting for Caitlin.

The morning of the Iowa v. UConn game you did it. You pulled out your phone and sent a quick message. It was a simple text but carried more weight than just the words present - it was the first contact you had initiated since before your injury.

Caitlin was still in her apartment when she got the message. She was straightening her hair with cameras on her for a documentary coming out on ESPN. She puts her straightener down and picks up her phone, trying not to show the message's effect on her knowing she was being recorded. Looking at the phone for longer than needed her eyes were glued to it.

[Other half: You got this.]

She doesn't know how to respond but she wants to. As she is thinking through how, her phone rings. It's Kate. She answers and quickly makes her way out of her apartment knowing she is picking up Kate before heading to the stadium.

Caitlin didn't mention the text she had gotten - not that she could mention anything with the camera crew still present but her mind was going crazy.

The Hawkeyes went in and took UConn by two points, sending them back to the championship and facing off SC in the championship. The face-off every sports fan has been waiting for.

The celebration was grand but Caitlin's mind kept wandering back to how she was going to respond to you.

When she was finally able to make it back to the locker room, she sat and responded to you.

[CC: Can we meet up after we play?]

Caitlin sent it and sort of regretted asking but she wanted to talk to you face to face. You responded faster than she had expected.

[Other Half: Yes]

The championship game comes faster than everyone anticipated. Both teams preparing for one final game. Up to this point - you alongside a Kamilla had committed to the draft. From Iowa - Caitlin had made her statement saying she was going to the draft. Both of you know this last game is a significant one. It would be the last of your college career.

The game is a crazy one - buckets exchanged with the leads fluctuating between your team and hers. At final buzzard it was your team that came out on top.

The celebration was epic as you saw Caitlin and her team make their way to their locker. Pictures were taken and confetti was thrown. When things begin to die down you see Caitlin emerge from the tunnel looking for something. You have an idea that she is looking for you and are proven right when she spots you, nervously making your way to you.

When she approaches you - the two of you nod to one another saying little good jobs. The amount of cameras surrounding you is insane as they get the content of you two together.

You want to put this college feud behind you as you both head into the W so in one swift movement, you remove your jersey. Caitlin takes the hint and does the same leaving you both in your undershirts.

You pass your jersey to her and she does the same with you. You both hold them up and let the media get all the photos they want of the two of you. Once you are done, you pull her in for a hug.

"Meet me in the coach's room," you whisper in her ear. She nods and the two of you part.

You finish the celebration and interviews and head back to grab your stuff. Before heading out, you make your way to meet Caitlin.

When you get there you see a girl sitting in a chair, looking down at her hands as she picks at her nails. She doesn't hear you enter but looks up when you close the door. She immediately stands and makes her way to you not really knowing what to say.

You look at her and pull her into a hug. You never said it but you missed her more than anything.

"I am so sorry," she says, her words muffled as they are spoken into your neck.

"Stop apologizing." You tell the girl in your arms.

"It was all my fault - I was mad and didn't realize my strength when I went up. You were out because of me and I will never forgive myself for that," she says not wanting to let you go.

"Caitlin lighted up on yourself." You say and pull away to look her in the eyes. "If I am honest, I blamed you at first. I was upset and frustrated and blamed you. But as time went on, I realized I only had myself to blame. You were playing the game - I would have done the same exact thing. As I was recovering - I started to be thankful for what had happened because it forced me to grow up. No one likes to be injured but I wouldn't be who I am today if I didn't have that time."

Caitlin nods along to everything you say. You bring your fingers to wipe away the tears that fall.

"If anything I should be the one apologizing," you say and Caitlin shakes her head from side to side.

"No, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I do, I cut you out and I shouldn't have. I am sorry." You say. "Friends?" You ask sticking your hand out in a joking manner.

She takes your hand and shakes it. "Friends." She confirms.

The next week is a whirlwind as the two of you part ways to get ready for the draft. You two talk at least once a day trying to figure out what the next chapter of your lives could possibly look like.

When the night finally comes, it is more than you can imagine. Seeing so many congregate to highlight the sport and get ready for another great season while welcoming the new rookies is something you will never forget.

Caitlin is picked first - heading to the Indiana Fever. You could not be more excited for her. You were mentally prepared to head to the Phoenix Mercury or the New York Liberty.

It comes as a complete shock when you are picked by the Indiana Fever as well. You head up to the stage and go through your initial interview.

As you make your way back - you barely get to the hall before you see someone running up to you. Before you know it, Caitlin is in your arms. Her body is flush against yours as her arms wrap around you, squeezing you with everything she has. You lift her off the ground and squeeze her right back.

You could care less about who is watching - the only thing running through your mind is that you are about to spend the next four years with the girl in your arms.

When you place her on the ground she doesn't let you go but rather buries her face into your neck. You smile and let her hug you for as long as she wants.

It's in this moment that things begin to stir inside you. Your heart swells and you feel whole. Your hand comes up to hold the girl's head. There is no way the two of you are just friends and this moment solidifies that for you.

Weeks pass after the draft and you are getting situated in Indiana. You and Caitlin decided to find an apartment together.

The night of the draft the two of you found your way back to each other after going your separate ways to celebrate. That is when Caitlin admitted to having feelings for you dating back to your sophomore year of college. You sat there in complete awe of the girl and admitted that you had just recently realized your feelings for her but could probably date it to your recovery. From then on the two of you decided to take it slow - knowing how the media has been towards the two of you up to this point.

That sort of flew out the window when she asked you to find an apartment together when you both moved to Indy. And you were sure as hell glad she did.

After four years of the media pitting the two of you against each other, you were finally able to change the narrative. You were no longer rivals but now the new power team ready to take on the W.

AN: Tried to get a little of everything in here, I hope you enjoyed it! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[whismizxal]

show me off dr3

── in which daniel ricciardo loves showing off his greek girlfriend.

── warning: google translated greek, some spelling and grammar mistakes, relationships, kind of suggestive? anything else I missed please let me know xx

f1 drivers. navigation.

────────────────────────────

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 645,922,192 others

danielricciardo be jealous or should I say να ζηλεύεις γιατί είναι ΤΟ ΚΟΡΙΤΣΙ ΜΟΥ. (be jealous because she’s my girl)

tagged; yourusername

view 11,221 comments

username absolute beauty

username I am very jealous

username pls their so cute

username he loveessss showing off the greek she taught him

yourusername duolingo lessons payed off

⤷ danielricciardo you were a better teacher

⤷ duolingo I see how it is.

⤷ danielricciardo she gave me private lessons mate, what can I say?

⤷ username DAMN OUTING HER LIKE THAT

⤷ yourusername you’re sleeping on the couch

⤷ danielricciardo wait I am sorry please baby

username he calls her baby 🤭🤭

⤷ username so do many couples in the world, what about it?

username you forgot to add a comma after the say.

⤷ username aren’t you just a ray of sunshine

────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────

DANIEL AND Y/N WERE IN LOVE.

there was no doubt about it.

the way their eyes glow when the other is mentioned or walks into a room is something that is out of a disney film. the quick glances of adoration they give each other are constantly caught on camera proving their love for each other further more.

the way he looked at her when she was talking made it seem like she hung the moon and the stars, and there wasn’t a soul who could get daniel to tear his eyes away from the girl he loved calling a goddess.

“daniel, you listening?” she asked softly, looking at him a smile which told him she had caught him staring at her.

“can’t lie baby, I wasn’t.” he responded sheepishly but never taking his eyes off her. “you’re just so beautiful.” he muttered as he went closer to her and stroked her cheek.

“how’s the greek going?” she asked with a soft smile as she looked into his eyes with complete affection.

“I think it’s going quite well. wanna hear me speak?” he spoke excitedly, a huge grin on his face as he asked the question.

“of course I do.” she replied, her smile matching his.

“εισαι η αγαπη της ζωης μου.” he says with a accent, a proud smile on his face. (you are the love of my life)

y/n laughed softly as blush crept on her face at his words. she reached up to kiss his cheek. “και είσαι δικός μου.” she spoke sweetly. (and you are mine.)

“wait what does that mean?” he asked a little panicked as he goes on his phone to search it up, forcing a laugh out of her.

“I love you so much.” she tells him, grabbing his face to look at her.

he dropped his phone and kissed her with a smile, lifting her off her feet as they laughed into the kiss. “I love you too.” he says against her lips.

“I know, you love to show me off on instagram.” she giggled, running her fingers through his hair.

“can you blame me?” he responded, picking her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moving his hands to be under her thighs to hold her. “you’re so fucking beautiful and I need to make sure everyone knows it.” he says, kissing her cheek as she blushed.

“thank you for leaning greek. you don’t understand how much i appreciate it.” she whispers to him, leaning her forehead against his as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“of course love, got make sure your family can understand my vows.” he smiles smugly as he walks towards the sofa still holding her in his arms as he sits down.

“been waiting three years for you to ask.” she joked as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“don’t worry, I’ll ask soon. just don’t want you to be expecting it.” he said, kissing her head when he saw her cheeks turn red.

they both sat in a comfortable silence as daniel rested his head on y/n’s, stroking her thigh as he smiled at the thought of the engagement ring he bought two weeks ago that was hiding in one of his socks at the back of his drawer.

────────────────────────────

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 239,821,292 others

danielricciardo some more future wife appreciation

tagged; yourusername

view 10,922 comments

yourusername show me off 🤭🤭

⤷ danielricciardo course 🤭

⤷ username he’s in love in love

username looked at my bf and sighed cause why can’t he show me off like this

⤷ username cause if he did then people might try and take you away from him.

⤷ username omg thank you ☺️

⤷ username call me 😉

username future wife this, future wife that, make it present wife!

⤷ yourusername that’s what I am saying. I wanna be called his wife not his girlfriend 😔

⤷ danielricciardo all in due time baby

username yourusername if he gets you to wear a really nice dress and get your nails done, there’s a 95% chance he’s gonna propose

⤷ yourusername 🤭🤭 oml thank youuuu

────────────────────────────

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 282,627,911 others

yourusername HE PROPOSED IN GREEK. I AM GONNA BE HIS WIFEEEEEEEE 🪿🪿

tagged; danielricciardo

view 12,945 comments

username FINALLYY

username WHY DID SHE USE A DUCK EMOJI

⤷ yourusername they remind me of daniel.

⤷ username how so 💀

⤷ yourusername I am not permitted to talk about it

username so happy for you guys!

username in greek!! THATS ROMANCE

carlossainz55 finally did it I see

⤷ landonorris at least he no longer will say she’s his future wife, but just his wife

an; this is kinda of bad so I might end up re-writing this in the near future.

────────────────────────────

[cobaltperun]

Tara Carpenter x Female Reader

R and Tara play together as children. R expresses her love for Tara, and her desire to marry her in the future!

Make us something special, like you always do!💙

Marry Me?

Tara Carpenter x Female Reader (Request)

Masterlist

Word count: 1.1k

The first time you were worried about Tara was when you were really young, when she tried to fit in and run with other kids despite her asthma. She ran out of breath quickly enough, but still pushed on, needing to feel accepted and in the end the teacher needed to help her through an asthma attack. That was when you were seven, and ever since then you refused to play games that required Tara to run or where she could get exhausted.

Which was why you were looking for her all over the playground. She hid well, she always did, and being tiny only helped her, but you loved the challenge. You went to look beneath the slide, because that was the last place you didn't look at.

And then, just as you crouched down to check, Tara jumped out, startling you and making you fall back onto your butt.

Her laughter filled the empty playground, and as infectious as it was you couldn't help but laugh with her.

"Found you, I guess," you laughed as she dropped down to the grass next to you.

"You didn't, I scared you," she denied your victory.

"Wha- Tara those aren't the rules!" you exclaimed, unknowingly taking her bait.

"Sore loser!" she stuck her tongue out at you.

"Cheater," you grumbled with a pout and looked away.

You heard Tara lying down, but still maintained your "angry pout" you didn't like it when someone scared you, Tara included.

"Let's go to the swing?" Tara suggested and you felt her leaning on your back and hanging her arms around you. "Hmm? Grumpy?"

As if you could ever say no to her. "Say 'please'," you still had to get at least that out of her.

"Please," she said it so easily, but you knew she meant it, she absolutely meant it, so you got up and the two of you ran over to the swings.

"What do you wanna do when you grow up?" Tara suddenly asked you as you started swinging. The Sun would set soon, so you didn't have much time together left today, but the sky was so beautiful right now, and the last bits of sunlight shining over the trees in the park made the moment feel almost magical.

"I wanna be a doctor!" you said immediately with the certainty only someone of your age could have. At nine years old you definitely didn't know anything about what it would take to do that, you just knew you liked the idea. "You?"

Tara thought it over. "I dunno, I'll think of something later," she shrugged. "Why a doctor?"

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks. "None of your business," you refused to tell her.

Tara whipped her head toward you abruptly. "Y/N!" she pouted and you had to look away from her, because she was using her big puppy eyes on you. "Come on, please tell me?"

"No," you felt your resolve breaking, even as you refused to tell her.

But Tara was nothing, if not stubborn. "You're mean if you don't tell me," she said.

"I am mean then," you still tried to outdo her in stubbornness.

"I won't hang out with you for a week," she threatened, all serious and you sighed, giving in to her.

"I wanna cure your asthma," you whispered, too embarrassed to look at her as she got off the swing and stopped your own.

"For me?" she asked as you jumped off as well and you could only nod. She reached up, ruffling the hair at the top of your head. "Thanks, Y/N," she didn't tell you you had to be a doctor, she didn't tell you you had to cure her, she just thanked her. "You sure we'll still be friends when we grow up?" there was something in her eyes, a sadness you saw only every now and then. Her dad left recently so you understood it had something to do with him.

"Yeah, I... I kinda wanna marry you, Tara, I really like you," you had no idea why you blurted it out all of a sudden, if it was to make her understand just how much you liked her, or if there was another reason, but you said it, and you meant it wholeheartedly.

Tara laughed at that and took your hand, it was time to leave the playground and go home.

~X~

Fifteen years and a lot of things happening later, Tara sat by your side in the bedroom the two of you shared. There were tons of your books and her movies on the shelves and she loved how personal the two of you made the room look. Chemistry, medicine and horror, an amazing combination if anyone asked her. She leaned against your shoulder as the two of you watched a movie. In the end, you didn't turn out to be a doctor, it just wasn't for you, but you did get into medical chemistry, so, as far as Tara was concerned it was close enough given it was a decision you made while you were still naive kids.

She watched you from the side, much like she did while you were children, and though both of you grew up she could still remember all the times you played without anyone else around.

"Say, Y/N," she began, happy that she could spend the night with you, her girlfriend of almost five years.

"Yeah?" you asked, looking away from the movie to look at her.

"I've been thinking of that time we were kids, on the playground," she began, smiling teasingly at you.

"Real specific T," you chuckled.

"You know, when you told me you wanted to be a doctor," she said to freshen up your memory.

You choked on your breath. "Ah, that time," you chuckled, clearly embarrassed as you rubbed the back of your head and looked away from her.

Tara's smile widened and she reached up to ruffle your hair. "It's okay, it's just me," she assured you and leaned in to softly kiss your lips.

"I know," you muttered against her lips, your hand moving to cup her cheek.

"Marry me?" she asked and you didn't choke this time.

"Of course," you just told her, and she couldn't be any happier. You kept your word to her, you stayed by her side, no matter how crazy her life got, she could count on you. And no matter how crazy things got in the future, she knew she'd still be able to count on you to have her back.

A/N: Special enough? 🤣🤣

[writtenbymoonflower]

I hope this is where requests go :)

I was hoping you could wright poly marauders x fem reader. Their at a bar/club and don’t know each other yet. Reader is dancing and someone starts to harass and or touch her inappropriately. Either the three marauders notice or she goes to them for help.

I totally understand if this is to uncomfy to wright :)

Hope your having a good day ☀️☀️☀️

thanks for requesting, hunny! I hope this is okay! fem!reader x poly!marauders

cw: sexual harassment, non-consensual manhandling

1k words

You were so clammy that if your clothes weren’t already skin-tight, they would likely be clinging to your form by now. You’d only had a few drinks, but the alcohol combined with the crowd of bodies enough to make your face flush and your hair frizz as you stood in the throes of the dance floor. Your friends had long since strayed away with their new dance partners. The bar wasn’t very crowded, members were sparse enough for groups to spread out and you were still able to spot the people you came with, looking flustered from lust and liquor. You waved when one of your friends made eye contact with you, a dizzy smile on their face before their attention was pulled back to better things.

Unfortunately, someone else had spotted your friendly expression and misinterpreted it as an invitation. You tried to look away but it was too late, the figure of an unknown man started happily (if not slightly unnervingly) striding towards you. You plastered on a polite smile as the man sidled up next to you, a little too close for comfort.

“Hey there, lassie.” He slurred, a sickening grin on his face.

“Hi. How are you doing?” You asked politely.

“Better since seein’ you.” He squeezed your shoulder a bit too hard. You wrapped your arms around your middle and inched away slightly but the man just inched with you plus some. You laughed uncomfortably.

“C’mon, birdie. Let me get you a drink.” He moved his hand to grip the meat of your arm, dragging you over to the bar counter.

“Oh- no thank you. I’m okay.” You tried to pull away but he tightened his hand.

“I insist. It might loosen you up some, eh?” He raked his eyes up and down your form, licking his lips at what he saw. You wanted to puke on the spot. You tried to pull away again.

“I’m really sorry, I’m just not in the mood. I’m just gonna go-“

“Don’t be like that, missy.” His eyebrows knotted in aggravation. “I’m gonna get you a drink.” His grip tightened again, his blunt nails digging painfully into your arm. He ignored your protests to drag you closer to the bar, ignoring the patrons you were bumping into. You muttered apologies until you made one of them drop a bottle on the ground.

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” You said, panicked. This made the man stop pulling you, but he didn’t release his hold. You looked at the people you just trampled.

You couldn’t see well in the bright lighting, but there were two men. One was quite tall and lean, with light, fluffy hair and an intense stare. There were a few marks across his face, but they only added to his strange allure. The other was a bit shorter. He was dressed to the nines, all bold clothes and heavy makeup, long dark hair pulled back to show sharp features. It was the latter one who spoke up.

“You’re grand, chick. Don’t sweat it.” He gave you an awfully kind smile that made your stomach flip. “Are you okay?” You saw him cut his eyes to where your arm was still being held, and his face hardened slightly. You noticed the taller when was staring something harsh at the man next to you.

“We’re fine.” The man said, trying to pull you away again. He didn’t get more than a step before a commanding voice stopped you both in your tracks.

“We weren’t talking to you. We were talking to her.” The light-haired boy said, leaving no room for argument. You looked awfully embarrassed at the whole situation. The shorter one spoke again.

“Are you okay, love?” He was not searching your face, brows knotted together. Something in his face made you feel safe. You didn’t say anything, hoping your face would convey everything. They both looked with solemn understanding.

“Hey lads!” A broad shouldered man with glasses and an infuriatingly gorgeous head of hair joined the group, wrapping his arms around the two other men. “What’s going on here?” His tone was jovial and friendly, but there was a slight edge when he saw the hand that was still wrapped around your arm.

“Nothing much.” The tallest boy said casually. “We were just talking to dovey here.” He cut his eyes to the man who was now loosening his grip. “That lad was just leaving.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Ah, I see.” The one with the broad shoulders said. “Need help getting to your car, mate?”

“I’m fine.” The man dropped your arm and huffed as he walked away, giving you a dirty look as he did. You slumped immediately, rubbing your sore arm.

“Thank you.” You said shamefully, looking down at your shoes. “I’m sorry about all that. I’ll just-“ you started to step away.

“Don’t be sorry, lovie.” The curly haired one said warmly. His big brown eyes were soft as butter behind his glasses.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The light-haired one said. “Do you wanna stay over here for a minute, just until you know he’s gone?”

“If that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“Sweet thing like you? Feel free to intrude.” The long haired one fixed you with a salacious grin that made your insides flip, but not how the other man’s did. This feeling was pleasant. The tallest one still looked irritated, but seemingly not at you.

“Is your arm okay? He was grabbing you pretty hard.”

“It doesn’t even hurt.” You lied, and you could see him starting to protest, but he was interrupted by his friend.

“Moons! Let us get introduced before you start interrogating the poor thing.” The glasses-wearing boy faux-scolded. ‘Moons’ just rolled his eyes. The long-haired one jabbed his friend with his elbow.

“Ignore the lack of manners on our friend here. The rude one is Remus, that brute is James. And I’m Sirius.” The shorter boy leaned his head of inky hair against James’ shoulder. Remus lightly smiled at you, leaning down a little to meet your face.

“It’s nice you meet you.” You couldn’t fight the smile taking over your own face.

“Pleasure’s all ours, lovely.” James grinned. Your stomach flipped again, and you had a feeling you might stick around these three a little longer than anticipated.

[qveerthe0ry]

Conquer the Heart

Summary: Joel comes out - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 1: Coming Out Word Count: 3,981 Pairing: Joel Miller x M! Reader Rating: Mature (but my blog is 18+ mdni) Warnings: vague descriptions of sex, fluff, kissing, conversations about sexuality, really that's it this is pretty much just sweet and fluffy with a tiny hint of spice Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar who could have guessed? Love y'all <3 A/N: I just wanted to make Joel queer idk. Title from an Orville Peck song because of course

You don’t know what possessed you to pay the $5 cover to check that place out. The Round-Up Saloon, perched on a street corner in downtown Austin. The outside was unassuming enough, but the neon lights and mechanical bull and rotating dance floor inside made it look like something straight out of Urban Cowboy. 

There were all kinds of crowds. College kids and business casuals and actual cowboys. And it’s Austin, so all the sexualities were represented in one way or another as you took note of the couples at tables and on the dance floor. You couldn’t really care about any of them, though, as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

You were drawn to him and his broad shoulders and tight Wrangler blue jeans. 

He was with a big group of women and men, all drinking and laughing and taking turns line-dancing with each other on the dance floor. 

And to think you only stumbled into the honky tonk cowboy bar out of curiosity… It certainly wasn’t your scene. 

But you’d watched Joel dance with a few women with respectful hand placement, and then he danced with a man, and hope had bubbled up inside of you to the sound of Alan Jackson. 

He was a little sweaty when you worked up the courage to talk to him, and his cologne masked all the alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

You plastered on a flirty smile and asked him if he could teach you some of his moves. When he looked taken aback and flustered, you backtracked. 

“I’m sorry, I saw you dancing with that guy— I didn’t mean to assume.” 

“Tommy? That’s my brother,” he’d explained, a little flushed in the face. 

“Oh! Shit, sorry, ignore me.”

But he’d caught your arm as you turned to hibernate for approximately 5-10 business days. 

“I don’t see no harm in teachin’ you.”

And so he did. And it was fun, and his hands on you were so warm you swear they branded his mark all over your skin. 

A few songs, all background noise to the ‘he’s just straight, don’t do this’ mantra in your head, and he was leading you off the dance floor for another beer. 

A friendly beer. Surely that’s all it was. 

But he was so friendly. He gave you pointers on how to dance, and then asked if you’re from around here, and then he was waving off his group of friends when they all announced their departure. 

He asked you about your job, and you asked about his, and then the way his hands felt rough on the skin of your arm made more sense. 

Maybe you were crazy, or the two beers you had were really getting to your head, but there was something so unspeakably electric between you. You felt it when he’d lean in closer to hear you, the way he touched your arm with the back of his bottle-filled fist, the way his hoppy breath ghosted across your cheek to reach your ear.

And then he said he should probably get home, and asked if he should walk you to your car, and maybe he wasn’t straight, you thought, as he briefly placed his hand on your back to guide you through the packed bar. 

And you really, really shouldn’t have. But you asked for his number, and he put it in your shitty flip phone, and then you kissed him. 

Right on the mouth. A quick peck that was so short you could’ve nearly pretended it was an accident. 

He looked so stunned, and guilt boiled up in your stomach. 

But he’d grabbed your wrist gently, and looked you in the eyes. 

“I’m uh… I don’t… I haven’t ever done that.” 

“That was your first kiss?” 

It was a joke, and thank god he laughed. His smile looked so fucking good under the shitty, flickering street lamps. 

“Call me, okay?” 

And then he was gone. You thought about him the whole drive home, while you got undressed and ready for bed, as you fell asleep. You felt his touch in your dreams, and when you woke in the morning you could hardly believe he was real. 

But his phone number was burning a hole in your cell phone. You stared at it on and off all Saturday long. What would you even say? Why did he even want you to call him, if he’d never even kissed a guy before? Did he just want a new drinking buddy? 

The dread built up all day long, until it was late, and a sense of now or never goaded you into calling his number. 

He answered, and you told him who you were, and he’d sounded so surprised to hear from you. He didn’t think you’d want to see him again, after he embarrassed himself, and his admission made you balk. 

You told him you were the one who felt embarrassed. He laughed at that. Said he’s a lot smoother with ladies, but you made him feel nervous. He said he wanted to meet up again. 

And so you did. 

Just a shitty diner for an early dinner on Sunday, unassuming enough. The chemistry you felt at the bar hadn’t faded. If anything, it was so much more apparent now. The way he blushed when you flirted seemed less like the bad kind of gay panic. His foot kept nudging yours under the table. 

He walked you to your car again, and then he kissed you, much less chaste than the night at the bar, with one big, rough hand on your neck and the other on your hip. 

“That was pretty good for only your second kiss,” you’d said. 

He shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing his heated face.

“Should stick around and find out about the third.” 

And if you hadn’t already been wrapped around his finger, he certainly secured the spot for you then.

He wasn’t new to dating, but he was new to this, and it showed. He got pretty easily flustered around you. On your second date, he brought up his daughter for the first time like he’d forgotten he hadn’t mentioned her before. A casual thing, talking about her getting ready to graduate high school. 

“Does Sarah know… who you’re on a date with?”

Joel shook his head. 

“Not yet. No one does… Not even sure how to explain it to myself, if I’m honest.”

You were patient with him. It’s gotta be culture shock, living nearly 40 years of your life completely straight and having some random guy at a bar change that for you overnight. 

You took things slow. You talked a lot over the phone, after Sarah went to sleep. He told you about his dating history, Sarah’s mom and only a few unserious flings after. You tried not to psychoanalyze him, but it makes a little bit of sense. Getting some girl pregnant at 19, marrying her, getting ditched with a toddler and a curt ‘good luck’ and then raising her on your own? 

No wonder he never questioned his sexuality. There was genuinely no time to. 

At first, you thought you may just be a stepping stone. A news flash for him, an experiment, something fun for a season. It didn’t bother you. It’s happened before. But as your nightly talks got longer, and as you took each other out more and more often, it became clear that it wasn’t like that. 

You watched with fascination and adoration as Joel figured things out. It was so endearing when he asked if he should hold the door open for you, or if you should take turns. Likewise, when he held your hand in public for the first time, the way he asked your permission made your heart grow way too big for your rib cage.

Things weren’t perfect, of course, but nothing ever is. You didn’t get to see him as much as you ideally would. You were both busy during the work week, and he often had father duties on the weekends. Most of your dates were quick dinner bites when Sarah had a school thing, or an odd Saturday here or there when Sarah had a sleepover. 

But that was quite enough for you. You weren’t even looking for something when you’d met him. You didn’t feel the need to move quickly when you hadn’t planned on going anywhere in the first place. 

And he was sweet, and quite self-aware. 

“Wish we could spend more time together,” he’d tell you over the phone, “I know this ain’t the way things normally go.” 

But you liked him. So much. So it didn’t bother you.

And, as the weeks passed by, he opened up more. He started asking you more pointed questions, like how you came out to those closest to, and what it was like. He asked if you were seeing other people— it’s okay if you are, was just wonderin’— and then he asked you if you wanted to be together when you made it clear you weren’t. 

“Like… as boyfriend and boyfriend?” 

He chuckled, the deep gravel a familiar tone swimming through your landline with a nervous twinge to it. 

“Yeah, as boyfriend and boyfriend.” 

And he treated you right, and you got along with him so well, and he was so put together and responsible and respectful. 

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.” 

And his breath had hitched so loud it was caught by the receiver, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he told you that he’d really like that, too. 

A few days after that, he told you Sarah would be gone all weekend, on a team trip for some hiking and kayaking and bonding. 

“Could I stay at yours? I hate to invite myself, it’s just— Tommy’s got no boundaries. Wouldn’t want him bargin’ in, y’know, before I get to tell him.” 

You didn’t mind one bit, aside from the mountain of laundry you had to fold in preparation for his arrival. 

It was the first time you’d been truly alone with him. Your dates were always public, at least somewhat. And he’d kissed you, a ton, but that’s as far as it had ever gone. 

You definitely wanted him. You’d wanted him since the very second you laid eyes on him at that cheesy honky tonk bar. But it was funny how nervous you were, even though your experience with men put Joel’s to shame. 

It was a lot like high school, in the way you danced around each other at first. A movie on your couch, with his arm draped along the back of it. Readjusting to ‘get comfy,’ inching, until the warmth of his body was pressed against yours and his arm dropped from the back of the couch to your shoulders. 

His heartbeat was deafening, hard and fast, when you’d tucked your head against his chest. You moved your hand to his knee in the world’s most intense match of The Nervous Game and feared for his cardiovascular health. 

He said your name, and like it was the magic word, every single facade crumbled around you in an instant. 

His kisses made your head spin, and the way his thick thighs felt under your own was addictive, and it was over before either of you realized it had started. Two sets of soiled pants and underwear thrown into your washing machine, along with the last of the pretenses. And then you’d dragged him to your bed. 

The sex wasn’t even your favorite part. The best was the morning after, and how you were plastered to his back as you woke up slow and easy. The way he held your arm to his stomach, even in his sleep. And the way you only got out of bed for food or bathroom breaks, a whole day with him, alone, uninterrupted. 

Just as you started to worry that this was a one-time thing, at least for a while, Joel huffed beside you and nuzzled his head into your shoulder. 

“I wanna come out. At least to Tommy ‘n Sarah. S’not right, keeping you a secret like this when you’ve been makin’ me so happy. I know you’d make them happy too.” 

You stroked his hair, and asked if he was sure, and though his pretty brown eyes looked wide and scared, his jaw was set with a determined nod. 

So you devised a plan. Or— Joel devised it, and asked for your input, and it all made you a bit giddy. 

He had you over for dinner. Just as a friend, at first. He’d ordered pizza and stocked beer and told Tommy and Sarah he was having a friend over. 

You wondered if Tommy would recognize you from the bar, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just talked your ear off about Texas sports and old cars.

Sarah was… well, you understood why Joel could never seem to smile wide enough when he talked about her. She was so smart, and kind-hearted, and funny. You had a hard time keeping up, but the way Joel and Tommy were around her, you think she probably has that effect on most people. 

It was a nice night, fun and easy conversation, good pizza, and a very competitive game of Boggle in which Sarah dominated. 

And it was only a little bit difficult to spend the evening as just Joel’s friend, solely because of how easily you fit into his life. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops, that Joel wanted you to be a piece in his puzzle. 

Sarah, so politely, excused herself to go to bed as it got later. The three of you left shuffled around, gathering game pieces and paper plates and empty cans, until you all eventually met back in the kitchen. Joel gave you a look, and you gave him a comforting smile right back, and it was like the room’s air was replaced with water as he spoke up.

“Tommy?”

“Mmhmm?” 

The younger brother whipped around to face you both, sliding the leftovers into the fridge with a slice in his mouth. 

“I uh… I wanted to let you know that I’m— that we’re, uh… Together?”

You watched as his dark eyes glazed over for a second, brow scrunched up in confusion. And then his gaze flickered from you to him, and back to you, and his eyes grew as big as saucers. 

“No kiddin’?”

Joel laughed. 

“Serious. He’s my… He’s my boyfriend.” 

Tommy swallowed his mouthful of pizza, wiped his mustache, and smiled. A genuine smile, sweet and warm, reaching his eyes. 

“Hermano, good for you. That’s— I’m happy for you.” 

He opened his arms and tugged Joel into a hug, and Joel grumbled something about Tommy getting pizza grease on his clothes, but he was smiling wide and relieved over Tommy’s shoulder. 

But then Joel’s face got serious again as Tommy pulled away with a manly slap to his shoulder. 

“Sarah doesn’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everyone got along first, y’know?” 

And then Tommy was looking at you and rolling his eyes and chuckling. 

“Think we all get along just fine. You should tell her soon.”

And Joel knew Tommy was right, but it didn’t stop him from looking so anxious when Tommy left with another round of goodbye hugs. 

“What are you most worried about?” 

You asked him because you knew there were many things to fret over, in his situation. 

“Just that… She’s had this idea of me this whole time, y’know? What if she sees me different, and then things change between us?” 

And god, that made your throat feel thick, and Joel’s eyes got a little misty, so you pulled him tight against you and let him sag into your hold.

“I know the feeling,” you told him, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“No?”

You huffed a laugh and tangled your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck. 

“You mean everything to her. I can tell just by how she looks at you. Never seen a teenager like their dad that much.” 

And he laughed too, a little wet against your shoulder. 

“Will you be there with me when I tell her? I don’t— I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Your lips found his bristly cheek and planted a kiss there, and you mumbled of course into the salty skin.

So you went home, with plans to come back the next day. This wasn’t easy for you, either, dating a guy with a kid for the first time. You knew she liked you, at least, but that was a face value assessment. Would she mind you taking up more of her dad’s time? Would she mind you in their space every so often? Would she mind if you came around to her soccer games or science fairs or graduation, as her dad’s boyfriend, in front of all the other kids with nuclear families? Would she resent you for shaking up what they had?

You didn’t get much sleep, thinking about it. You wondered if you should bring her some kind of gift, flowers or a trinket or something, but then you’d be trying too hard, right? 

As you got ready the next morning, you thought about all the ways it could go wrong, but none of them really seemed realistic. Sarah was sweet, and intelligent, and surely if she did have reservations, they’d be able to talk them through civilly. 

Right?

You couldn’t even listen to music on your way to their house. It was a silent fifteen minute drive with your nerves boiling over and spilling out, thinking of how awkward things could get. 

But all of that kind of fell to the wayside when Sarah answered the door and said “I haven’t seen you in forever” with a cheeky grin and those bright eyes she definitely got from Joel. 

It felt cozy when you sat down at their kitchen table while they sipped their coffee and orange juice and Sarah told you both all about the English project she was working on. It put you at ease to ask her questions about things you have in common, and for all of you to mesh so well into a normal conversation.

But as it lulled, you noticed Joel getting restless, and you noticed Sarah noticing his uneasiness. 

“Dad, you’re acting weird in front of our company.” 

And while she was alway kind and respectful, she was still a teenager with a dorky dad. 

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She looked at him with her head tilted and her eyebrow raised. 

“Now?”

She nodded her head toward you as she asked, and you couldn’t blame her for being confused as to why he had to have a heart-to-heart with his ‘friend’ visiting. 

“Yeah um… You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should get a life and start datin’?”

Sarah laughed and looked at you.

“Yeah, could you be his wingman? It’s getting sad.” 

And you laughed, and Joel laughed, but it was a little forced, and Sarah’s smart, so you could read the confusion on her face. 

“What’s this about, dad?”

Joel took a big, deep breath and took Sarah’s hand on the table. You watched her squeeze his fingers as her face twisted up in worry. 

“He’s my— we’re dating. He’s my… boyfriend.” 

The worry dissipated, and her eyes got wide and her lips pursed before her jaw slowly dropped with surprise. 

“You guys are together?” 

She looked over to you, then, and all you could do was give her a soft smile and nod. 

“I know you might have some questions—”

“How long? When did you guys meet?” 

She looked back to Joel to answer, but you could see he was still reeling, with sweat saturating the curls at his temples. 

“Just a couple months ago, he taught me how to dance to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

She made a noise, like a scoff, and it made you wince.

“Months!? Dad, why didn’t you tell me?” 

You watched Joel’s eyes cloud with— fear? You’d never seen him look so scared. 

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just— I guess I didn’t know how. At first.” 

His voice trembled, and you watched Sarah’s lip quiver before she shot out of her chair and lunged toward her dad, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“I love you,” she’d mumbled, like she knew it was what he needed to hear, because his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around her back. 

You thought maybe you should look away. It felt real personal. But Joel had asked you to be here, and it was about you, too, as much as that fact made you want to burrow underground. 

“You could have told me sooner. I love boy talk.”

Her voice was muffled and heavy with tears, but Joel chuckled all the same through his own misty gaze. 

“I didn’t know you liked boys.” 

She pulled away but didn’t go far, letting her hands squeeze his biceps as she looked to him for an answer. 

“Me neither,” he shrugged, “I like this boy, though. A lot.” 

And he got this goofy smile on his face, even though it was a little wet, and he looked at you, and you felt so awkward but so head over heels. 

“Okay, well, you still should have told me. I would’ve been on the porch cleaning Uncle Tommy’s shotgun when he pulled up.” 

Joel groaned and covered his face but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of you. 

“What are your intentions with my father?”

And though her tone was joking, her eyes grew soft as she waited for an answer. 

“I guess I just wanna make him happy. Because he makes me happy. If that’s alright with you?” 

She sat back down and rested her chin in her hand, with her lips pursed again as she thought. 

“Sarah, you can have time to think—”

“Deal.” 

She extended her hand out to you from across the table, and you took it eagerly to shake on it. But after an appropriate amount of handshake time, she didn’t let your hand go. 

“You have to come over for movie nights now.” 

“I can do that.”

“And I have to make sure your taste in movies doesn’t suck before I let you pick one.”

“That’s fair.”

“ALSO—“

“Sarah,” Joel interrupted, “this isn’t how deals work. You can’t add stuff while he’s still shaking your hand.” 

“As I was saying,” Sarah rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand tighter, “you have to treat him right. He acts all tough but he’s just a softy.”

“Oh Christ,” Joel huffed. 

“No, she has a point,” you told him with a smirk, “I promise I will, Sarah.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, but then she grinned, and finally let go of your hand. 

So yeah, you really really like Joel Miller. You’re never happier than you are when you spend the evening at his house, snuggled up on one side of him while Sarah’s snuggled up to the other, watching some movie Sarah’s usually the one to pick. 

Or when you meet him and Tommy at Sarah’s soccer game, and he greets you with a smile and lifts the bill of your Miller Contracting hat you’ve stolen to peck your lips. 

Or when you’re in your own kitchen, making his coffee, and you feel sleepy arms wrap around your waist and a sleep warm kiss at the nape of your neck. 

Really, as long as you’re with Joel, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. And if those three little words slip out one day soon, well, there isn’t a single thing that makes you think Joel would be surprised by them.

[arcanesea]

blossom

PAIRING: bang chan x f!reader GENRE: fluff WC: 0.9k WARNINGS: none, just kisses:] a/n. [based on this request ! my brain never worked so quick when i saw a prompt. everyone say thank you anon for requesting heheh. also, sorry for taking so long to get back to you, dear anon😞]

“A penny for your thought?” Chan asked, taking a seat right next to you, making your whole body shiver when his arms brushed yours. You turned your head slightly, eyes landing quickly on the thing under his nose. You blink before forcing a smile. Act normal, please, act normal.

You really can’t.

It’s not like you haven’t been kissed by him, who has been your boyfriend for the last couple of months. But it hits differently when you dream about a specific kissing scene. Maybe it was the influence of numerous romance dramas you watched, combined with the fact that you can’t get enough of his kiss. Maybe you’re going crazy. Crazy in love. Or it’s a mix of both.

“A penny is too cheap,” you replied jokingly, trying to not sound too nervous. You don’t dare to look at him again because your heart is starting to go thump-thump-thump under your ribcage and one look at Chan might just give you a heart attack on site.

The thing is you can’t get the image out of your head. The dream you had last night. Of you and Chan. Kissing. Under the rain.

It always looks so romantic on TV, but you hate that the majority of them always start after a heated argument. You understand the desperation, you understand the appeal of the angst, but the dream you had last night was just… so… sweet.

“A kiss?” he offered leaning in your direction with a playful smile. Your eyes widen and you can feel heat spread across your face. Chan laughed a little before teasing you even more, making you stand up from the sofa. “You’re blushing, you know that? Haven’t I kissed my beautiful girlfriend today?” he asks, following you to the kitchen where you take a glass of water and drink it hastily. Praying that it could cool you down.

You glance out the window. These days the skies have been a bit moody and then as if on cue, it starts to rain.

Chan’s hand snake on your waist, hugging you from behind. The gears on your head are turning. You had to bring that image to life even if that meant you’ll catch a cold afterwards. But how? You can’t directly say to him that you want to kiss under the rain… It feels so childish… Besides, it will just catapult his ego out of this planet and he'll bring it up to you on all possible occasions.

“Where are you?” Chan asked, pressing a kiss on the side of your temple. It feels like the contact of his lips and your skin turned on the switch in your brain.

You turned to face him, leaning in closer until your nose met each other. His eyes fluttered close, but you use that moment to escape his strong arms into the front door. In the back of your head, you can see him with a lowered head, hands on both hips, all while trying not to smile at your sudden prank. You let yourself roam the road, feeling the rain turn from a drizzle into a more constant shower.

Chan followed you out but made no movement to join you who started to run around in the empty road. It’s been ages since you voluntarily stand under the rain and actually enjoy it. The rain always does an excellent job of washing away your worries for a while.

You stopped, with hands outstretched to him. Inviting. Waiting. Please take the bait, please take the bait, you wished. “Catch me if you can,” was the word you half-shouted to him.

He raised his eyebrow, seemingly unamused. It’s a mental game, waiting around on who can stand being five feet away from each other. But like every other time, he loses this one too when he stepped out from the porch into the pouring rain.

You dodged him when he tried to trap you in a hug, laughing like a little kid. When you look at him, you swear that he’s the prettiest thing on earth. He’s like a flower who just gets watered; vibrant, full of colors. And his smile, God, his smile is enough for you to stand under the rain forever.

You give up at last. Letting him attack you with tickles all over your body.

“I admit defeat,” you try to squeeze in between laughs. He stopped tickling without taking his hands off your waist. Pulling you closer and turning you to face him. “Hi,” you said when you finally met Chan face to face.

“You’re having too much fun for someone who might complain about their cold and runny nose the next couple of days, babe,” he said. You just smile sheepishly before tiptoeing to give him a quick kiss. “That’s it?” he asks back. You nodded in reply. He tch-ed, head dipped to meet your trembling lips. You circle your hand on his neck as he lifts you up from the ground, spinning you around a bit. His lips taste like the honey chapstick he uses, warm against your own.

“That’s definitely better than my dream,” you admit with a wide smile. You’re cradling his head, forehead pressed against each other. Chan laughs earnestly, finally seeing behind the curtains.

“Next time you have some romance scenarios in your head, just tell me,” Chan offered. You roll your eyes, still holding the smile on your face.

What once woke you up from your sleep now becomes the image you see before you close your eyes. A thousand times better than any scenes you ever watch and definitely worth the cold that comes after too.

a/n. i wrote this in like 2 hours i didn't know how it got this long maybe i just missed him a little too much:/

[drabblesandimagines]

Sliding Doors

Leon Kennedy x female reader, Chris Redfield x female reader, fluff, angst

For the lovely @porcelainseashore who commission a continuation from Forever Hold Your Peace. Thank you for all your love and support ❤️

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony…” the minister begins, but as you stand opposite Chris – a soft, adoring smile on his face, shedding a tear when he’d saw how beautiful you looked as you walked down the aisle – you can’t help but meet the gaze of the best man’s icy blue eyes for a moment. “..speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Leon clenches his fists.

“No.”

It’s a muttered plea more than a loud proclamation, but it’s audible enough for several pairs of eyes to focus on him due to the interruption.

The minister smiles, awkwardly, his eyes flitting between the members of the bridal party to gauge whether it was a joke – heaven knows he’s seen them fall flat before - before he clears his throat to proceed with the vows.

“Christo-”

“No.” It’s louder that time, Leon’s voice echoed around the room like a gunshot.

“Not the time for your jokes, bud.” Chris forces out a laugh as he replies over his shoulder, before turning back to you and offering a reassuring smile.

“It’s not a joke.” You wish the ground would swallow you up as Leon remains focused on you. “Don’t marry him.”

“Leon”, Claire hisses from over your shoulder, looking furious. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her. “I’m not saying marry me, but just… Don’t marry him.”

You shake your head, subtly, eyes wide in fear as the small congregation of friends and family begin to whisper amongst themselves.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.

Chris’ fists are now clenched as he turns to his supposed best man, his brow furrowed as he tries to analyze the situation, his mind automatically heading into work mode – assess, strategize, action.

“What is this?”

Leon ignores Chris too, instead taking a step forward. “I’m different now – I swear. Just give me another chance. The connection’s still there – I know you felt it when we kissed-”

“Kissed?!” Chris and Claire reiterate almost in unison, and someone in the seated crowd gasps.

“What kiss?” Chris presses, turning back to look at you in disbelief. “Honey, what’s he talking about?”

Your mouth feels drier than it ever has, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t, Chris… I… I mean, he…”

“I kissed her, Redfield.” Leon cuts across, rolling back his shoulders as he sidesteps in front of the groom, blocking you from his sight. “When you asked me to deliver that gift earlier, I kissed her. Can’t say it was the first time either.”

You should say something more coherent than your mumbled excuses – explain what Leon means by that because it definitely makes it sound worse than it is - but your heart is pounding and you’re beginning to feel a little faint.

This isn’t real, it’s a bad dream and you’re going to wake up in the hotel suite, Claire knocking on the door, hair stylist and make-up artist in tow to help you start getting ready.

The minister tries to soothe tensions instead. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private to-“

“What the fuck does that mean, Kennedy?”

“We were a thing-”

“We were not a thing, Leon,” you shift a little to the side then so you can see Chris, finding your voice at last.

You wished you hadn’t moved as hurt flashes across Chris’ face - sweet, loyal, dependable Chris.

Chris, who never fails to set up coffee machine timer to greet you with a freshly brewed batch when he has to leave early, who would always find some sort of way to communicate with you even if he was halfway across the world, who never shied away from holding your hand or kissing you in public, who told his closest colleagues about you openly, who didn’t treat you like a dirty little secret.

Chris, who, despite how much you tried to convince yourself, has never made you feel quite like Leon did.

“-before you two started dating.” Leon presses on, ignoring how the taller man’s shoulders grow more and more tense, seething breaths now coming out of his nose. “I treated her rotten, drove her into your arms and regretted it every minute since. I’m not gonna let her make the biggest mis-”

Chris’ fist meets Leon’s face – it’s so swift that the whole room takes a moment to realise what’s happened. The agent is surprisingly not knocked off his feet by the blow but stumbles back and you automatically reach out a hand to steady him by his arm, unaware of how it looks in that moment.

Leon wipes a trickle of blood from his mouth, looking smug as he relishes your touch. “Not gonna say I didn’t deserve that.”

Chris is staring at your hand on Leon’s arm and you pull it back when you see the hurt in his eyes, wringing your hands together as you begin to plead.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I should’ve told you, but it… It was nothing. A blip. It wasn’t anything like what we have. He kissed me earlier and I pushed him away and I told him. Please.”

“Is this why you were crying?” Claire demands, stepping over to stand besides Chris in an act of support. Her shoulders are high, ready to protect her brother at all costs. “In the suite earlier, when Leon was there.”

“N-no,” you shake your head furiously, but your voice isn’t convincing enough to your own ears, especially in comparison to Leon’s firm “Yes.”

You’re hot, the wedding gown of your dreams feeling stifling, too tight, the veil tugging heavily at your scalp.

“Chris, please, can we go talk somewhere?” You step forward, past Leon, hand outstretched to take your fiance’s. You want to take him away from all the prying eyes, the disbelieving murmurs, away from all the tension, have a discussion with clear heads, but he pulls his hand from out of your reach.

“Do you love him?” Chris’ voice is so flat it makes you feel sick. It’s the same tone he has when he comes back from missions where he’s lost comrades, the one that you can slowly break him out of after days of soft words and touches.

You never wanted to be the cause of it.

“It’s been years.” There’s the crack in your voice again, your next words a little too rushed. “I love you. You’re sweet. You’re so sweet, kind and loyal.”

Everything Leon wasn’t.

“I said, do you love Leon?”

You stare deep into Chris’ eyes then, his lips pressed together in a thin line. There had been something when Leon had kissed you less than an hour ago, how easily you’d almost fallen back into threading your fingers into his hair to deepen it, how your heartbeat had remained elevated since.

Leon is a wildcard and Chris is steady, dependable – everything you should want.

Everything you’ve been convincing yourself you did want.

One more look into your fiancee’s eyes is all it takes. He doesn’t deserve this but he does deserve the truth.

You take a shuddering breath and nod.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Right.” Chris nods, as casual as if he’s just been given his latest set of orders. He turns on his heels and heads back down the aisle – the aisle he was meant to be walking down with you on his arm as his new wife – with his head and shoulders held high, Claire hurrying after him, dropping your bouquet as she does.

As you stare at his retreating form, Leon slips his hand into yours and squeezes.

And, as tears begin to stream down your face again, you squeeze back.

--

He drove you away from the venue on his bike, your cheek pressed firmly against his back and your veil floating behind you in the wind.

Cars honked in celebration around you, all under the impression that a husband was taking his new wife for a celebratory ride, not that the best man had just absconded with the bride.

He takes you back to his apartment, a thing he’d never done when you were ‘together’, but it made sense now, considering. You lived with Chris, a two-storey on a cul-de-sac, white picket fence – you could hardly go back there today.

Or ever.

“What can I do, sweetheart?” Leon asks, cautiously, as you both stand in his living room a few feet apart. It feels more like a show-home than your place – no personal affects, the coffee table empty besides a remote control for the widescreen.  

“I… I need to get out of this.” You huff, ripping the veil from your scalp at last, the pins holding it in place scattering over his polished wooden floor and you fling it down on the sofa. You know you won’t be able to undo your dress yourself so you turn, flustered. “I can’t…”

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Leon soothes, closing the gap between the two of you and deftly unpicking the laces of the corset with nimble fingers. You feel it loosen immediately, but it doesn’t ease the suffocating feeling in your chest.

“There.” The dress drops a little and you quickly wrap your arms around yourself, keeping it up, before Leon steps around the coffee table, heading towards the hallway. “I’ll… I’ll grab you a change of clothes.”

Your clothes, right. They’re all at yours.

Oh, God, how are you going to get them?

How could you ever face Chris again?

You remain standing in the living room, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You can hear Leon opening and closing some drawers, obviously looking for something that you can wear. He emerges a few moments later, holding a grey sweatshirt and some black gym shorts.

“I think these will work. Shorts have a drawstring, so…”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, down the hall, second door on your left.”

You take the clothes from his hand, avoiding eye contact and head to change. Your hands are shaking as you turn the lock, quickly shedding your dress and wedding night lingerie – not how you thought you’d be removing it tonight, that’s for sure, but you can’t bear to keep any of it on. Finally, you slide a lacey white garter off your thigh and bundle everything together into a ball, placing it on top of one of the two laundry baskets in the corner, noting he separates lights and darks.

You pull the sweatshirt over your head – it feels odd, oversized but not as oversized as any of the things you’d stolen from Chris’ dresser – before putting on the shorts and double-knotting the cord to keep them up.

You wet your face in the sink next, washing off your make-up as best you can. A glint catches your eye from your right hand – your engagement ring moved over in preparation for the wedding ring being slipped on.

You’ll need to return it.

Carefully, you pull it off your finger and place it on the sink, undoing the latch on the necklace Chris had sent Leon up with – does he regret that now? Is he sat somewhere with a whiskey, mulling over what would be different if he hadn’t sent his best man to the bridal suite? - and thread it through the chain, fastening it back around your neck and tucking it under the sweatshirt, out of sight.

You don’t want to wear it, really, the idea making you feel sick being adorned with gifts that Chris had picked out lovingly - but you don’t want to lose it somewhere in Leon’s apartment either.

Leon is still standing in the same place in the living room when you emerge, the only difference being his tie is now off and thrown over the coffee table, one hand in his pocket. You stop a couple of feet in front of him and stare, trying to read his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t set out to say those things, baby. I just-” You throw yourself into his arms, sobbing – for what’s just occurred and for how horrible you feel when being in his arms immediately just feels so right, more natural than being wrapped in Chris’ ever did.

Leon presses kisses to your crown, pulls you back and down onto the sofa and hooks your legs up into his lap, rocking you back and forth like a child who needs consoling.

“It’s all right. It’ll be okay. And I’ll be better, I promise.” He murmurs against your ear when your sobs begin to slow, his white shirt significantly damp with your abundance of tears. “I’m not fucking up again. Not after this, baby. I’ll spend every damn day showing you how serious I am about you, about us.”

--

Chris remains a gentleman, despite everything. The first you hear from him is one week after the wedding, via email, letting you know that he’ll be out of the house for a few days if you’d like to go in and collect your things. He’s going to put the house on the market after, said he’s taken a new position within the BSAA and will be permanently relocating to the European branch, so doesn’t see the point in keeping it empty. It’s not surprising, really, Chris has been headhunted a couple of times since his work in Europe, but he’d always wanted to remain on American soil, with you.

He adds he’s going to sell the furniture as a job lot too, so to take anything you like and then leave the keys under the doormat once you’re done.

He signs it best regards.

He’s too nice for what you’ve done to him.

A fact Claire had reminded you of daily – scornful text messages and voicemails telling you exactly what she thinks of you and Leon. They cease only after Chris can be heard in the background of the final voicemail, telling her to stop.

You’re living in a short-term rental when you pick up your things – not that you would’ve taken any of the furniture anyway. You’d stayed at Leon’s for a week after, sleeping in his spare room. He’d returned to the venue and picked up the things you’d left in the bridal suite as you lay in bed, festering in the horrible combination of guilt and relief of what had transpired.

Leon wanted you to move in permanently, but you told him it was too much, too soon. You made demands this time, wanting to take it slow but also testing the limits of how much he had meant it when he said things would be different, that he would be different.

You were selfish with them at first – he had to date you properly, take you out for lunch, coffee and dinner dates, walks around the park, weekend trips away and trips to the movies, hold your hand and kiss you in public.

You told him you wanted him to try therapy, to learn how to communicate.

And, to his credit, he does it all. He hates the first three therapists, only managing a session or two with them, but he keeps going until he clicks with the fourth and sees them every Wednesday – always reschedules for another day of the week if he’s away with work.

You’re never sure how he’s going to be immediately after – sometimes he emerges with the weight of the world resting even more heavily on his shoulders, other times he seems to have a pep in his step until, gradually, he comes out lighter and lighter every time.

He tells you he loves you when you make a dumb joke over dinner in a cheesy diner – so loud in his proclamation that the waitress gives the two of you a slice of pie each on the house, extra whipped cream.

There are things he’s still uncomfortable with but he’s better at communicating, each of you compromising as you settle into the relationship.

“Do you want to get married?” He murmurs in your ear one night a year and a half later, spooning you against his bare chest. The bedroom has a pile of moving boxes stacked in the corner - your first night in your new, shared apartment.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you take one of his hands, fidget with his fingers. “What about you?”

“I don’t mind either way,” he grasps hold of your wrist and rolls you over in a smooth notion. “Whatever you want.”

“Uh-uh,” you correct, “we’re partners, remember?”

“Right. Whatever we want.” He kisses you then, slowly, as if he has the whole night to while away. He’s never in a rush when it comes to you, not any more.

“I love you.” You mumble between kisses, feeling him smile as he captures your lips once again.

“I love you, sweetheart. Always and forever.”

--

“Leon?”

“Huh?” He’s spaced out – Chris, Claire, the minister and you all staring expectantly at him.

“Got the rings, man?” Chris is holding out his hand, an amused smile on his face.

Right, the rings.

Best man hands over the rings.

He stuffs his hand into his trouser pocket and tugs out the little mesh bag they’d been placed in. He can’t imagine Chris wearing his for long, not with his line of work. Leon wouldn’t either, truth be told. He’d get a nice chain, maybe, have it hang over his heart.

Chris takes the bag with a nod of thanks and empties them out onto the minister’s book, big fingers fumbling to pick up the ring he’s about to slide on your finger, following the minister’s prompts in reciting his vows.

Leon stares at you as you look up into Chris’ eyes, smiling so much your cheeks must hurt, and tries not to think about how when you had looked at him like that, he’d left you the next morning with nothing but a note on the pillow.

--

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you would please be upstanding for the new Mr and Mrs Redfield!”

Leon hadn’t realized he’d be sat next to you at the top table. He hadn’t thought much about the reception at all, besides the speech Chris asked him to make.

But, fuck, you look so happy walking in with him that it takes his breath away. Your fingers interlaced, surrounded by cheers and applause. Redfield can’t help himself – Leon wouldn’t either - swings you around and dips you into a kiss in the middle of the floor. You look embarrassed when he releases you, but there’s a giddy smile on your face too.

He couldn’t give you that. He couldn’t. He’s not sure Redfield can either – setting you up for disappointment and heartbreak.

He doesn’t know why anyone else is seated at the top table – you and Chris only have eyes for each other throughout dinner. He drinks more than he eats, wondering if he can make Redfield regret putting on an open bar.

“Now, for the best man – Leon Kennedy.”

He pulls the notecard out of his jacket pocket as he stands - he’d started writing it so many times but never got particularly far. That morning, he’d searched generic best man speech on his phone and jotted it down.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be keeping this short and sweet – two words you probably wouldn’t use to describe Chris Redfield.” He pauses, polite laughter rippling through the crowd.

“There’s two things being celebrated here today. The first being that it’s finally been acknowledged that I am, in fact, the best man between us.” He pauses again, taking a pre-emptive swig of his drink to help dull the ache of the words to come.

“Secondly, of course, the union of this… wonderful couple. May your lives be filled with love and happiness. To the bride and groom!”

The guests raise their glass in unison and Leon sits down heavily in his seat, downing the rest of his drink as Chris stands up, thanking Leon for his speech and leading an applause. He picks up a champagne flute and looks down at you, adoringly.

“Truthfully, I’m wondering if I should’ve gone first, because mine’s even shorter than Leon’s. Thank you all so much for coming here today to celebrate with us. All that’s really left to say is, I love you, darling – always and forever.”

Chris bends down to steal another kiss and the guests applaud and cheer once again – Leon swears it’s louder than what his speech received.

“I love you so much, Chris.”

Leon wishes it had been louder still to drown out your response.

--

“You ready?” Chris murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss against your jaw. You didn’t think it was possible – you’d never seen Chris drunk ever – but it seems the numerous glasses of champagne have gotten to his head. He’ll deny it in the morning if you accuse him, tell you it wasn’t the alcohol which was making him act that way, no, it was you that was making him love-drunk, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

You nod and squirm with a giggle, his stubble tickling your neck. You had sat down at the table for a breather, after completing a round of the tables to greet your guests as well as a couple of dances with your friends. You haven’t seen Leon since dinner and, truthfully, he’s the furthest thing from your mind ever since Chris slipped the ring on your finger. Your new husband takes your hand and grabs a chair with the other, leading you to the middle of the small dance floor and places it down. Once he’s happy, he lifts his other arm above his head to twirl you into position and down upon the chair.

You feel giddy – from love, champagne, happiness – as Chris kneels before you and gently begins to lift the hem of your dress up and over your knees.

Someone in the crowd wolf-whistles, probably one of the squad, and Chris turns in the direction to mockingly glare. He then resumes his work of pulling your dress up a little more, cautiously, until he found what he was looking for – a lacey white garter on your thigh.

Chris asking if you wanted to do the garter toss part of the ceremony had come completely out of left-field, so much so you were thankful you hadn’t taken a sip of your drink before he’d asked, lest you had spit it out in his face. He scratched the back of his head, gave you a dopey-looking smile that made you want to cuddle him rotten and said he wanted to do things by the book. He wanted the tradition, some sense of normalcy in his life with the whole white wedding, and having no strong feelings about it either way you’d agreed.

Now, though, as he looks up at you with that up-to-no-good smirk, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

“Hands or teeth?”

“Huh?”

He lightly pings the garter on your thigh. “Shall I remove it with my hands or teeth, darling?”

“Chris!” You laugh, sure he was joking.

He tilts his head. “Uh-uh. Pick, please.”

“Fine.” You smirk back, buoyed in confidence by the champagne. “Teeth.”

“Excellent choice, Mrs Redfield.” He plants a hand on your other leg to steady himself, before lowering his head and you feel his teeth graze your thigh as he nips the lacey material and begins to tug it down, all to the hooting and hollering of the assembled crowd.  

Leon takes a long sip of whiskey as he watches from the corner. He would’ve used his teeth to remove it too, but only in the sanctity of the bedroom later that night.

It flies over the heads and outstretched arms of the bachelors – Chris always did have a good throw - and eventually smacks Leon right in the chest.

“All right, Kennedy!” Somebody cheers, and before he can really think about it, he bends down and snatches up the garter, aware that the eyes of the room are on him. He holds it aloft in a mock display of triumph.

He looks for you then, wondering what you’ll think – a sign from the universe that you’ve made a mistake – but your eyes are fixed on Chris, cupping his face in your palms as he remains knelt in front of you, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

Leon stuffs the garter deep in his trouser pocket.

--

Leon doesn’t see either of you for six months – thanks to a relentless run of missions, intercontinental travel and briefings all keeping his mind occupied – and it helps dull the ache in his chest too.

An email pops up in his inbox though, inviting him to the Redfield’s housewarming BBQ in a couple of weeks, but he never replies to the RSVP.

Still, he finds himself parking his bike up outside the new house – it has a white picket fence, for fuck’s sake, nestled on a quiet suburban street. To his trained eye, he can see some additional security measures, so at least Redfield hasn’t become completely complacent. The gate clicks a little louder than usual when he opens it, probably linked to some sort of surveillance system, the panes of glass in the window are clearly bullet-proof and the front door is steel, disguised to blend in with the rest of the street.

He rings the doorbell – looking direct into the pinhole camera.

Chris answers soon after, a black apron on for grilling duties over blue jeans and a white tee. He looks good, annoyingly so compared to the dark rings Leon has under his own eyes, but he’s perhaps a little softer around the edges. Leon had heard down the grapevine that Chris had taken more of a consultant type role at the BSAA, office hours, trying to move away from always having his boots on the ground – something he never thought he’d see.

“Hey! You made it. It’s great to see you, man.” Chris greets him, a genuine smile on his face. “Perfect timing – I’m just about to fire up the grill. We’re all just out in the yard.”

He steps over the threshold – his eyes immediately finding the framed wedding photo on the hall table, the one where you’d all signed the registry and the photographer had Leon stand by your side and Claire by Chris’.

He wonders if, when you look at it, you can tell his smile is fake.

He doesn’t take in much else of the house as he’s led through, instead forcing himself to take a deep breath in preparation of seeing you again. He’s tried to forget about the kiss through a string of dates from the office and one-night stands, but he still has your stolen garter tucked in the back of his bedside drawer.

It’s over, he chastises himself.

It didn’t even really begin either.

You’re facing away from him when he follows Chris through the kitchen and out onto wooden decking, a set of stairs leading down to a large rectangle of grass. There’s a good 15 or so in attendance, only a handful of people present that he recognizes, some from the wedding, all congregated in little groups, a long table set up with bowls of salad, chips, rolls, sauces and other snacks, a bucket of ice, rapidly melting in the midday sun, in which various drinks are nestled.

You’re talking to Claire and a guy he doesn’t recognize, but he has his arm draped around her shoulders. You’re dressed in a sweet floral sundress, capped sleeves, white sandals. He wants to slip in to the conversation, no fuss, no announcement, but Chris has other ideas.

“Hey, Leon’s here!”

You turn at your husband’s call, a little surprised. Chris had told you he’d invited Leon, of course, but noted that he hadn’t accepted or denied. Really, you weren’t sure if he’d show at all, given what had happened at the wedding and the fact he’d been off-grid for so long after.

Those bright blue eyes only meet yours for a moment before they trail down to your stomach, and the protective hand you’ve placed on top of it – only a recent habit since your bump had properly popped.

“Oh, yeah,” Chris chuckles, clocking on to exactly what Leon is staring at. He slaps him on the back, ushering him forward as he does. Leon wants to dig his heels in, maybe if he keeps his distance it won’t be real and only a trick of perspective, but his legs won’t co-operate.

“Sorry, should’ve said - turns out we brought more back than souvenirs from the honeymoon.”

Claire groans. “Are you going to use that line on everyone, Chris? It’s too early for you to be cracking out dad jokes.” She takes a swig of her beer, before nodding at Leon. “Hey.”

Leon nods in Claire’s direction, but his eyes are still fixed on you.

“Leon.” You smile, a little worried at how much colour has drained from the agent’s face. “We’re so glad you could make it. It’s been ages!”

“I…” He swallows, shaking his head a little as if he could shake off the feeling of disbelief. “Congratulations. On the house and the… baby.”

Redfield smirks as he steps over from Leon’s side to yours, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close to press a kiss to your temple. “Thanks, bud. Gotta admit, I’m feeling a pretty lucky guy.”

“The luckiest.”

Chris cocks his head at the lack of sarcasm, almost put off by how genuine Leon sounded.

“Sorry, is there any more beer?” Someone he doesn’t recognize – one of yours or Chris’ other friends, maybe – interrupts.

“Of course! I’ll go get it.” You barely make it a step out of Chris’ embrace before he wraps his hand around your arm and stills you with a furrowed brow.

“Babe, we tal-“

“We talked about me carrying heavy things.” You correct with a feigned huff. “The baby will be heavier than a box of beer.”

Chris looks apologetic. “All I was gonna say is you need to be careful – don’t want you wearing yourself out and missing the party.” Leon feels a stabbing pain once again in his chest as he watches Redfield cup your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Let’s be honest, darling, you’re usually on your second nap by this time.”

You pout, more so annoyed that Chris is right. The move, plus the second trimester had you feeling permanently fatigued. “True, but-”

“Let me go grab the beer,” Leon interrupts and Chris drops his hand from your face, as if he just realized Leon was still there. “Just tell me where.”

You frown at his offer. “You’re a guest.”

“A lousy guest - didn’t even bring a housewarming gift,” he berates himself. “Being the beer lackey can be it.”

“You didn’t need to get us anything – your company’s gift enough.” You place a hand on his arm and squeeze in reassurance - he swears his heart skips a beat. “It’s probably easier if I show you where. Come on.”

“Thanks, Leon.” Chris pats him on the back and turns to the grill, declaring it hot enough to finally start cooking.

Leon follows you, dutifully, back up the steps onto the decking, one hand poised ready to steady you if need be. You lead him towards the opposite end of the kitchen and towards the pantry, hesitating before you open the door.

“I’m sorry, if this was a shock.” You jerk your chin down at your stomach. “We were just sorta telling people as and when we saw them, rather than do any real big announcement.”

“Yet you announced the house?”

You smile, wryly. “I think Chris just wanted an excuse to buy that grill. He’s trying out lots of hobbies. I caught him looking up ride-on mowers the other night.”

“Heard he’s office-based now.” There’s a beat and it comes out before he can even think, always ready to justify his actions even when no-one’s called for it. “I couldn’t have done that for you.”

Suddenly, you’re thrown back to that hour before your wedding – something you truthfully hadn’t thought of until this moment.

“You think I asked Chris to do that? That I demanded a wedding and a house and a baby and…” Your voice cracks a little before you take a deep breath. Your emotions are high strung enough at the moment with the pregnancy and you try to compose yourself, digging your nails into your palms.

“You know what? No – I’m not going through this again. Relationships are about compromises on both sides, it’s unfortunate that’s what you still don’t seem to understand.”

You slide open the pantry door then, pointing to the back where a couple of boxes of beer are stacked, in amongst tubs of protein powder. “Just grab any of those, please. I’ll see you outside.”

Leon’s hand wraps around your wrist as you step away. It isn’t a firm grip by any means, just holding you loosely in place. “Just tell me one thing - are you happy?”

“I’m really happy, Leon.” You reply without a beat’s hesitation, because you are. “I hope one day you allow yourself to be happy too.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only drops his grip on your wrist and turns into the pantry in the guise of retrieving the beer. It’s only when he hears you step back out onto the decking that he bends to pick up the box, half wondering if he should just quietly leave now.

No, that would only cause you grief, surely. He’s done enough of that.

After a few moments have passed, he lifts up the box and heads out, pulling the door shut to the pantry behind him. He heads back out into the yard, pausing at the top of the stairs to see you back at your husband’s side, laughing at something he’s said, looking up at him like he’s everything.

Chris wraps his arms around you, helping you up to your tip-toes so he can kiss you as passionately as he did on the wedding day, and every day since.

Claire wonders, loudly, whether your honeymoon phase will ever be over, but she’s smiling as she says it.

Leon silently carries over the box and opens it, adding a couple more cans of beer to the ice bucket before Claire hands him an open one, proposing a toast to the new house and baby Redfield.

Instead, Leon toasts to the life he could’ve had.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments and reblogs make my whole day x

[sunnyangy]

Hey! Can I request Umemiya x Reader (Wind breaker) where he sneaks her up Furin rooftop to look at his plants but they ended up falling asleep and got walked in by someone. Make it cuddly and fluffy. Thank you :)

Rooftop hangout 🍃

- Umemiya 🌱

During Umemiya’s patrol outside in the city, he spotted his girlfriend helping an elderly woman cross the road. His smile automatically went up, as he quickly excused himself from his group and went to you by behind. He grabbed your waist, screaming « Boo ! » against your ear, laughing as you screamed and shook your hands. He held you close, nuzzling his face in you neck as he kept laughing, and you turned around.

« Ume ! You bastaaard you scared me ! »

He laughed even more as he kissed your forehead over and over, mumbling excuses as he hugged you close. He then held your hand and walked back towards his group with you, his thumb brushing against your skin. He looked at the boys, and made a gesture for them to stay silent about it. They all nodded, keeping their mouth shut about the apparent couple. After his patrol, they walked back to Fuurin. Umemiya and you sneaked by behind, going into his office while hiding from all the gazes. You made it up there without anyone seeing, and he closed the door behind you with a smile. As soon as the door closed, Umemiya grabbed your cheeks, pulling you towards him as he leaned down to give you a big kiss, pressing his lips against yours lovingly. He gently moved his lips, grabbing yours as his thumbs brushed against your cheekbones.

«  Finallyyy ! » he said, as he was waiting for that smooch since he spotted you outside.

He immediately pulled you with him on the rooftop, towards his plantations. He started talking about them, explaining what everything is, what they need, what they can be used for, and all of the things he knew about it. You listened to him with great attention, happy that he was sharing his passion with you. You asked him questions, which he was always so happy and proud to answer. After a while of you helping him with his plants, you put your gardening gloves down. You decided to grab the water hose, and aimed it towards him, splashing him with water. He screamed and laughed as he turned towards you, and ran after you. Of course he grabbed you quickly, his arms around your waist blocking yours as he kissed your neck and held you tight, his nose brushing against your skin and collarbone, before tickling you. He also grabbed the hose and splashed you too, smirking as he got his revenge on you. He then turned it off, laughing as you were soaking wet.

« You look like a puppy that ran in a pond » he said with another laugh, before he went to grab a towel in his office. He came back to you and gently dried your hair with it, and made you walk back in his office. He gave you a sweatshirt of his that he left on a chair, and put your shirt to dry outside. He then ordered some McDonalds for you two, and you ate on the couch, watching some series on the TV in a corner of the room. Umemiya had an arm around you, caressing your arm and your head, playing with your hair. He kept kissing your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anything he could put his lips on. He held you close to him, even with the heat. But after a moment, he felt you relax in his arms, and when he looked down, he saw your closed eyes, your chest rising up and down slowly. He immediately turned the sound down a bit, and brushed a strand of hair away from your face as he caressed your cheek. He leaned down to give you a gentle kiss, with a happy and fond smile.

« Sleep well, princess.. »

He then continued to watch his serie, but after some minutes, without realizing, he fell asleep too, your breath against his neck like a soothing lullaby. You both laid down, because he couldn’t stay sat anymore, and slept against each other, the TV still playing in the background.

But, Sakura wanted to come and ask Umemiya for his vest that he lost a few hours ago. People told him Umemiya found it and had it, so he just entered as he heard the TV and thought Umemiya wasn’t working on anything. But when his eyes laid on Umemiya, he saw he was snuggled up with a girl, his arms around her and his head over hers, sleeping comfortably. He felt his love alarm go out immediately, babbling incomprehensible words, getting mad at Umemiya for just being like that, and even at the chair that he bumped into when he wanted to run out, his cheeks as red as the tomatoes Umemiya grew outside.

None of the two lovebird woke up, still sleeping, nuzzled in each other’s embrace.

First of all, I want to thank everyone for 60 followers !! I’m happy everyone appreciate my writing, and I hope i’ll improve :)

I also appreciate a lot that other WB writers talk to me !! i’m glad i can be included in the fandom 🤍

also i hope you appreciate this one, i hope it’s cuddly enough ! <3

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

midnight melodies

↖ navigation: nct masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: bf! haechan x gn! reader

↬ tags: nicknames for haechan!! (e.g. haech, my dude, boyfie, loml, cutie pie, biggest baby), very wholesome i promise, this is what missing someone feels like to me, i have been listening to piwon's late night calls ttoo much thank you muacks (>w<)

summary: he called to tell you he misses you ; you replied because you love him so

word count: 673 words

haechan: i miss you like crazy, are you up? haechan: let's chat :> i like talking to you and with you <3 haechan: i wanna hear your voice. pretty please???

he attempts to dial you, line going dead when you didn't pick up on the first ring. he glances at the bedside clock, the neon green numbers flashing a 11.28pm back at him. it wasn't that late yet.

you were probably awake...right?

a minute later, haechan's phone buzzed: an incoming call from you. his eyes widened in surprise as his hands loses all control, the phone jolting out of his grasp from the sudden vibration. reaching out to grab the fallen device, he hurriedly accepts the call.

"you're still awake??" he puts the phone on speaker next to his ear, waiting for your response. a second of static later and he hears your voice, soft and laced with sleep, "haech, you're crazy..."

"hey...i just missed you. a lot." a short string of laughter leaves his lips. he just saw you a few hours ago when you had him over yours for dinner, but he craved your presence again.

it was so interesting, the way he thinks of you so often like it was breathing to him.

another moment of silence, "...the lights in my room are off. it hurts my eyes to be texting. that's why i decided to call." you mumbled and haechan hears the sound of bedsheets rustling. your muffled yawn came through his speakers and he sheepishly laughs, "sorry, is this a bad time to call you?"

he hugs a nearby plushie you gifted him close to his chest, heart warming when you hummed, "my dude, you really texted me all that...saying you're gonna die without me or something..."

he tried and failed to hide his growing smile. he likes you too much.

"my dude?? hey treat me with some respect, i'm your boyfriend alright..." haechan doesn't have the heart to tease you too much, chuckling at your use of "my dude" romantically. you scoffed, "okay boyfie. what's keeping you up, hmm?"

the corners of his lips immediately turned upwards at the sound of his favorite nickname. he rolled over to his stomach, legs idly kicking behind him, "well...i just saw you a few hours ago but i miss you. that's literally all. can't a man miss their lover? i wanna talk to you too."

"you can...it's just...haech, i can't think...so sleepy..." you let loose another yawn and haechan rolls his eyes even though he knows you can't see him do that, "i know, i know, you sleepyhead. feels a bit weird since i wanted to hear your voice but now i'm doing all the talking and you're the one hearing mine. isn't it?" he paused.

"...h-huh..." you blearily replied, causing haechan to endearingly giggle at your tired self. "so cute...should i be kind and end the call?" he asked, certain that you were already almost reaching la-la-land. when you first had a sleepover at his place, he swoons at how you clung to his side making him all protective of you.

you made a huffing sound and he pictures you tucking the blanket higher up your body, comfortably hidden by that fluffy grey duffle he gifted you as a gag gift in summer. now that the weather is colder, haechan realizes that he's known you for quite a while.

he then recalls every single detail about you he memorized over time, the way your face contorts with humor at his antics to the moments where you allowed yourself to receive his odd ministrations of love and even when you reciprocated them with your own subtle actions.

he was in love with you as much as you were in love with him. a wave of emptiness and sentiment hit him and he whispers into the phone, "i love you."

he repeats it one more time: an affirmation, a promise, "i really love you."

haechan clapped a hand over his mouth when he discerns your snoring through the phone. in his fashion, he ended the call with a kiss (also knowing you probably didn't hear that), before curling up on his side.

he'll just have to see you again tomorrow.

@ppumeonae-bigvibe's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated !

[daintylovers]

hi love! maybe a Spencer Reid request where reader is obsessed with collecting trinkets, calico critters, and/or sonny angels. He doesn’t understand it until he opens one himself and then gets obsessed too. Maybe it becomes their thing after a bad case/tiring day?

don’t know if you’ll see this but ty if you do <3

aaahhhhh i love sonny angels!!! i used to have a cherry one on my phone case named soda pop- but he got decapitated when i dropped him too many times :(

so, because i am self-indulgent- sonny angels win!

****

he notices one day, the little baby figurine on your desk. it's new, with bunny ears on its head. his first instinct is that it's a toy for jack. but jack comes and goes that day, and the trinket is still in the same spot.

he wants to ask, maybe it slipped your mind, but holds himself back. it's none of his business. except- a few days later- he spots that penelope has one of the things in her lair. and luckily for him, penelope is always eager to share her findings. so he asks.

apparently, they were called "sonny angels"?? she tells him how they are adorable little collectibles that come in hundreds of different variations. and it's a mystery each time.

a few more days pass after that, filled with the angst of a case gone awry. spence had been tense the whole time, the case hitting too close to home. but with you by his side- he felt like he could manage just a little better.

the next day he comes into the office, two coffees in hand. one for him, and one for you. it was his little way of saying thank you for being there for him. he wasn't too great at voicing his feelings, especially the sappy ones. so he liked to stick to acts of service and gift-giving. he placed the coffee on your desk, then made his way over to his corner.

except, this time he had a little gift wrapped package square in the center of his desk. it was shoddily wrapped, and he wondered who it was from. for a brief second, his overactive imagination tried to convince him it was going to be something gruesome. some crazed lunatic dropping off a finger or a miniature bomb. maybe he should lay off the caffeine after all?

but when he saw you trying to subtly watch him from your desk- he knew he was safe. written on the wrapping was a little note saying, "this is for you, stalker. thanks for being an angel."

he unwrapped it as delicately as possible, wanting to save the note for his box of sentiments at home. just because he couldn't voice the feeling well, didn't mean it wasn't there for him. once he finished, one of the little angel babies was looking back at him.

his heart did a stupid little flutter. he had been asking around, partly because he was looking for himself, but also because he was looking for you. he had wanted to get matching ones or something, not really sure how the whole concept worked.

he opened up the box and saw a head of hydrangeas peeking out.

you watched as he pulled the exact one you were hoping he would pull, and couldn't contain yourself any longer.

bounding over to his desk, bouncing on the tips of your toes you said, "hey- where did you get that?"

he matched your cheeky smile, "not sure, maybe pen? she has one of these on her desk too."

"oh, whatever. she told me you were asking around about my little white rabbit over there. so i decided to save you the hassle."

he just laughed with you, "thank you. but seriously, where do you get these?"

"no way, i can't reveal my secrets."

morgan and emily, interested in the commotion from the other side of the room wandered over to the pair of you.

"wait, how come i don't have one of these little guys?"

safe to say, that in the coming weeks, everyone was sporting little sonny angels on their desks.

but spencer and you continued the little tradition. after a tough case, or even just a bad day, whoever was hurting more would receive a little gift.

you- being a tad dramatic, had more bad days than spencer. so he stuck to his coffee-giving habit for you.

while spence tended to rarely show his bad days. but when he did, he knew that the next day, a new angel would appear on his desk.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again. 

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

 He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

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

[4drianaaaa]

You should do a cutsie thing about y/n and hamzahs anniversary going on a date and maybe some nsfw 🫶🏼

omg this so adowable 😙, also I was looking at my posts about Hamzah and I just realized it's mostly smut LMFAOO. YOU HORNY MUTHUFUCKAS (I have no problem with that 👅)

nsfw! 18+ | fem reader!

🎀 | It has been a year since the boy who asked you out in the most puppy love-type way. Bringing a bouquet of tulips and a big poster that you checked 'yes' on to be his girlfriend. Now the two of you live together in his small apartment with his cat peter.

You dabbed on some blush at the apple of your cheek as you saw your boyfriend through the mirror as his warm hands wrapped around your waist "How did I get with someone so beautiful?" he kissed your cheek, "Careful Hamzah I'm gonna stain your shirt" you placed the blush powder on the counter of the sink as you shifted your body to his as he sat you on the counter "So your not gonna answer my question?" he huffed as you kissed his soft lips "Maybe cause' your so hot? I don't know?!" you ruffled his hair.

You wore a simple short black dress pairing it with a small white bag, the both of you were now on your way to the restaurant he has reserved a week prior. You both went to a small booth as the place looked like nothing but rich. You looked at shocked “Hamzah this looks so fancy- where did you find this place” you took a sip of the white wine in front of you prepared at the table once you walked in “i dunno’. I searched up ‘expensive, fancy, romantic restaurant on Google and this one popped up!” He replied as he smirked “just get what ever. It’s all on me baby” he set his hand on top of yours as his thumb rubbed on the sparkly diamond on your ring he gave you in the morning.

The two of you chatted as you both ate the most delicious dinner enjoying your self’s company and laughing about memories of you two.

“I remember the first day I moved in with you, there was a big mess.” You teased as he huffed “alright babe. May I remind you that I barely moved in as well and I was so overwhelmed! Not to mention I was raising Peter too.” He spun the wine in his cup as he took the last sip “and you act like it wasn’t a mess in my bedroom when you barely got here…bra on my floor-“ you cut him off by stepping on his shoe “Hamzah! We’re literally in public” you turned as red as the wine you were sipping on as he couldn’t help but bust out laughing. His thoughts grew as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “what?” You tilted your head as lustful memories filled his mind. The way he’d roam his hand all over you as you squirmed under him, “nothing” he said clearing his throat as the waiter ended his thoughts “here’s the bill” Hamzah placed his card on to the receipt as the waiter took it off with him.

“Thank you so much baby for the dinner, i enjoyed every second of it” you kissed his cheek as he said nothing. Your eyebrows furrowed. “So you’re not gonna tell me what’s on your mind? Was it because I stepped on your shoe. Crybaby?” You said closing the car door “Fuck, I just need you so fucking bad- I don’t know how I contained my self over there.” He exhaled as you smirked “so that’s what it is hm?” Your hands roamed down his chest as you kissed his lips “I have a surprise back at home too” you whispered into his ear that sent a cold shiver down his spine. He sped through the night Toronto streets as you made it to your shared apartment. His lips not even trying to leave yours as you struggled to open the door

“Fuck” he panted licking his lips as he opened the door shutting it behind him as you walked to your bedroom as your hands wrapped around his neck as he removed his black blazer throwing it onto the floor. Your lips parted as he sat at the edge of the bed “wanna show me what’s under this gorgeous dress princess?” He laid his hands around your waist as you turned your back to him “find out” you said moving your hair to the side as he slowly zipped down your dress as the cold air hit your back causing your breath to hitch. His eyes widened at your white lacy lingerie with little bows everywhere. He practically drooled as you spun back around to him as you smiled as he pulled you into him “your so beautiful baby” he grasped “yeah?” You hummed as he nodded his head twirling his fingers around your lacy panties biting his lip.

He unbuttoned his pants leaving him in his boxers as he laid you onto the bed. As you began removing your bra he immediately grabbed your hand stopping you, “I want to fuck you in this pretty set baby- please just leave it on” he whined as you nodded. His hands palmed his hard dick as you opened your legs just wanting him inside you already. He bit his lip as he pulled down his boxers revealing his erected member as pre-cum coated his tip, “fuck Hamzah please!” You begged as a smile creeped onto his lips. He rubbed his tip against your clothes panties as you cursed under your breath. He looked at you as you moved your pantie to the side begging for his dick to be inside you already, he slowly rubbed his member around your aching clit as small whines escaped your lips. He slowly inserted him self into you as you grabbed onto the white sheets of your shared bed “fuck baby, your soaking” he moaned “just fuck me Hamzah” you squirmed around as he held onto your hips as he entered in and out of you. Your hand flew on top of your mouth as skin slapping against each other and small moans and whimpers escaped both of your mouths filled the room.

He leaned down kissing your neck as your hands gripped onto his hair tightly “fuck Hamzah I’m so close!” You moaned into his ear as he nodded “yes baby” he whined as you felt your self at your highest as you panted, his mouth found your chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck before coming all over him “holy shit.” He grunted as he quickly thrusted into you as your body shook from the over stimulation. He pulled out before coming as he pumped his aching member on your lingerie set.

“Looks so much better coated all over my cum” he teased as you chucked “how about a warm bath? Cause I know you can’t stand” he joked as he noticed your shaky legs “sounds good” you kissed his forehead as he laid next to you.

-

I feel like this was so short omg 😣

[missjadesfics]

Are you jealous, Sanji?

Sanji x Reader request: Yes gif credits: @goodsirs divider credits: @rookthornesartistry @cafekitsune Summary: Sanji decides to make his feelings for Y/n known after Zoro openly flirts with her in front of him. Unknown to him, Y/n has feelings for him too. Warnings: None, just Sanji being a jelly man, make-out session, heartwarming stuff; Sanji, I guess, is a warning in himself. Word Count: 1,5k Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters, nor do I claim them as my own. Comments, likes and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx

Y/n sat with the children, listening to Usopp tell them how he helped defeat the fishmen with his slingshot. Making gestures with his body as he spoke word for word. Y/n put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing when he fell backwards, as she ran over to help him up. Sanji poured everyone a bowl of his stew, and each villager thanked him gratefully. Sanji smiled and nodded as he looked at Y/n, his eyes meeting hers. With a locked gaze, she waved at him as she danced with the children, making Snaji chuckle lightly; he saw Zoro come up with his empty bowl as he raised a brow. “Enjoyed it that much, did you? Not too bad for a waiter, eh?” he laughed, pouring some more stew into his bowl. Zoro made a slight smile. “I’m just hungry, and this is the only available food. Doesn’t mean anything,” he nodded to Sanji as the cook grinned, watching Zoro walk away. “Whatever you say,” Sanji said to himself as he grabbed a bowl for himself and Y/n; making his way over, Y/n fell to the ground in a heap, the children climbing on top of her and burying her underneath them. “Hey, kids, do you mind if I give the pretty lady something to eat? I promise she can play with you later.” 

Sanji asked the kids, and they gradually revealed that Y/n was lying on the ground, laughing lightly as they all ran to join Usopp and Luffy in playing with them. Y/n sighed, sitting beside Sanji “ I forgot just how much energy children have”, she said, out of breath. Sanji handed her one of the bowls with a chuckle. “You kept up well with them, darling. However, I think Usopp and Luffy could possibly overthrow you quite easily,” Y/n smiled. “And I wouldn’t have a problem with that; they are both big children at heart.” She ate Sanji’s stew, closed her eyes, and moaned in delight. “This is amazing, Sanji. If only Zeff were here to try this. You’ve come a long way as a chef,” she complimented. Sanji blushed lightly at her compliment. “Yeah, if the old man ever develops quality taste buds, that is”, he made the joke Y/n gasped, shoving Sanji playfully. “Sanji! You are terrible,” she laughed at her friend’s joke. 

While Sanji was cleaning the dishes from the festivities, he saw Y/n come over to help him. “Darling, you don’t have to help; I can handle this” he looked over his shoulder Y/n put her hands on her hips. Sanji laughed, resuming cleaning the dishes and shaking his head. “The day I find out how to get you to listen to me-” he began when Y/n cut him off. “Which will be never”, she finished while helping him clean the bowls, handling the work in a comfortable silence. “You know I don’t mind helping you, Sanji. I’ve gotten used to it after all our time working for Zeff together. Besides, I like you, and you were the only cook I could stand. A plus, too, you are handsome and having a handsome cook and friend is a good thing,” she giggled. Sanji raised a brow, and a smug look appeared on his face. “Oh, you think I’m handsome, love. Tell me, is there anything else about me that’s, let’s say, a benefit?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Y/n hummed in response as she cleaned the last bowl and wiped her hands with a cloth. Sanji mirrored her as he waited for her response. “Depends on what you count as benefits, really”, she teased, tapping his shoulder and kissing his cheek. Looking over her shoulder at him while she walked away, Sanji’s heart raced, smiling. ‘She thinks I’m handsome,’ he thought as he stacked the bowls neatly.

Y/n stood with Nami, watching Luffy stretch his body and make the children laugh; the girls smiled at their friend having fun. “So, am I wrong to assume something is happening between you and Sanji?” Nami wriggled her brows with a cheeky grin Y/n blushed, shaking her head. “Oh, Sanji doesn’t see me that way; we’ve known each other since we were kids. Besides, I don’t want to ruin our friendship; it’s too special to me,” Y/n explained to Nami, who frowned. “I don’t know; you both seem too oblivious to each other’s looks or little compliments. I mean, he calls you darling, love, sweetheart, or any kind of affectionate nickname, and you don’t think he means something behind it?” Nami asked Y/n; her eyes drifted over to Sanji, taking in a breath. “He’s always been charming like that; he’s a romantic and loves making women feel special and adored. Even if it’s only for a day,” she smiled while watching Sanji sip his drink and talk to Zoro as they walked over to Y/n and Nami. “Oh my god, he’s coming over” Y/n hid in Nami’s shoulder; the orange-haired girl laughed. “Oh, you have feelings for him; it’s adorable”, she hugged her friend as Y/n’s muffled voice said, “I hate you.” 

“Well, ladies, you look pretty this evening, Y/n; green suits you. I think it’s your new colour,” Zoro winked Y/n blushed, giggling. “Thank you, Zoro. Are you subtly suggesting something?” She asked him, sipping her water. Zoro tilted his head. “Well, normally, I wouldn’t allow it, but I can make an expectation just for you, honey. We’d look good together.” He smirked Y/n’s eyes and gazed at Sanji, his hand clenched tightly, and his eyes burned as he stared at Zoro. “I think it’s getting late. Maybe we should all get some sleep. It’s been a long day” Y/n and Nami nodded in agreement. “Yeah, good idea, see you in the morning”, Nami shouted as she walked away. Zoro sighed. “Yeah, sleep sounds good right about now. Good night, Y/n; sleep well, honey. If you need a bunk buddy, you know where I am.” he winked. Sanji’s jaw clenched, wrapping an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. “Yeah, whatever” he pulled Y/n away, his other hand tucked in his pocket, and they walked back to their sleeping huts. 

“Sanji, is everything okay? You seem different,” Y/n asked softly, her hand on his shoulder. Sanji laid his head on the door of his hut, opened it and pulled her inside. “Sanji”, Y/n gasped lightly before she was pushed to the wall, caged between Sanji’s hands on either side of her head. Breathing heavily, Sanji stared into her eyes. “Can I tell you something?” He whispered as he leaned in slightly Y/n nodded her head wordlessly. “I have held back for so long with my feelings. The thought of rejection always plagued my mind, but I would regret it if I didn’t say something. I love everything about you: the way you smile, your blush, your eyes shine, your laugh and how you always have been there beside me. You have given me so much to admire and appreciate. I never realised how much one person can make you feel inspired and loved, my darling. I was told once that I should find someone who isn’t afraid of the word forever. And I am willing to spend forever with you if it means I share every moment with you, awake or in our dreams while we sleep. You have been the only girl I’ve loved and thought about since I understood what it means to cherish someone special. Y/n, I love you.” Sanji cupped her face, his head pressed to hers gently. Y/n’s eyes closed, and she had a smile on her lips. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed about hearing you say those last four words to me”, she admitted, looking into his eyes. “I love you too, Sanji. I’ve been too afraid to ruin our friendship at the risk of losing you. There is no one else but you; it’s always been you” She pressed her lips to his.

Both held on to each other like they were their only life source. Sanji’s arms wrapped around Y/n’s waist, securely pulling her close, carrying her over to the table, and sitting her on top gently. “How could I not see it? You were practically telling me,” Sanji murmured, making Y/n laugh lightly. “Oh, sweet Sanji, I forgive you” Y/n threaded her fingers through his hair, brushing her nose with his. “Also, we should probably thank Zoro for this.” She motioned between them. Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say his name”, he breathed, kissing her again, this time with a little more force; a moan escaped her lips. Sanji kissed her neck, and Y/n laughed. “Are you jealous, Sanji?” she moaned, feeling Sanji bite her neck softly. “Well, can you blame me?” His voice mumbled Y/n held onto his shoulders for support. “Well, two things; one, you don't have to be jealous of any man. And two, I’m tired. Can we just go to sleep?” she whined softly. Sanji chuckled, pulling her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. “Of course, darling, I’ll make up for lost time tomorrow” he kissed her lips gently before laying beside her, pulling a blanket over them Y/n tucked her head in Sanji’s chest, falling asleep instantly. 

Sanji kissed Y/n’s head lightly, whispering, “Good night, darling.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 & 38 💕

Thank you, friend 💕 This prompt took my face in its hands and whispered, "Drunken late-night bus ride."

3) SHIP: Cressida x Eloise

38) SCANDAL: public drunkenness!

more Bridgerton-themed fic prompts

Happy Times We Had (And Yet the Times Were Sad)

Pairing: Cressida x Eloise Rating: M Word Count: 1729

Summary: Drunk on champagne and shining like two falling stars, Eloise and Cressida take the bus.

They rushed onto the bus, out of breath, and Eloise hoped it was the right bus. The lit-up number over the windscreen had seemed right as they’d dashed down the sidewalk, but it was only a blur in her memory as she snapped open her clutch and poked around for their fare.

The driver pitched the bus forward, which Eloise supposed was as much a mark of trust as a completely arseholish thing to do; he was assuming she could pay. The bus swung away from the curb to avoid a parked car and Cressida wrapped her arms around Eloise’s waist from behind, the pair of them swaying together. As soon as Eloise got their fares sorted, she took Cressida by the hand and led her, wobbling, down the aisle, collapsing into a pair of seats across from the rear door. She fumbled out an error-riddled text to Benedict, saying they were on their way home.

The pair of them glittered in their evening finery—dresses with little straps that crisscrossed their backs and sparkling eyeshadow fallout under their eyes. Their insobriety made the effect all the prettier. Eloise grinned lazily as she stared at Cressida, whose head rested back against the window, headlights and neon lights and stoplights sliding past outside, her perpetually too-tight blonde hair tugged loose to drape, like a third drunk, over her shoulder.

“D’you think he’ll be angry at me?” Cressida asked.

Eloise twisted until the pointy toes of their high heels knocked together. The large sequins on Cressida’s skirt would leave impressions in Eloise’s bare knees as she pressed against her.

“Who?”

Cressida sulked.

“My father.”

“Oh yes. Well,” Eloise reflected, patting her friend’s hand, “you did call him a pompous, uptight bastard. And you gave him the ol’ ‘fuck you’ gesture when we were on our way out.”

Cressida slumped a little in her seat, tilting her head.

“But d’you think he’ll be mad?”

“I think…” Eloise said slowly, because the thought was still forming and because she was drunk. “I think, if your father sat down with himself—”

“Mhmm.”

“—and really got to—got to know himself—”

“Mhmm.”

“—that maybe he would maybe see tha’ he is a pompous, uptight bastard,” Eloise concluded.

Cressida’s head swung loosely from side to side.

“That is never going to happen.”

“No, it doesn’ seem likely,” Eloise agreed. “Maybe if you hadn’ said it in front of all of ‘respectable society.’” Her air quotes were expansive.

“‘Respectable society’ can kiss my ‘Daisy by Marc Jacobs’-scented arse,” Cressida declared, yanking her shoes off and dropping them onto the floor of the bus.

Eloise laughed richly, leaning her head on Cressida’s shoulder. After a minute, she sighed. She could feel Cressida breathing. Turning her face just a little, Eloise inhaled. She could smell Cressida’s perfume, mixed with champagne sweetness and, gradually, the lingering scent of smoke that clung to Eloise, courtesy of the cigarette she’d smoked in the restaurant bathroom before they’d made their escape.

“You smell really nice,” Eloise observed.

“Thanks.”

The word sounded wet, so Eloise raised her head, and saw that Cressida was silently weeping. Eloise’s mouth fell open in panic. She was not good at this: emotion. She had never been a natural at comforting others, never the right-shaped shoulder to cry on. Her younger siblings had always gone to their mother for solace—failing that, to Daphne or Benedict (to be fair, so had Eloise). In this moment, with Cressida’s fat tears washing her bottom row of eyelashes of mascara, leaving them pale and clustered and vulnerable to the world, Eloise had never wanted to help so badly.

She touched Cressida’s cheek and gently shushed her, but it was obvious that Cressida was a deadly combination of too overwhelmed and too intoxicated to stop crying that easily.

“I’ve totally fucked my life,” Cressida sobbed.

And Eloise said, “No. No. No,” in various sympathetic tones, meaning each repetition with her whole heart.

“They’ll send me away!”

“They can’t. You’re not some child in boarding school, you’re at uni.”

But Cressida was shaking her head, adamant.

“They’ll send me away. They’ll make me live in Denmark. I got too good at Danish. I never should’ve declared a minor, but my father said a language would be good for—good for my business degree,” she wailed.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Eloise thought fast. “I’m going to hide you in my closet.” This thought had indeed come to her fast, but was perhaps not sound.

Cressida sniffed.

“In your closet?”

“Uh huh. I’ll protect you.”

Although her face was streaked with tears that glimmered pink and gold, Cressida smiled. She pulled Eloise’s hand onto her lap and held it.

“You sound about four years old,” she said.

Eloise smiled back and reached out to trace the shape of Cressida’s chin with her fingers.

“I dunno about that, but I think I’d melt if you called me ‘baby.’”

The bus rolled jarringly over a pothole, nearly flinging Eloise from her seat. She gripped the nearest pole and swiveled her head to look out the window. Well done, she thought to herself. Right bus after all.

“C’mon,” she said. “Le’s get off at the next one.”

She told Cressida not to forget her shoes, and they hobbled off with all the grace with which they’d made their ascent. The bus puffed hot air and pulled away. Cressida squinted at the buildings they faced from the sidewalk. Her heels dangled from her hand, her fingers hooked through the straps.

“Is this right?”

Eloise grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to look across the street.

“Oh. I know where we are,” Cressida announced. “You are protecting me.”

But Eloise felt a bit embarrassed about that, and the other thing she’d said, now that they were out in the warm evening air and the bus wasn’t lurching them along. They darted across the road. It wasn’t until they were on the other side, not a ten-minute walk from both of their houses, that she looked Cressida in the eye—and this was because Cressida grabbed her hand to stop her.

“This would all be awful without you,” she said.

Just for Eloise, there were streetlights like angels’ eyes that made Cressida’s hair glow and her dress shimmer and her eyes shine above the muck of her cried-off mascara, and the way she watched her was divinely tender and fearful, both.

Eloise kissed Cressida on the cheek; she wasn’t so tall without her shoes on, with her hair down. Eloise breathed her in, then stepped back.

Cressida wore an alarmed, animal expression, like something not used to human touch. But then she dropped her shoes—Eloise heard the clatter—and sunk her fingers into Eloise’s tangled hair. Eloise was breathing fast, but Cressida just leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. Eloise’s eyes crossed as she watched Cressida’s close.

“Don’ go,” Cressida murmured.

“I-I’m not.”

Eloise was ashamed of the stammer, thinking she was making too much of this. She was always making too much of things, but this was worse than usual because it would hurt more. She’d thought, someplace between the restaurant and here, that it was time. She had misunderstood; Cressida was only drunk and morose, lonely and needy. Maybe she did see how Eloise needed her (it was different) and she was playing on that. She used to be that sort of mean girl. Eloise didn’t want to think her friend capable of such a personal cruelty though. She just doesn’t understand, Eloise told herself, staring at Cressida’s blurry, too-close face. She won’t feel me wrapped around her finger until I start cutting off her circulation.

“Don’ go,” she was still mumbling, shaking her head, their foreheads rubbing.

Somehow, Eloise’s heart felt heavier in pieces than it had a moment ago, whole. But she wouldn’t go. She couldn’t. Cressida meant too much to her. They were each other’s life raft in all this society bullshit and parental expectation. Anyway, she wasn’t about to leave her friend standing drunk and barefoot on the sidewalk.

Gentle, Eloise reached up to pull Cressida’s hands from her hair. Without warning, Cressida thrust her face forward and kissed Eloise on the mouth. Eloise blinked.

Now it would hurt, and this hurt would scar—when she had to maternally tuck Cressida’s hair behind her ears and say, That’s enough now, Cress. But before she could speak, Cressida said, “Baby.”

“What?” Eloise’s voice sounded choked.

And Cressida’s fingertips trailed up and down the sides of Eloise’s neck, and she traced the pendant that hung against her throat, and she pressed their faces together, and she said, “Baby,” and she kissed Eloise again.

Eloise kissed her back, sloppy and yearning, cataclysmic and sweet. Cressida wasn’t someone she could kiss and laugh about it the next day. She couldn’t enjoy these benefits and keep being just-friends. She couldn’t hook up with Cressida, have a fling with Cressida, eat Cressida out on a pristine bench in a private park after dark because her dad was the worst and she was somehow even prettier with swirls of cried-off makeup making her cheeks look like candy-coloured Italian marble. Eloise couldn’t do this and recover, but she did it. How could she not? She did it and she led Cressida through the gate of the private park with their fingers linked, and Eloise laid her back on the pristine bench and crouched to give her head while Cressida named all the constellations she could see, getting all of them wrong. Eloise did it, gambling that it wouldn’t seem ugly when they were sober. She did it, remembering the pressure of Cressida’s arms around her waist while she paid for the bus. How, how, how could she not?

And then Cressida curled into Eloise’s side and said, “You’re the only one who matters.”

And Eloise combed her fingers through that long blonde hair and said, “That isn’t true.”

And it could’ve ended there, but Cressida went to Eloise’s home because her house wasn’t one, and slept in a guest room, and, half-awake, lifted the sheet for Eloise when she turned up later on, a way to beckon her in because she was dithering in the doorway. They slept deeply.

Eloise, who had appointed herself protector, woke up to feel Cressida wrapped around her from behind.