Tumgik
#and my pinkie was dead at the end
amethystsnumber1fan · 13 days
Text
here are some of my media related interests for anyone wondering:
-teenage mutant ninja turtles
-steven universe
-amphibia
-the owl house
-avatar the last airbender/the legend of korra
-dead end paranormal park
-sonic
-trolls
-the ghost and molly mcgee
-animaniacs/pinky and the brain
-raggedy ann and andy a musical adventure
-my little pony
-young sheldon
-little witch academia
-usagi chronicles
-the dragon prince
-gravity falls
+more that i cant think of
12 notes · View notes
yes---but---no · 1 year
Note
Its friday the 13th
I hope your cereal gets soggy
I hope you step on a random water puddle with socks on
6 notes · View notes
mickyschumacher · 5 months
Note
can i request something for carlos sainz x leclerc!reader on vacation?there’s such a soft spot in me for summer vacation carlos like in a beach setting or on a yacht. it can be soft or smutty it doesn’t matter i just love summery carlos. thank you!!!
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐈 .ೃ࿐
Tumblr media
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: while the leclercs maybe spending their summer vacation at home, you opted for a secret vacation in santorini with your secret boyfriend, carlos sainz. or in which you are secretly dating your brother's teammate.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), unprotected sex (if you're gonna slip, slop, slap, you must wrap your willy!), reader dob in 1999, dating in secret trope!, sainz & leclerc = google translated spanish & french ._., ig the reader has a shaved downstairs?, p in v, teasing, oral sex, lovey dovey smut?, poor humour, breastplay, fingering, cumming inside, bit of overstimulation for the reader, scandal and swift references, love confessions.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!carlos sainz x younger leclerc!fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+
𝐀/𝐍: firm agree on the summery carlos! is it really my writing if i don't get santorini involved? anyways, hope this was up to your standards! sorry for the long wait! ♡︎
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆
Dating your brother's teammate was never on your bucket list. Hell, you tried to stay away from Formula 1. Well, as much as Leclerc could anyways.
People older than you weren't really your type. You opted for people near your age. That way there wasn't an awkward generation gap and there was no one that reminded you of your older brothers. Carlos was only five years older than you but the generational gap was most certainly there.
Men your age were... well, boys.
Men Carlos' age were men but also men.
You had seen Carlos at races before. And he was an attractive man, obviously. But that was that. You passed each other down the paddock, barely giving each other a glance. And not to mention the obvious, you were far too young for him at the time.
But then Ferrari's first car launch after signing Carlos had happened.
You had seen Carlos more in the few hours the event lasted than the past few years. You didn't know what it was. Whether you were unintentionally stalking him or vice versa. What you did know, however, he was definitely eyeing you.
By the time Charles had introduced you, Arthur, Lorenzo, and your mother, Carlos was trying to keep his interest at bay, pretending to be as family-friendly as possible.
Carlos ended up catching you as you came out of the bathroom, smoothly asking for your number. And as much as you wanted to give it to him, you weren't going to be easy. You were a Leclerc for crying out loud.
If Carlos wanted you, he would have to earn you.
And boy did he try.
You had heard from several people and the Internet that Carlos was a hardcore romantic. You never thought about it up until he started pulling out all the stops.
He was attentive as hell, remembering your favourite drinks, slipping you a new book to read as he talked to Charles, purposely linking his pinky with yours as discreetly as he could just so he could see you flush in front of him, sending you clothes for you to wear to his races to your apartment...
Carlos was menace.
But somewhere along the line, he became your menace.
You and Carlos were the epitome of the saying 'Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours'.
Keeping it secret... sure it was frustrating at times. The both of you had person after person trying to get with you because, well, you were a Leclerc and he was Carlos Sainz. Carlos had managed to draw a line by telling people he had a girlfriend but he didn't want to reveal her.
Yeah... it didn't settle well with the grid, in particular the three gossipers of the grid: Pierre, Lando, and your brother.
But after all the little bumps in the road, it was smooth sailing.
Most of the time you spent time together was alone, just the two of you. That way, there was no risk of being caught and you could revel in each other.
Of course, it wasn't that easy. Nothing was easy with you and Carlos, especially given that you couldn't keep your hands off of one another. Carlos a slight more than you because you had the decency and fear of embarrassment of getting caught by anyone. Carlos, on the other hand, was as indecent as they come. Hands always looking for an excuse to touch you, eyes travelling to find you first in any room, sending dirty texts when you sat across him... like you said, he was a menace.
To make things easier for yourself, for this summer break, you and Carlos had picked trusty Santorini as a romantic getaway, taking his dog Piñon as a welcomed third wheeler. Filled with so many tourists that you and Carlos would look like any regular couple there.
"Now this is a summer break," You breathed out, walking on to the yacht you had rented out for your stay in Greece. The air was clean and crisp, the sun was already beating down on you despite it being nine in the morning, and the translucent blue waters brought you a sense of familiarity that Monaco held.
"Don't you agree, Piñon?" You cooed to the soft ball of white curled up into your arms. A small bark of agreement came from the dog, tail wagging in happiness.
Carlos chuckled behind you, putting down your bags on the deck, under the shade. His thick arms enveloped your waist, bringing you closer to him. Nestling his chin into your shoulder, he said, "That's good, hermosa (beautiful). Now try saying it in Spanish."
You made a face at his teasing tone. Pulling yourself out of his grasp, you turned towards him. "Ahora son unas vacaciones de verano. ¿No estás de acuerdo, mi querido Carlos?" You recreated the same coaxing tone you had given Piñon to your lover, pinching his cheek with the energy of an overly endearing mother. Now this is a summer break. Don't you agree, my dear Carlos?
Carlos gave you a pointed look. You were teasing him. You knew he liked when you spoke Spanish because it was cute to see you fumble over the words but it also meant a lot to him that you were trying.
You rolled your eyes at his reaction and settled Piñon on the deck after making sure it wasn't too hot for those small paws of his. You watched him trot around the yacht, carefully examining his surrounding to test his boundaries.
Satisfied that Piñon was safe, you turned back to Carlos. "Brunch?"
"Brunch..." Carlos trailed off, hand reaching out to your face. The soft pad of his thumb graze your lips, gently pulling on your bottom lip to watch it bounce back. "...or brunch?" He asked, voice heavy with a clear need.
Your body thrived with an eagerness to respond to his touch. Goosebumps were the paint to the canvas of your skin, littering each part of you even though you were impossibly warm in the sun. You really wanted brunch. But your stomach wanted brunch. Instead, you simply nodded to him, agreeing with the answer he had never said. "You're right. Food is very important."
Carlos groaned at your response. "Hermosa," He sighed out, bringing his arms around your waist to pull you close yet again. "I want you," He murmured against your skin, nose brushing against your cheek and hot breath wandering down your neck.
Carlos could feel you smile at his words. "And you have me... for two whole weeks," You reminded him, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek.
Carlos curled his lip in annoyance at your reminder while he revelled in your touch. "I could have you for four," He also reminded you.
You sighed. You hadn't seen him in three weeks because life had it's mysterious ways of making the both of you busy. You wanted nothing more than a month with Carlos. But it was far too suspicious.
You had barely convinced your mother and your brothers that you were going to Santorini for a 'self-exploration' trip. Charles had immediately offered to turn it into a family trip but you managed to settle him down by saying you would spend the last two weeks with them. Alexandra had been a sweetheart in the matter as well. She was the only one, as well as Kika and Lily, that had known about you and Carlos, claiming they sensed it from 'a mile away'.
What they truly meant was that Carlos wouldn't stop eye-fucking you from a far.
"It's okay," You mumbled woefully, patting his chest softly, "I'll be with you in spirit while you reign Madrid."
Carlos held in his eye roll at your theatrics, you had a flair for them. "I wish you would reign Madrid with me instead. I want you to meet the family, let me finally teach you golf, go to the holiday house with me, hmm?" He implored, chocolate brown flickering to search yours.
The pain behind your eyes made him feel frustrated. He knew how much you wanted to do that because you wanted the same thing with your family. "How 'bout I call Charles, hmm? I'm sure he'll understand."
The thought of Charles finding out from anyone but you made you shudder. Would he understand? What was so understandable about hiding the fact you were dating his teammate for over a year, especially over a call?
Arthur, amongst Charles and Lorenzo, would probably be the most hurt. You and him told each other everything. You guys were the closest in age, similar to how Lorenzo and Charles were. Hell, you even helped him confess and get with Carla. And he was waiting to do the same for you, with some he trusted and knew.
And Lorenzo? It was really for the best if he didn't know from Carlos. He had initially told you not to get too close to any of the drivers because he was worried for you and well, the reputation of F1 drivers and dating wasn't too great. But you were quite sure that anything you and Carlos did had crossed the line of 'too close'. '
"Carlos, mi amor, I love you, but I think the idea of brunch, not brunch, is more understanding."
━━━━━━━━━━━
After your brunch, you had spent some time reading to Carlos inside the yacht, not wanting to get into the water just after you had eaten nor wanting to go out when the sunshine was at it's peak.
It was serene.
The windows were open, letting a cool breeze come and help reduce the heat and you were both sprawled on the soft mattresses that served as sofas on the floor of the yacht. The calmness and peace you had desired amongst the chaos life and F1 brought.
You were half sure that Carlos was close to falling asleep in your lap, but not by your retelling of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, after Carlos refused to see Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen for the sixth time this year, but by the way your combed your hand through his hair as you read. (Although you were still going to be persistent because the concept of seeing those two on screen in Santorini out of all places was a need, not a want).
"Carlos, mon beau (my handsome), you're going to fall asleep. Let's go swimming," You told him, placing your bookmark in between the pages and closing the book.
Carlos groaned, looking up at you. He held your hand close to his chest. "No, it's way too hot. Don't you see the water? It looks like lava."
You narrowed your eyes. "That precisely why we should go swimming. We can't just sit here and mope around. We're in Santorini... we need to stand up and move around."
Carlos lifted his head from your lap, sitting straight so he faced you. You let out a quick yelp when he pulled you forward, placing you onto his lap, legs straddling him. "I can think about fifty ways to stand up and move around... in fifty different positions."
You could feel your thighs involuntarily clench around him. You know he felt it to. You gasped at his words and shook your head. "You are a heathen, Carlos Sainz. A barbarian... a hooligan, a sexually-driven simpleton must I continue?"
"Well, I recall you loving this heathen, infidel, barbarian, and hooligan," Carlos shrugged, warm hands inching up the white sundress you had worn this morning. The action sent a shudder down your spine.
"Carlos," You mumbled, already falling into a state where you were losing the words to speak your thoughts as Carlos kneaded the flesh of your thighs with his rough hands.
"Yes?" Those puppy brown eyes flickered to your eyes while he brought his mouth to your thighs, opting to graze your heated skin with the teeth. "Tell me what you want, hermosa. And I'll give it to you."
You faltered at his words. His gaze was heavy with a dark blaze that sent your stomach churning. You allowed yourself to fully straddle Carlos' lap, teeth sinking into your bottom lip when you felt Carlos' clothed bulge press into your core.
Carlos struggled to prevent a strained hiss escape his gritted teeth, his grip on your thighs tightening, your flesh escaping the confines of his hands. Fuck, were your thighs so enticing to Carlos. He wanted to bite them and bruise them so even weeks later, they were covered in the reminiscents of him.
"What do you want, baby? Please tell me," Carlos begged, eyes desperately searching your own for any sign or indication of what you wanted.
You felt your core clench at the plea falling from Carlos' plump lips. You hadn't even really done anything but he was ready to serve you. Everything was foggy. You couldn't think straight. "I want... I want you, Carlos. Fuck, anything, everything... I–make love to me. Show me how much you love me."
His roaming hands came to a halt. "Mierda (shit)," Carlos cursed, bringing his tongue to swipe his bottom lip.
He could do that. He would love you so much that the entirety of Santorini would know and no one would even question your relationship with him.
Carlos brought his hands to your back, feeling the numerous strings of your dress against the pads of his fingers. One hand worked to undo the very knots he had done this morning while the other creeped up the back of your neck, pulling your head closer to his.
He brought his lips to yours, pressing them with an indescribable urgency. Your hands shot out to his chest, fisting the soft material of the polo you had chosen for him into a small bundle.
You gasped into the kiss, feeling a sudden breeze of cold air as the strings of your dress fell flat against your skin. Carlos' hands wandered down the surface of your back, coming to a stop at your waist.
The urge to get even closer to you coursed through Carlos' veins, pulling you flush against him. A moan fell from his swollen lips as you parted to fill the craving of some oxygen. Your pussy was pressed tight against his cock and your breasts were soft, pushed against his chest.
Carlos ventured to move his lips down the side of your jaw, edging towards your barren neck, aching to decorate you with aging and unique shades of purple and blue.
You let out a series of sinful whimpers upon the feeling of your skin being sucked at, feeding directly into his constrained cock. "Carlos..." You moaned out, eyes shut in pure pleasure, "They'll know. The–They'll ask q-questions."
"I know." You shivered as you feel him grin against your skin.
You watched him through your half-lidded eyes, moving up from your neck to look at you with his blistering gaze. With one simple movement, he took off his shirt, revealing his taut golden skin. Christ.
You sat still breathlessly on his lap as Carlos peeled off your dress, pulling your arms through the white material. The cool breeze trickled over your bare breasts, nipples hardening almost instantly.
Carlos let a warm hand rest over your rib, lifting you gently to remove your dress fully. He sighed, laying you down on the mattress. The tips of his fingers travelled from your neck and down the valley of your breasts, the hairs of your body standing straight at his touch.
"You know what it is a tragedy, hermosa?" Carlos queried, watching you quiver underneath him, chest heavily rising up and down.
He smiled at your asking through your eyes because the words just couldn't come out of your throat. "You will never see yourself the way I see you. Eres una sirena... obra de Dios. If He didn't put you on this Earth that would've been his biggest sin." You are a siren… God's work.
If your throat wasn't tied up before, it surely was now. You looked at him with a soft gaze, watching him come near you to press his lips on your own. You whimpered, feeling his hands travel towards your breasts, fondling your mounds with a cautious roughness that sent your stomach tingling.
You frowned at the loss of his lips but the complaint subsided upon the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your pebbled nipple. He paid attention to every flick and every crevice, keeping his deep eyes trained on you. He smiled at your hiss as he purposely grazed his teeth against your nipple.
Carlos removed his lips from your nipple, moving his head back to hover over your pussy. Still keeping his eyes on you, you watched in silence as the hot saliva fell from his lips, bubbly strings landing directly onto your glistening folds. Fucking hell.
"Eyes on me, baby," He told you, looking at your clenched eyes.
Your eyes shot open as Carlos took one long stripe of your folds, your hips bucking at the sudden sensation. Lingering a second too long on your clit, his tongue continued to work up towards your stomach and the valley of your breasts, returning his attention to your other nipple.
Your mouth fell open, feeling his fingers rub your wet folds, spreading his saliva around your pussy. While his tongue worked your nipple, he thrusted a thick finger into your walls. With your eyes rolling back, you attempted to fist the thick material of the mattress but to no avail.
"Fuckk, Carlos," You whimpered, writhing at his touch.
"Finally found your words, hmm?" Carlos teased, adding another finger into his torturous slow pace. His eyes were glued to watching your hips out of his periphery, snapping up to try and ride his fingers. As laboured breaths fell from your lips, he pushed his digits even further, aiming to reach a specific spot.
Smoothly, Carlos grabbed a nearby pillow, putting it under your lower back to bring you some comfort and a whole new level of pleasure. He stared at your face intently: your mouth had fallen wide open with a ghost whisper of his name flowing into the air, sweat glistened over your flushed face, pooling near the edges of your hair and neck, and your lips were swollen with the prettiest shade of red he had ever seen.
"Carlos," You managed to get out with your brain practically turning into jelly. "Carlos, please, I don't want to cum like this. I need your cock, please."
Carlos' cock throbbed at your pleas. "Your wish is my command, princesa."
Hearing your whines upon the loss of his fingers, Carlos took off his blue shorts faster than he had ever done in his life.
Even though you had been with Carlos sexually for a while, your cheeks still flamed when you saw his cock. Not out of embarrassment or unadulterated innocence. No. It was outright heat that was getting to you.
Every time you saw his cock, it was a violent shade of red, throbbing and aching, leaving Carlos begging to be touched by you.
You watched as Carlos leaned forward, hovering over you. It was beyond you how exactly pretty Carlos was. You hadn't realised until he started courting you. You had no idea how you were supposed to live without seeing his thicket of brown locks, his freckles that could only be depicted if you were close to him otherwise they blended with his prickly stubble, the smug smile he constantly wore to hide himself, and especially his big brown eyes that made you bend to his command.
"Carlos?" You softly called out.
Carlos' ears perked up at your gentle tone. He smiled down at you with raised brows. His hands continued to travel your body, retracing every curve and fold as he had committed to his memory. "Sí, mi hermosa?"
You ran a hand through his hair before caressing his cheek. God, he was your beautiful boy. "Je t'aime plus que tu ne peux l'imaginer." I love you more than you can imagine.
You knew he didn't speak French despite spending this many years with Charles but it often comes from you naturally when you were too caught up in your feelings.
"Je ne pense pas que ce soit le cas. You don't know how my every feeling is controlled by the look on your face. I can't breathe without you. Every race, I hope you're there waiting for me because you're pretending to wait for Charles. Hermosa, I exist for you. No one else." I don't think you do.
Your eyes widened, fresh tears lining your waterline. "You understood–you learned French?" You whispered, voice barely audible.
Carlos grinned. "I'm quite sure I said a lot of after that but yes, I did learn French for you... surprise!"
You suppressed the urge to push him off of you and gave him a long kiss. Pulling back, you laughed gently. "You're an idiot... making me cry during sex. And not even in the good way!" You feigned your complaint.
"Well, we still have tonight and thirteen more days. Today I'm just showing how much I love you," He whispered above your lips, hips lining up with yours.
You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling Carlos' cock brush past your folds. You both moaned in unison as he pushed his cock into your pussy. Your walls wrapped around his cock tightly, gripping him like a vice.
Carlos cursed several profanities under his breath, head lolling back while pleasure coursed through his body. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you up to sit on his lap. His cock ached at the high-pitched mewl that fell from your swollen lips.
His hands fell to your hips, holding you tightly, slowly shifting you up and down his length, burying his cock in you.
You closed your eyes, letting your forehead rest on Carlos'. You can feel him staring at you, taking all of you in: every hue of your flushed state, your eyelashes riddled with tears and sweat, the heavenly and sinful sounds from your lips, and your greased hair.
"You are breathtaking," Carlos whispered against you.
You smiled, opening your eyes to meet his and rolling your hips slowly in response. "You make me feel so good," You praised.
A rough moan was elicited from Carlos, throat tight and choked up from your words and actions. He could barely function seeing your bare pussy take his cock so well, let alone how the tip of his cock throbbed when he lifted you up. His own eyes were beginning to shut as he revelled in the ecstasy you brought hip.
Fuck, you were so wet. You looked down at your thighs, seeing the obscene sheen of your arousal coat spread to Carlos' thighs. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, hips snapping to create a rhythm.
"Carlos, I, fuck," You blabbered in complete disarray. You were beginning to seem the edges of a familiar white light.
Although Carlos appreciated the sign, he could tell by the way you were clenched so tightly around his cock, getting his cock to pulsate every few seconds, that you were going to come.
He moved his hands between your legs, watching you sink over his cock one more time before he obstructed the view by using his thumb to rub your clit in circles.
"Mierda," Carlos cussed, feeling you grip his cock even further if it was possible. "Cum for me, mi amor."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You repeated the expletive as if it were a mantra, hips bucking as white clouded your vision. You let out a loud moan, body shaking as waves of your climax hit you one after the other.
Not a second later, Carlos was cumming too. His hips rutted against yours in almost an unrecognisable desperation, the peak of his ecstasy right within his grasp. His cock pulsed while his hips came to a falter, stuttering as ropes of his white cum spilled into you, warming your walls.
"F-Fuck," Carlos groaned, feeling your pussy clamp around him, trying to take every last drop of his cum.
You feel Carlos slump forward into you, exhausted. Gently, you lifted yourself off of his cock, wincing at your sensitivity. You fell straight onto the mattress, panting heavily.
"Shit!" You yelped as Carlos pushed some of his leaking come back into and circle your clit. You shook at the mini aftermath of your orgasm before calming back down.
"Satisfied?" You nudged Carlos playfully, knowing damn well Carlos liked to go the extra mile when it came to you.
"Very," Carlos commented, reaching his arms out to bring you closer to him.
You sighed, resting your head on his chest. The exhaustion was very quickly seeping into the both of you. Carlos' heartbeat was beginning to work as a lullaby and Carlos had found your warmth far more comforting than any mattress or duvet.
"Hermosa," He called, making you hum for you had no energy to speak. "We need to tell them."
You found yourself trying to open your eyes. When had they closed? You turned to face him, chin resting on his heated torso. You pressed a brief kiss and said, "I know. Let's tell them in a few days. So they have at least a week to yell at me."
Carlos frowned at your words. "I'll be right there with you. You know that right? I'm not letting you do this alone."
You smiled after letting out a small yawn. "I know, I know. I'm grateful. Thank you, mi amor."
Carlos returned the gesture, kissing your forehead gently. He rubbed your shoulders, feeling the dark abyss of slumber slowly call to him. "Anything for you, hermosa."
© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑
2K notes · View notes
neo-nomatrix · 3 months
Text
Best of Wives and Best of Women
Willy Wonka x reader
Tumblr media
word count: 527
summary: Willy’s newest shop ends up a disaster, you have news that may cheer him up.
warnings: pregnancy, angsty
He promised you the world. From the moment you and Willy had met he had two missions. Start his successful chocolate business, and make you the happiest woman alive or dead. You knew he would fulfill both, when you locked your pinky with his you had put your full faith in him.
“It's failing, I'm a failure,” Willy had said to you unexpectedly one day. He took off his hat and pulled a glass from it, pouring himself a glass of clear liquid. one you hoped was just water.
“What are you talking about? Are you okay?” You ask him with a worried look.
“Okay?! Of course I am not okay! My business is failing, I failed you,” he lets out a breath, drinking from the glass quickly.
“You haven’t failed anyone, especially not me! So stop talking nonsense!” you sit up from your chair in disbelief.
“I don’t know what to do,” his eyes well and he takes off his coat.
“You don’t give up, that’s what. Besides, I think I have some good news that will help you.” You hold his hands and smile.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He looks up at you.
You wipe his tears and blush. You take his hand and place it on your newly rounded stomach. You bite your lips nervously waiting for his response.
“You… you’re… no. no you- can’t,” he pulls away and shakes his head.
“I can’t? You’re not happy?” Your smile fades as you look down in shame.
“You are? We haven’t any money, any prospect, we barely have a home,” he raises his voice. his brows furrowed in anger? disappointment?
“We don’t need money, we have each other, our love. That’s enough,” You scoff.
“No it’s not! To raise a family you need far more than just love. If I can't even give you a good life, how will I give one to a child?”
“You do give me a good life, the best life. Because you are a good man. and we’ll figure it out. We always do. Things may seem grim now, but trust me Mr.Wonka, we will be world renowned by the time we have the babe,” You smile at him, not knowing if he believes you, or if you believe yourself.
“You pinky promised me didn’t you? The most sacred of all the promises,” you add.
“I did! I did indeed. And of course, I will keep that promise. For you, for our child,” His shoulders roll back, he stops slouching. His eyes light up and puts his hat back on.
You both smile wildly and he presses a kiss against your lips. He opens his travel laboratory and mixes his ingredients together. Taps the button engraved with a heart and your initials together. A small peony shaped chocolate rolls out of the conveyor belt.
“For you. Both of you,” he looks down at your stomach, “the kids first taste of our future.”
You take a bite of the chocolate flower and close your eyes.
“My favorite,” you trail off and smile.
“I love you. I’ll give you both the best life.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Mr.Wonka.”
2K notes · View notes
luveline · 1 year
Text
losers | remus lupin
“Please.”
“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 
you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]
fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.
It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 
“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”
That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 
It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 
A phone number. 
If lost, please call. 
You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 
It goes for ages. 
“Hello?”
“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”
“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”
“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”
“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”
“Sure. Of course.”
You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”
Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 
You’re the opposite of fearless. 
The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 
You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 
“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 
You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 
He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 
“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”
Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 
You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”
If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”
“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”
“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 
“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”
“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”
“You must be good friends.” 
You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 
“We must be.”
The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 
“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”
"Are you sure?" 
"Yeah, really." 
Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 
"That's you?" Moons asks. 
"That's me. Sorry." 
"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 
You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 
You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 
What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 
You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 
"Nice highscore." 
You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 
You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 
"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 
His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 
That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 
Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 
"Sure you don't mind?" 
"I'm paid not to mind." 
"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 
"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 
He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 
"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 
He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 
You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 
"Yeah." 
You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 
"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 
You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 
"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 
"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 
You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 
His long silence makes you squirm.
"A thank you, then.”
He offers you an envelope. You take it. 
The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 
You look up in shock. "I can't–" 
He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 
He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 
You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 
You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 
"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 
"Are you kidding?" 
"No, seriously." 
She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 
You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 
You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 
It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 
This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 
The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 
The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 
And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 
You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 
That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 
You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 
Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 
His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 
They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 
They're good. 
Like, too good to be openers for long. 
The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 
You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 
You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 
"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 
"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 
"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 
What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 
You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 
"Can I sit?" he asks. 
You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 
"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 
He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 
"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 
He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.
"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 
He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 
Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 
"I like music,” you say.
"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 
"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 
His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 
Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 
Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 
The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 
"Hey, it's you!" 
You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 
"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.
James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Um, and you?" 
"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 
"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 
He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 
"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 
"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 
"And the handsomest." 
"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 
Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 
"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 
Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 
"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.
Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 
You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 
Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 
But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 
There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 
"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 
"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 
"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 
"I'm not a big drinker." 
"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 
What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 
Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 
"What's in San Marino?" 
"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.
The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 
Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 
You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 
"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.
He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."
"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 
He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 
"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."
— 
James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 
James has never seen Remus like this before. 
His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 
James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 
He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 
He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 
But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 
You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.
Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 
Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 
It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 
He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 
You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 
"You play Snake?" you ask.
"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.
"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.
Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 
He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 
"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 
"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 
"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 
"This is your first date?" 
You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 
"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 
"It doesn't," you say. 
"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 
"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 
He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 
He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 
"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 
He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 
"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 
He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 
"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 
"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 
"He's devoted," you guess. 
"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 
You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 
"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 
"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 
"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 
"Half?" 
"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 
"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 
James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 
Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 
"They've always been like brothers." 
"But not…" 
He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 
Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 
"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 
"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 
He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 
You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 
"Charming, isn't it?" 
"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 
"Wolf."
A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 
"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 
"No trouble at all." 
You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 
It's not so bad. It's agonising. 
"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 
"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 
"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 
"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 
You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 
You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 
"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 
Not promising. "Okay." 
"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 
"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.
Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 
He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 
"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 
"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 
Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 
"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"
“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”
“What do you want to hear?”
The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 
It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 
You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 
The date is suddenly over. 
“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 
You nod rather than answer. 
Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 
A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”
“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 
“Do you want my coat?”
“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 
He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?
His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”
“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 
You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 
“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 
“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”
“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“
“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“Fits the recipient.”
It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 
“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 
“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.
“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 
He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 
“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”
He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 
The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 
"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 
You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 
You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 
He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 
“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I can wait,” you say. 
“I couldn’t ask you to.”
You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 
“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.
He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”
You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 
Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.
He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 
Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 
And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 
“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 
You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”
“No.” His head has never been this clear. 
He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 
Which means he has to get out of his head. 
Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 
He wants to see what other sounds you make. 
Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go slowly.”
“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 
He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 
“I’m a bit preoccupied.”
He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 
Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 
Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 
Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”
“Please.”
“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 
He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.
Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 
Your thumb traces a scar. 
He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 
He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 
Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 
“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.
You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 
Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”
He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”
“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 
He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 
He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 
Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 
“Was that alright?” he asks. 
You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 
“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 
He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”
You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.
He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.
Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 
He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”
All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 
“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”
“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 
Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 
The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 
He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 
Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 
Close? Remus is fucked. 
“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”
“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 
His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 
He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.
“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 
“Let me clean you up,” he says.
“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”
He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 
He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 
He drags the quilt over your naked back. 
Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 
“Don’t think so.”
He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”
You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 
“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”
He hums. “What?”
“Could I kiss you again?” 
You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 
He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 
“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”
You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 
You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3
5K notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
୨ HOCKEY PROBLEMS ୧
summary: you have been having some problems in your relationship with Chris, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t loves you.
notes: this is my first time writing a fanfic, I've always wanted to create one since 2020. english isn't my first language, it's probably not very detailed and there might be some mistakes, so don't expect too much lol. but give me feedback tho, l'd love to know what you think!
warnings: sexual assault, cussing, fluff, about three thousand words I think.
୨୧
My relationship with my boyfriend Chris is not the best. Well, at least, not now.
Lately we’ve been arguing all day long over stupid things, like who gets the last slice of pizza, or who gets the last word in a discussion. And it always ends in the same way. Silent treatment, from both sides. But it's not like Chris or I enjoy it. Most nights, I hear him in the bathroom, where he spend hours in tears. It’s horrible and makes me feel like a piece of shit. Hearing him cry only adds to my own feelings of guilt.
And how do we make things up? Sex, over and over. He would fuck the attitude out of me if he had to.
Me and Chris made a pinky promise that I would never miss any of his Hockey games. And I never did, cause i know how much my presence is important to him. And especially cause we are always in good terms the days before any of his games, but not today, we just argued again about nothing, we haven't talked for the past two days.
Nick and Matt, Chris's brothers, usually text me and offer to pick me up for Chris's games, but this time, their texts never came. It’s like they knew how our relationship was going. Chris definitely told them something.
Now you see myself driving to the arena where he plays in, the game is about to start in 20 minutes, and with this traffic, I don’t know if I will be there in time.
Red sign for the past 5 minutes. I have cars in front of me, behind me and next to me. Fuck. I start getting anxious. My nerves are on edge. I bit my nails subconsciously, the habit I got from my dad. My leg starts shaking. I can’t mess up things even more, I gotta be there, I have to be there.
After what feels like an eternity stuck in traffic, the car in front of me finally starts moving. I let out a sigh of relief as I find a parking spot. After that, I enter the venue where Chris plays (Which wasn’t that big, cause he plays in a small team in our city.)
Before taking a seat I scan the crowd anxiously, searching for any familiar faces, no one, I can’t find anyone, not even his two brothers. “Fuck it” I mumble to myself and I just get in a seat with some random people next to me.
The game is about to start, the crowd is already cheering. The players are drinking water and getting ready to get in the rink. My eyes examine each one of them, looking for Chris, number three. He was with a serious face. ‘Are he’s eyes red?’ I think to myself as I narrow my eyes, my vision is bad as shit, but I can tell he’s eyes are all puffy. He has some big dark circles underneath his pretty blue eyes, he looks fucking exhausted, It was evident that he was crying just now.
The players finally begin to take to the ice, their skates gliding across the surface as they prepare for the game to begin.
On Chris's team, there are six talented players, used to winning every single game. However, this time, they were against a really good team. Chris hated that team. I hated that team. Well, not really the team, but one of the players: Cam, Cameron.
Cam is a completely fucking jerk, in college he would always try to hit on me, but I’ve never really went with his face, what would get on his nerves, especially when I started dating Chris. It went to the point where he would force me to have intimate things with him. He was the worst human alive, and I would do anything to see him dead.
FLASHBACK
I just had PE, finding myself alone in the girls locker room as I change clothes. The sound of the front door opening echoed, followed by quiet footsteps creeping up behind me, sending shivers down my spine. I try to ignore it.
As I slipped my shirt back on, I felt two hands grip the sides of my hips, and a warm breath brushed against my neck. I freeze for two seconds. I know this is not Chris. Without thinking, I instinctively push the hands away and I turn around quickly, only to come face to face with Cameron.
I glare at him, my heart racing with a mix of fear and anger. His smirk widens as he takes a step closer, invading my personal space. "What's the rush, sweetheart?" He whispers, his voice dripping with arrogance.
I take a step back feeling the wall behind me getting closer "What are you even doing here? Get the fuck away from me, Cameron" I say firmly, trying to sound like i’m not scared, but the reality is that I’m pissing my pants.
He chuckles like he’s making fun of me, his eyes glinting with malice. "Or what? You'll tell your precious boyfriend Chris?" He teases, moving closer until I can feel his breath on my face. grabbing my waist and pinning them against the wall. "Come on, babe, you know you want it as much as I do.." he affirms, leaning in to kiss me, touching his lips on mines.
“Get the fuck away!” I whisper yell as i try to punch him away but he grabs my wrists. I struggle against his hold, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin, definitely leaving red marks.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t move. I start panicking. This is my end.
Tears blur my vision as I plead "Cameron, stop!" My voice trembles with fear as he kisses me, his lips rough and demanding against mine. Each kiss is a painful reminder of my vulnerability. Each kiss feels like a violation. I feel dirty, tainted by his touch everywhere in my body. A wave of nausea churns in the pit of my stomach as I try to move him away from me.
"Stop fucking fighting, you are not getting away from me" He murmurs against my lips "You deserve this, you want this.” I try to move as he keeps pinning me "You think I don’t see the eyes you give me when I walk by? Huh slut?" He scoffs, his hot breath against my face. "You were begging for this."
“I wasn’t begging for any of this. I never gave him any ‘eyes,’ he’s fucking delusional!” I think to myself, but my words remain trapped in my throat, suffocated.
As his lips travel down to my neck, leaving a trail of unwanted kisses, I can’t do anything more than start crying and screaming, kicking my legs and arms.
I never went back to those lockers again.
END OF THE FLASHBACK
I hated him so fucking much, and Chris did even more. And now, they are about to compete against each other.
The moment Chris stepped onto the rink, I could see his eyes looking for someone known on the crowd. Desperately, I raised my hand and waved, hoping he would spot me. And he did. His face automatically softened into a gentle smile, erasing some of the tension that had been weighing on me, but he was still with his tired eyes.
The game started with an intensity that matched the tension in the air. Both teams were determined to win. Cameron eyes were burning with rage. At this point, they weren’t competing as a team, it wasn’t about the game, it was about their personal life.
As the game progressed, the rivalry between them two escalated. They began to argue on the ice, each vying for control of the puck with increasing aggression.
Chris managing to gain possession of the puck and score two goals in less than five minutes. But Cam, folded by his own anger, refused to back down. Without thinking he charged towards him at full speed. Cameron swung his stick, causing Chris to trip and fall hard onto the ice.
“What the fuck is he doing?” I say out loud as I get up from my seat to get a better view. Chris remained on the ground for what felt like an eternity, clearly in pain. Every player on the ice stopped and looked around confused without knowing what to do, but not Cameron. He keeps going with the puck in direction to make a goal, with a visible smile on his lips. But then he notices how everyone really stopped and he slows down too, annoyed, not showing any regret.
The thing is, my boyfriend is in a fetal position on the ice, unable to move and no one is doing anything about it? That’s not happening, not with Chris. Without a second thought, I get up from my seat, whispering apologies to those I brushed past as I made my way to the rink. Ignoring the stares and comments from the crowd, I stepped onto the ice, my focus solely on reaching Chris. I get in the rink. I don’t give a shit about who’s watching me.
Kneeling beside Chris. His nose was bleeding, he looked pale and disoriented. Gently, I placed a hand on his shoulder, my voice trembling with concern. "Chris" I whisper, my voice shaking "Are you okay? Please look at me..” I beg in a desperate tone
Chris struggled to respond, his voice barely above a whisper as he fought through the pain "Y-Yeah.. I’m fine.." His eyes half-closed in discomfort.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps drew my attention, and I glanced up to see some of the players from both teams getting around us, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. Sensing the seriousness of the situation, a few of them hurried off to get help, while others stood by, unsure of what to do.
“Is he okay?” One of Chris's teammates asked as he knelt beside me, his voice filled with worry.
My anxiety spiked at the sight of Chris's condition, and I couldn't help but let my frustration show. "No, he’s not!" I replied, my voice unintentionally louder than intended. "Don’t you guys have nurses or some kind of medical staff here?!"
The teammate glanced back at me, his expression uncertain. "Yeah, I’m pretty sure they're on their way, don’t worry, he will be fine” He said sounding unsure.
I gently place Chris head on my lap, whispering sweet and calming words on his ear while we wait for someone help us. What I was saying was comforting me more than Chris.
Finally the arena's medical staff arrived, urging us to clear the area around Chris. They place him on a stretcher and wheeling him out of the rink. As they took Chris away, I followed closely behind them, my steps quickening to keep pace with their hurried movements. "Hey, excuse me," I called out to one of the workers, my voice tinged with desperation "Is it okay if I stay with him?" But they seemed way too focused on their task, ignoring me completely as they rushed Chris to a small emergency room they had here, leaving me behind on the hallway, my heart pounded with worry and frustration. But before I could even process what was happening, a familiar voice cut through the silence. I turn around,
Cameron.
"Look who it is" He says, his gaze fixated on me with an unsettling intensity. "Never thought I'd see you here, playing the concerned girlfriend” He chuckles.
My blood boiled at his words, the memories of his unwanted advances and aggressive behavior flooding back with nauseating clarity. "You're sick, Cameron." My voice trembling with rage “You can’t even stand losing a fucking game, you are insane.” I stay some seconds in silence before talking again "You better stay the hell away from me and Chris."
Cameron's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he reveled in my discomfort. "Or what?" He teases, taking a step closer "You gonna hit me? Huh?” He talks in a mocking way
I raised my hand and delivered a good slap on his left cheek, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. "I fucking hate you!" I yell, my voice trembling with rage as I glared at him with undisguised contempt.
Before Cameron could react, the sound of approaching footsteps coming in our attention, and I glanced up to see some of Chris's teammates rushing towards us, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.
"What's going on here?" The same blonde guy with a four in his shirt asks, his voice tinged with urgency as he eyed Cameron with suspicion.
"Nothing," he muttered, attempting to regain his composure, "I was just.. checking on Chris. But the workers said we have to wait, and unfortunately, I've got somewhere else to be." Cameron lies, fuck he’s good at lying.
He gets closer to me, placing his hand on my shoulder, rubbing it gently. “I hope he gets better” He said in a fake nice tone, like he means it, I move his hand away from me, making him get slightly angry again, he leaves. I watch him go, feeling a sense of relief wash over me knowing that he was finally out of here.
Turning back to Chris's teammate, I say “Anyways..” I take a deep breath “I will just wait here until they say something”
The blonde one nods understanding. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan to me” He replies, his voice filled with sympathy “So, the game was canceled, and we got shit to do, so we can’t really wait here”
“Yeah sure, no problem, I understand” I respond, I try to sound so nice as he is sounding “I'll make sure Chris texts you guys after he leaves the room.”
Chris's teammate nodded appreciatively and they all began to leave to the same direction as Cameron. I sit into a chair next to the door where Chris was, my mind racing thinking about Chris.
Some good ten minutes after, one of the workers is leaving the room, I look up at him, catching his attention. “Excuse me,” I begin, my voice laced with anticipation “can I see Chris?”
He nods, offering a small smile. “Of course, go ahead” He replies kindly before disappearing down the hallway.
Before I enter the room, I take a few deep breaths to control my anxiety. Knocking gently on the door, I slowly open it. He was sitting in a long bench with elastic bandage on his ankle and wrist. Chris's eyes light up at the moment he sees me and a warm smile spreads across his face.
“Shit Chris, I just slapped Cameron in the face!” I say as I close the door behind me. Chris immediately starts laughing. his laugh is contagious. I sit down next to him. “You did not” He keeps laughing
“What’s so funny? I’m being serious” I chuckle, feeling the tension ease from my mind as Chris's laughter fills the room.
"I'm sorry, babe" he says between laughs "But when was that?”
“Literally like fifteen minutes ago! Gosh he’s so fucking annoying! And did you see the way he literally made you fall on purpose? I could break his face right now” I say in a dramatic tone, making him laugh even more.
“Anyways he doesn’t matter..” I look around thinking about what to say “So what did the nurses say?”
Chris's laughter subsides as he leans back against the bench, his expression growing more serious “Nothing much.. I just sprained my foot and my wrist, but nothing much”
“Nothing much?!” I say slightly shocked with his words.
Chris chuckles softly, shaking his head at my reaction. "Okay, maybe it's a bit more than 'nothing much,' but I'll survive" He says with a reassuring smile, though I can see the pain behind his eyes.
I gently reach his injured hand, my thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of his hand. "I'm just glad it's nothing too serious," I say softly, my voice filled with genuine concern. "But still, I can't believe Cameron did that to you! He's such a pussy!" My last sentence makes Chris laugh again.
As I watch him, a sense of relief washes over me, knowing that despite everything, we are still able to find humor in the situation.
Some minutes talking until the silence fills back the room. We are definitely both thinking about the argument we had days ago, cause we didn’t talked since.
“I.. I wasn’t expecting for you to watch the game today” Chris says slightly looking down.
I stay in silence for some seconds “Listen, Chris" I begin, my voice soft but determined "About the arguments we've been having lately.. I know things haven't been the best.. But..” I sigh “But I still care about you, and I always will.”
Chris looks up at me, his eyes softening with emotion as he listens to my words. "I care about you too" He says, his voice filled with sincerity. "I hate that we've been arguing so much, especially over stupid shit.. I just.. I don't want to lose you.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I reach out to gently cup his cheek. "You're not going to lose me, Chris." I assure him. My thumb brushing over his skin affectionately.
He gently buries his face on the crook of my neck, I lay my chin on the top of his head, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.
"I'm sorry for everything," Chris murmurs against my skin. "I don't want us to keep fighting like this."
Now I run my fingers through his hair, feeling a sense of peace settle over us. "I'm sorry too.." My voice sounding like a whisper. "Let's try to work through this together, okay?" He nods softly.
I kiss his head “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He answers quietly.
୨୧
hey, this is the end! i hope you have enjoyed it, if u saw any miss spelling or anything tell me in the comments, please.
also, i think it got kinda confusing cause i was using words on the past and in the present, but idk 😭😭
602 notes · View notes
paperultra · 4 months
Text
candy stripes.
Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]
Tumblr media
sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular
Nobody else can see the string but you.
You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.
You hate your string and you hate the color red.
Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.
“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”
In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.
Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.
Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.
The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.
Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?
Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.
But it doesn’t.
Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.
(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)
(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)
The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.
You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.
“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”
The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.
Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.
He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.
You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –
Red.
Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.
You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.
Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.
Your stomach turns.
Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.
He continues to sleep.
You don’t want him to wake up.
The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.
The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.
Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.
“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”
You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”
“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”
“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.
Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.
The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.
His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.
You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.
His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.
“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.
Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.
The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.
“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.
Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”
He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.
You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.
“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”
“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”
“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”
He frowns. “You are a little kid.”
“I’m nine years old!”
“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”
There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”
You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.
But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.
He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.
“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”
“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”
“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”
“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”
You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.
Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.
The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.
“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”
“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”
“I don’t care if he dies!”
Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.
You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.
You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.
“[Y/n]!”
Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.
“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.
“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”
“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”
What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?
“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.
(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)
“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.
You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.
Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.
“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.
Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.
“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”
“Okay,” Sanji says.
With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.
“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”
“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.
“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”
“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”
For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.
“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”
You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”
“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”
“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”
“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”
He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.
You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.
“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”
His head shoots back up. “Really?!”
“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better.  Don’t get the wrong idea!”
He nods, grinning bigger than ever.
Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.
By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.
You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.
“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”
“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.
“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.
“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”
“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.
“What was that, boy?”
You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”
Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”
“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”
“No, no, don’t need any of that.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.
Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”
(Not again.)
As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”
Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”
“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”
Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.
“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”
Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.
“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”
“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”
“No.”
“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”
Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”
For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.
Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.
“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.
“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”
“What’s that?”
The boy glows.
“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”
You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.
“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.
“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”
He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.
Sanji keeps his promise.
You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.
But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.
You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.
It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.
You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.
One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.
Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.
“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”
No answer. That is even stranger.
Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.
“Sanji?”
“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”
“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”
You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.
“I don’t like hospitals.”
Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”
Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.
Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.
“… Oh.”
You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.
You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”
Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.
Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?
“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”
“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”
“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”
“It’s okay. We can do it later.”
“Okay.”
You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.
The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.
“How do you spell necessary?”
“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”
“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”
“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.
“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.
It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.
In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.
(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”
“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”
“Mmhm.”)
Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.
Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.
“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.
“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.
“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”
A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.
“Coming,” he says.
The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.
Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.
“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.
“Okay,” you say.
You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.
Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.
“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”
“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
You are crying now.
For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.
“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.
His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”
“Okay.”
You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.
You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.
Well, almost everything.
“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”
“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”
The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.
But it’s not why you’re nervous.
“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”
The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.
Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”
Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.
One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.
The pink-haired man draws a gun.
Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.
The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.
He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.
It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.
He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.
“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”
703 notes · View notes
lnfours · 7 months
Text
daylight | l.n
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary: Hi lovely, you write Lando SO well😍 I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, but I can’t stop thinking about Lando and a drivers sister (if you have the time please). Maybe she’s visiting friends in London and they go on a night out. She gets super drunk, loses her friends, doesn’t know her way back to their place and goes to the only place she does know, Lando’s. Except he’s fast asleep and she wakes him up trying to politely break into his house and he’s like all sleepy and cute and looks after her and asks her to call him next time and he’ll pick her up Then the next time it happens, she actually calls him and it’s just fluffy af - from anon <3. also my requests for lando are open! feel free to send your ideas my way !
warnings: fluff, leclerc!reader, language, drinking, and overall lando just being protective
masterlist | ask box | listen
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
the night air was cold in london, making you regret your choice in attire for tonight as you hurried your footsteps on the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement.
you had decided that tonight was going to be a fun night out, you and your girls were going to go to the club, have a few drinks and a good time, but no. somehow, someway, you ended up getting stranded at the club, no one coming to get you or tell you where they went.
so, with a dead phone, you headed in the direction of the only place you knew how to get to: lando’s.
the two of you had been in a weird ‘will we, won’t we?’ stage for the last year or so. he was the one you were closest with. the one who, undeniably, made you feel like a teenager falling in love all over again.
you made the next right, ignoring the aching in your feet as you reached his front steps. the mclaren sitting in the driveway letting you know he was home. you knocked on the door, and after a few minutes with no noise on the other side, you huffed.
you reached into the flower pot on the step, grabbing the spare key to the front door. you put it in the lock and twisted it, letting out a sigh of relief when the lock clicked open. you pushed the door open softly, tossing the key back into the flower pot before stepping inside.
your heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor and you immediately winced before you shut and locked the door behind you. you stepped out of your heels, becoming a deer in headlights when the lights turned on all of a sudden.
“y/n?” lando asked, placing the golf club against the wall. you gave him a tight lipped smile in return.
“sorry,” you said, “the girls left the club without me, my phones dead, and your house was the only place i knew how to get to.”
he furrowed his eyebrows, “you walked eight blocks from the club? alone, in the dark, and tipsy?”
you bit your bottom lip, “yeah, guess so.”
he ran a hand over his face, trying to fight off the thought of everything what could’ve happened to you, “just… please, please call me next time. i don’t care where you are, what time it is, nothing. i’ll always come get you.”
his words made your stomach do flips as he held out his pinky for you, making you smile as you locked your fingers together. he pulled you closer, letting you wrap your arms around him in a hug.
“miss me?” you joked.
“mhm,” he said, “definitely didn’t miss you breaking into my house.”
you smiled up at him, “you definitely missed that.”
“whatever you say, love,” the smile still playing at his lips, “c’mon, let’s get you some clothes.”
you nodded, following him up the stairs and into his bedroom. he flipped on the light switch, making his way to his closet as he fished something out for you. he grabbed an older mclaren hoodie and some sweatpants, passing them to you as you sat on his bed.
“here you go,” he mumbled, clearly still sleepy, “you can sleep in here if you want.”
you nodded, heading towards the bathroom to change. you threw on the clothes he gave you, feet padding against the wooden floor as you pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands. he opened the blankets as you climbed into bed next to him.
“thanks for letting me stay,” you smiled over at him, head resting against his pillow.
“didnt have a choice, you literally broke in.” he smiled back at you, reaching over and brushing a piece of hair from your face.
you rolled your eyes playfully, “then maybe you should hide your spare key better.”
“nah,” he scrunched his nose, “i think i might leave it there, yknow, for whenever you’re in town.”
you leaned into his touch, “i missed you.”
“i know,” a smug smile on his face, “i missed you too.”
“then kiss me,” you mumbled, grabbing the neck of his hoodie and pulling him towards you. he smiled as he situated himself over top of you, arms pinning your head to the pillow as he leaned down and brushed his nose against yours.
“missed me that bad, huh?”
“like crazy,” you breathed.
“and if your brothers know you’re here?”
“i don’t want to think about my brothers right now,” you mumbled, “just fucking kiss me, lando.”
he complied this time, cupping your face in his hand as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. his lips moved against yours and he sighed contently when your fingers ran through his messy curls.
the sound that fell from your lips was like music to his ears as his lips moved from yours and attached to your neck, “if you coming here means i get to see you in my clothes more often, then please come more often.”
you smiled, “race weekends not enough for you?”
“baby, i could never get enough of you.”
you smiled as he pressed more kisses to your neck, “lan,”
he hummed against your skin, letting you continue, “i love you.”
he stopped what he was doing, eyes meeting yours as he came back to be face to face with you. a bright smile sat on his face, his pupils blown, and curls a mess. he looked so pretty like this.
he rested his chin on your chest, “i love you, too.”
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
the sound of his phone ringing made him drop the towel he was drying his hair with, your name and photo lighting up his screen. he swiped the button over, pressing the phone to his ear.
“hello?”
“hi!” your slurred words echoed through the phone, making him smile. he could hear the group of girls in the background asking who was on the phone, “i’m on the phone with my boyfriend! shut up!”
he chuckled, “you okay, baby?”
“yeah, no i’m good! im great!” your voice was barely audible over the loud music, “the girls are heading to a different bar, but i’m drunk and i want cuddles,”
he chuckled, putting you on speaker as he put his shirt on, “i’m on my way.”
“you’re the best!” he could practically hear your smile as he jogged down the stairs, ignoring the questioning look from max on the couch. he tugged his shoes on, “i love you.”
“i love you, too, baby,” he said, “i’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”
“okay,” you said, “see you soon.”
and he kept his promise, smiling as you walked out of the club. you spotted him leaning against the door of his car, smiling and bidding a goodbye to the rest of the group as they climbed into the uber to go to the next bar.
his hands found their home on your hips, yours wrapping around his neck, “hi,”
“hi,” he smiled, “hungry?”
you nodded, “starving.”
he took your hand into his, opening the door for you, “alright, c’mon.”
you sat down in the passenger side, letting him close the door for you before he got in on his side. he grabbed your hand over the center console, you pressed the back of his hand to your lips.
“i love you.” you mumbled against his skin.
“i love you, too, baby.”
1K notes · View notes
20-th-centurygirl · 11 months
Text
bribery
jude bellingham x fem!reader
Tumblr media
warnings: smut, fluff
a/n: another fic inspired by the beloved hey jude tag on @judeswhore 's account because it means the world to me <333 inspired by this ask. i used a gif for the first time and i'm really liking it so far 🤭 also the ending for this is very very rushed and i'm abit :/ about it so i can only apologise if it's cringe
masterlist
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
Jude let out a rather frustrated groan as you led him into yet another store. You'd dragged him out shopping, he had the day off and you wanted to spend time together so you decided to take him out to get advice on new clothes. "babe seriously? another one?" He'd stopped dead in his tracks and consequently stopped you as you were holding his hand. "this is the last one i promise jude" you tried your best puppy dog eyes at him and jude hated the fact they worked. "You said that like 5 shops ago" he grumbled under his breath. you said nothing, instead taking his hand and pulling him in.
jude had wondered off and found somewhere to sit down with the multitude of bags while you carried on looking around. You'd eventually made your way back to him. "need you to come with me so you can tell me what you think of them all" you said, nodding towards the changing rooms. "i'm sure you'll look stunning in all of them, and i love you but please please be quick so we can leave" He'd tried to sound nice but you detected the slight annoyance in his tone. "Oh stop pouting. I need to grab a bottle of perfume after this and then we can go" jude groaned loudly and threw his head back. "Promise?" He mumbled, holding out his pinky finger and you bit back a laugh. "Pinky promise baby" you linked your fingers together and your favourite smile adorned judes face.
"Right, I'm gonna go pay for these then we'll go and get my perfume, okay?" You asked sweetly. "no, I'll pay" jude said, putting emphasis on the "i'll". you shot him a glare. Of course you were incredibly grateful to have jude in your life but you also treasured your independence. "Jude, I know you mean well and I'm always insanely grateful but-" He put his index finger on your lips "nope, princess treatment only for you" He tapped your lips a few times before walking over to the till.
"so what we doing now?" Judes mood had improved at the promise of going home. "Need to grab some perfume and we can go home yeah?" He nodded as you both walked in. What was supposed to be a quick dash in and out instead ended up in you begging jude to hold his arm out so you could swatch makeup and perfumes. "baby you said we'd be quick" He whined, glancing down at his arm that had multiple colours of lipstick on it. His other smelt strongly of at least 5 different perfumes. "jude, if i promise to give you head when we get back will you stop pouting?" You groaned and his eyes lit up. He nodded feverishly and held his arms further so you could carry on testing.
Once you were finished jude practically dragged you back to the car. "babe hurryyyy" he groaned, half hard already just at the thought of getting head. "God you're so needy." You teased but you couldn't deny the butterflies you got knowing just how much jude wanted you at the drop of a hat. "And what about it? Not my fault you're so good" you rolled your eyes as you both got in the car. His hand immediately gravitating to your thigh, his thumb stroking it gently. His leg bobbed up and down and his eagerness both made you want to laugh and scream.
The moment you got home jude basically dragged you over to the sofa where he sat down, his legs spread wide and his bottom lip caught between his lip. You decided to keep up the irritating just a little longer "you want something?" You questioned, trying desperately to keep up the facade that you knew nothing about what he wanted. "I think you made me a promise babe" He said, convinced you were just teasing. "Huh?" You tried your best to sound as confused as possible and it seemed to be working. "You said that I'd get head if I was patient and I think I have been so" you rasied your eyebrow at him "hm, well you can stop being so vulgar first before I even think about it" "but it was a pinky promise" jude sounded absolutely betrayed and you burst out laughing. "Stop laughing and come here" He grumbled, pulling you into his lap by the backs of your thighs and you swiftly straddled him.
One of his hands trailed to the back of your neck, pulling your face impossibly closer to his as his other pulled your hips down, grinding softly against him. He let out a small moan on one roll of your hips, the pent up desperation getting to him. "Please" He mumbled against your lips. "Please what?" "Please just keep your promise baby"
You said nothing, instead shuffling off his lap and sitting on your knees, jude handing to a pillow to rest on. You stroked your hands up and down his thighs agonisingly slow, letting out a groan of frustration. You brought your fingers to delicately unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. Jude lifted his hips up so you could pull his jeans down but you left his boxers on, choosing to lightly stroke him through them instead. "You've put up with alot today jude. Think you deserve this hm?" Jude nodded rapidly, letting out a deep grunt when you squeezed him lightly. You smirked at the sight of a wet patch already forming and you pulled his boxers down lightly.
You took him in your hand, slowly rubbing up and down a few times and placing faint kisses just to his tip, dragging out small, barely audible moans. You stopped your hand movements and just took his tip into your mouth as he pulled your hair into a messy makeshift ponytail. Jude let out a deep groan when you swirled your tongue around him, one of your free hands squeezing his thigh. "Oh fuck. So good at this angel". You gradually took him deeper into his mouth until your nose reached his abdomen. Your other free hand moved to roll his balls in your palm and the way judes head fell to the back of the sofa gave you butterflies. His mouth fell open, a string of moans falling from his mouth.
The grip his fingers had on your scalp was getting tighter. Tears began to pool in the corners of your eyes and the gagging noises were outright pornographic. You pulled off to catch your breath, instead choosing to stroke him quickly whilst maintaining eye contact with him. "I love you baby. Don't know what I did to deserve you" He moaned out, his head falling back again when you took him back in your mouth. You knew from the way he was gripping your hair and the way his moans had gotten more high pitched that he was close and you were determined to get him there. You allowed him to start bucking his hips up into your mouth "fuck i love it when you met me use your mouth like this. So good for me aren't you?" He whimpered, his head back facing you. His mouth was wide open as a string of curses and your name fell out snd his eyes rolled back. "im nearly there" you just smirked around his cock, fondling his balls and teasing shapes on his inner thigh with your nails. His breath hitched suddenly "fuck fuck fuck" and you felt him release in your mouth.
You pulled away slowly, sticking your tongue out to show jude you'd swallowed everything. His pupils were blown and he had small beads of sweat on his forehead. You helped him to pull his clothes back up. "You okay?" You giggled at his still mind blown expression. "Yeah. That was the best head I've ever had" He chuckled, his breath still slightly uneven. "So was me dragging you round shopping worth it?" You smirked. "If I get that again everytime then yes" He breathed out, helping you back up and grabbing you by the chin to pull your lips back to his.
1K notes · View notes
modawg · 2 days
Text
it’s so sad to me that nico like never learned how much percy tried to help him yk
like percy literally rounded up his closest friends after being the only one to find out nico was the son of hades and decided to at least try to give nico a chance to live his life when the kid literally just tried to kill him, his sister just died, and through everything percy knows hates his guts - like he took all that info and decided to make a suicide pack with his closest friends in order to protect nico when giving nico the prophecy would’ve been the most logical and honestly understandable thing to do
like genuinely do ppl realise how EASY it would’ve been to just give the prophecy to nico his ONLY living relative (other than hades) just DIED they could’ve been like “listen you take this prophecy give it 6 years you’ll be dead with your sister and literally everyone else you know and you’ll be a hero for it” instead even though percy has an entire life, people who love and care for him, and a future wife infront of him he takes it upon himself to DIE in 3-4 years how fucking BONKERS is that
he also almost abandons a WHOLE OTHER QUEST putting himself and annabeth in danger just bc dumbass nico is out doing god knows what in the labyrinth and ends up getting caught (he was doing smth i’m being dramatic but still)
could you imagine being percy your going to war (and from your perspective you’re going to die in the next week or so after methodically doing everything in your power to keep this other random kid who you think hates you from suffering that fate) that kid comes up to you with a plan so you trust him just do be stabbed in the back bc that kids father wants him to be the prophecy child even tho you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to die for the past like 3 years?? id jump that kid too if he randomly came into my deep dark prison cell trying to break me out and then shun him after all that
like i read the way nico talks abt percy and he just seems bitter all the time he’s like “psh percy and his fake friendship what a dweeb can’t believe i had a crush on THAT guy🙄” like you’d be dead if it wasn’t for his friendship gay boy
i want like 5 years into the future annabeth is sitting with nico one day and is like “lol yeah i remember that one time percy made us all pinky promise to keep you safe and we all thought he was dumb bc you hated him sm but he really just wanted you to have a good life and now look at you!! :)” and nico to slow turn to her “…what”
like to this day i get that nico was mad at percy for not protecting bianca and bc of his internalized homophobia or whatever but why not hate on the actual people who sent her on that quest rather than a random kid you just met who said he’d try WHICH HE ACTUALLY DID DO and not idk literally any adult figure who sent her into the fire to begin with
i just want nico to realise that percy is simply just a boy who literally wanted nothing to do with any of this and was trying his best to free nico of that same burden sigh (;_;)
like those two are the fattest example of a miscommunication held together by misunderstood betrayal
disclaimer this is obv dramatic and the prophecy definitely doesn’t work like that but like think abt it ok
218 notes · View notes
delusional-dinosaurr · 7 months
Text
We're Moving Too Fast...Aren't We? (Guro Reiten x Reader)
Tumblr media
You're enjoying a night out, on a rooftop bar with a few other WSL clubs, and your own team, Arsenal. It was WSL tradition to throw a big party in London for the end of season, usually this is only the major clubs as the others struggle to get to grips with near relegation. Today's team attendees were yourselves at Arsenal, Chelsea, Spurs, The Manchesters and Villa. 
"Come ooooon Y/N it's time to dance" Your mate Victoria Pelova slurs at you. You approach her and steady her with your arms. 
"Think that's enough to drink now Vic, don't want you vomiting over the carpet in our house" You smile, helping her find a chair and some water, Viv takes over on 'motherly duties' so you can walk away and be with the others. 
"Going on the pull tonight Y/N?" Alex Scott nudges your side. She always gets an invite alongside many other retired players, a lot are still very close friends with the teams they played for. 
"Nah, you know that's not my thing anymore" You wink at her. 
"Y/N I've seen you kissing multiple girls on the same night, why not here!" Leah nudges you. 
"I don't like to mix business with pleasure" you joke, asking the bartender for another glass. “For the record, that was a joke. I’m not like that anymore, I’ve matured from the partygirl I was when I was 19! Magda helped a lot with that”.
"Well at least flirt around a bit, it's always fun to watch how quickly you work your magic" Leah says, convincingly. 
"If you need tips on how to pull you could've just asked Lee" You tease. "but fine, I'll do it, what harm can it do". 
"Okay challenge for tonight, a Chelsea girl" Alex wiggles her eyebrows at you, both you and Leah visibly shudder at the word 'Chelsea'. 
"For one night fine, but mark my words, you'll never find me dating or sleeping with a Chelsea girl" You shake your head walking over to the dancefloor drink in hand. 
You dance with a few of your friends, one of those being Magda, even if she is still Chelsea through and through she was like a mother figure to you during your loan spell at Linköpings when you were much younger. She sees you glancing around and stops you with her hand on your chest, letting out what seemed to be a sigh.
"Y/N... Really? I thought you grew out of this during your year in Sweden with me" She smacks your shoulder.
"It's for Leah's entertainment,and for a bet… and it's a Chelsea girl" You shudder again, making Magda laugh and nudge you.
"Well here's some advice. They don't like the gunners and wouldn't want to flirt with one, but I've heard Guro, Niamh and Jessie all say something somewhat nice about you" She sighs, gesturing over to the girls.
"It's only some flirting to show Leah I'm better at flirting than her" You offer a small smile "Promise I won't be sleeping around or trying to get with one of them" she holds out her pinky, which you interlock yours with hers.
You dance over to the Chelsea girls and greet them somewhat politely, getting hugs from all three.
"You guys had an insane season, congratulations" You hold your drink up to them, which they do in response as you all sip your drinks.
"So what brings you over here?" Jessie elbows you.
"My girls are boring or waaaaay too drunk to be dancing with me" you chuckle, sliding up a bit closer to the group.
“Reckon you’ll ever play for us Y/N?” Niamh smirks at you cheekily.
“Absolutely not, you won't catch me dead in a Chelsea shirt” You grimace, causing the three girls to laugh at your response. “Now what about you guys wearing a Y/L/N shirt to an Arsenal match one day in support of the better team?”.
“Not a chance” Guro says, rolling her eyes.
“I bet I can get you wearing an Arsenal shirt to one of my matches by the end of this year, in support of me” You smirk at Guro. Jessie and Niamh seem to be deep in another conversation with Magda and Pernille to the side, leaving you to work your magic like you told your friends you would do.
“It’s so on, if you fail, you can wear a Reiten shirt at one of our matches, I’ll get you front row seats so you can admire the view” She winks holding out her hand which you shake, sealing your bet.
“Oh believe me I am enjoying the view already” You look at her eyes and give her a soft smile.
“Wait a second…are you doing what I think you’re doing?” She questions.
“Depends on if you like it or not” You mumble, suddenly feeling slightly nervous. This was unlike your usual behaviour when it came to flirting. As you’re feeling the nerves you look into her eyes and feel yourself melt slightly at the soft look she’s giving you.
“And what if I do like it?” She says in a more suggestive tone “Is this the great Y/N getting nervous? Never thought I’d see the day”. “If you do like it, then I’d suggest we take this to the dance floor” You nod over to the dancefloor where many of your friends are dancing together. “Oh and I don’t get nervous, even if it’s a beautiful woman like you”. You whisper in her ear and see a very faint blush on her face. You smile to yourself as you both walk to the dancefloor hand in hand. 
You dance together for a while, still engaging in conversation with each other. As the night goes on the drinks continue flowing and you feel yourself getting more and more confident, making somewhat bolder moves and both getting drunker.
━━━━━
“åh herregud!” You hear as your eyes shoot open. “What the hell, why are you here?”. 
You look around and have absolutely no idea where you are, apart from the fact Guro Reiten is sat up next to you in a bed that you’re both sharing.
“It’s okay, we’re fine” You calm her down. “Now, how the hell did we get here? Where are we?”
“My apartment, and I have no idea how we got here together” She sighs, you admire her morning hair, messily laying on her shoulders. The light coming in through the blinds of her room makes her eyes glisten and skin glow. Wait what?
“Okay question one, do you live here alone?” You ask her, she shakes her head. “Oh my god you have a girlfriend? Shit I’m so sorry, fuck, I should go” You panic and start standing up to get ready to leave. “No you idiot, I share a house with Erin and Niamh” She drags you back down. “My question for you is, what do you think we did last night?”.
“Well from the fact we are both still pretty much in last night's clothes, not a lot” You chuckle, walking over to her mirror “Although I don’t remember me having these yesterday” you narrow your eyes at her in the reflection in the mirror whilst pointing at the trail of hickeys on your neck, causing her to blush. 
“It could’ve been anyone!” She says with her eyes wide.
“Considering I woke up in your bed, I’m very sure on who it was” You roll your eyes. You sit in silence for a few seconds, both getting your bearings on what happened, how and what you’re gonna do to get away with it.
“Do you actually remember much from last night?” She asks you, leaning back against the mattress, you follow her lead and lay next to her. Her shirt has risen slightly from her flopping onto the bed and you can’t help but admire her body. “Eyes up here Y/LN” she smirks as you quickly snap your eyes back up to hers.
“I remember enough to have a good understanding of why I’m here. For the record, Leah and Alex dared me to pull a Chelsea player but as soon as we started talking that all went out the window” You break eye contact, your nerves get the better of you until you feel a hand gently moving your chin to force you back into eye contact with her.
“I guessed that after you snuck your way over to our table, they were watching you the whole time. I also really enjoyed time with you Y/N, I can make myself nice and free today if you want to re-do last night… but with less alcohol please” She says holding her stomach, you nod back enthusiastically.
“I can run home and grab my car? I can drive us somewhere if you like, as it seems we only live around the corner from each other!” You say excitedly. “That and I need to try to sneak in without waking up Vic and Gio, that’s going to be a nightmare”.
“Meet me outside in an hour? That gives me time to freshen up and look less like I had a night with an Arsenal player” She fake heaves, you roll your eyes in response and walk to the door of her room.
“WAIT” She grabs your hand “I think the girls are downstairs, let me distract them and I’ll say Cereal when you’re clear to escape” She says walking out the room. You sneak down quietly and hide around a corner from the girls.
“No I didn’t sleep with Y/N! Jesus Erin, you’ll never catch me with a gooner” She laughs. You hear a gasp from Niamh, instantly you feel that dreadful feeling of being caught.
“Did she do this?” Niamh continues fussing over Guro “In all seriousness I’m proud of you for getting some Guro, it’s about time”.
“Ugh, can we stop talking about her now, have we got any cereal in the kitchen or did you eat it all Erin?” Guro says, you notice the codeword and slowly make your way to the front door of the house and manage to escape barely making a noise. Rather than the walk of shame, you opt for an Uber home rather than walking for 10 minutes, still unable to fight that nauseous feeling. 
When you arrive home you open the door to find Vic passed out on the floor in the living room, you start making her a coffee to help her with the wake up, alongside some painkillers. You lift her gently off the floor and place her on the sofa whilst making her drink, she starts waking up too thankfully.
“Morning Y/N, still wearing last night's clothes?” She jokes.
“Didn’t even make it to my bed, you’re expecting me to go through all that effort to get dressed too?” You lie.
“Morning you two” Gio sings as she walks in with a starbucks in hand.
“Where were you, young lady?” You joke, hands on hips.
“Oh I stayed at Katherine’s, I can see you two got home safe?” Gio says looking over at you both still in last night's clothes. 
“Oh yeah, I got in a little after this one, but all in one piece!” You say nudging Vic. 
“God how drunk was I? I don’t even remember getting home, bet it was Viv” Vic sighs. You sigh, relieved that your housemates have no suspicions of you staying out last night.
“Anyway as much as I love you both, I need to get out of these clothes, and get some shopping done” You say.
“Can I come?” Vic asks.
“Nope, unless you really want to go with me to test out which guitar I want for 3 hours” You smirk.
“Nevermind, I’d rather sit at home eating ice cream” She kisses you on the cheek as she walks off to the kitchen with the coffee you made her, you make your way up to your room. As you get dressed after your shower, there’s a gentle knock on your door. 
“What? I already said I’m going guitar shopping!” You grumble. “It’s me” You hear Gio on the other side “Are you decent?” you open the door for her to come in, you’ve not put a shirt on yet but have your sports bra on.
“Now, Vic may believe your lies, but I do not. Where were you last night?” She squints at you.
“I’m not lying, I was at home just after Vic” You shrug, Gio chuckles.
“I’m sorry Y/N, I won’t tell on you, but I can tell” She gives you a soft smile.
“But..how? You weren’t even home?” You sigh.
“One, you set off our ring doorbell with motion just now. I’ve deleted the recording of you fumbling your way in earlier. Two, your neck tells me a different story” She smirks poking at one of the dark red marks “Now I’ll keep your secret safe, on one condition. You tell me who it was”. 
“You know I love you right?” You look at her guiltily, again she gives you her squinted look. “It was a Chelsea player”.
“I can’t believe you! I don’t even care who it is! If the team finds out you’re so fucked” Gio gasps. You throw a shirt on and get ready to leave whilst Gio is still fussing about your ordeal.
“You’re meeting up with her, aren’t you?” She smirks.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not” You say whilst still grabbing your stuff to go.
“Listen, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking… This is massively out of your normal behaviour. The Y/N Y/L/N doesn’t do dates. So this is clearly something special. I promise I won’t tell anyone, and I can’t wait for you to tell me all about your date later” Gio wraps you in a tight hug and kisses your cheek. “Now go get your girl!” She smacks your back.
You jog out of the house yelling a ‘bye’ and ‘love you’ to your housemates. You get in your car and drive to Guro’s apartment. As you pull up outside you see her having an animated conversation with Erin and Niamh and lower the window slightly to hear the conversation.
“No Erin, it's not some random creep I’ve met. I promise she’s really nice” Guro groans.
“I trust you, but I don’t trust her. Let me meet her. Is that her now?” She points directly at your car and starts walking towards it alongside Guro and Niamh. You decide to hop out of the car and greet them.
“Absolutely not, not a chance. Guro why a gooner!” Erin groans. You two have hung out a few times together post Chelsea and Arsenal matches so you are on good speaking terms.
“Hey nothing wrong with us!” You joke back smiling at Erin.
“Right, I’m going all protective on you now” She nudges Guro to get in your car whilst you two talk. “What are your intentions with Guro, and what happened last night?”.
“I had a feeling this was coming” You sigh “I know I have this history, but that’s all it is now. My intentions with Guro however? I don’t even know, but I do know I will treat her with the respect she deserves. I’m sorta new to this whole going on a date thing and I’m super nervous and I really like her…and now I’m rambling” You blush, Erin starts grinning, Niamh gives a nod.
“Our protective duties are done. She’s all yours. I trust you Y/N” Erin gives you a hug. 
“But you didn’t even let me tell you what happened last night?” You question.
“Ah we don’t need to know, because I let you two and Niamh in last night. You were like giggly schoolgirls. You and I had to carry Guro up the stairs and that was a disaster, followed by us doing the same for Niamh. I was only joking about being protective, I know you care, even if it has only been one day of getting to know her and for the record, I had a feeling you guys would hit it off one day” She winks. You laugh and have a small conversation with the two of them before leaving for your date with Guro.
“Have fun you two! But not too much, yeah?” Niamh jokes as you start pulling the car away. As you get on the road you put your playlist on in the car and sit comfortably in Guro’s company.
“What did they say to you?” She asks, looking over to you. You keep your eyes on the road.
“Well, they went all protective, I rambled, turns out Erin let us and Niamh in last night and we carried you up the stairs, and then had to carry Niamh too. Now she thinks she’s cupid as she expected us to get on well” You chuckle, Guro groans.
“I swear to God she’s so annoying” Guro whines. “What did you ramble about?”.
“You” You say quietly.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you” She teases.
“You know what I said. You, I rambled about you. How this is all very new to me and even if it has been less than 24 hours I already really care about you and think you deserve the world” You ramble “Look what you’ve done I’m rambling again!” You grumble.
“Well I think it’s cute” both you and Guro start blushing. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever be such a mess for someone.
━━━━━
"...and that's how I missed the Derby last year" You chuckle as Guro laughs along. 
"To think I thought it was a sport related injury, not tripping down the stairs drunk trying to chase Frida" She laughs. You stir your coffee and admire her, you find yourself getting lost in her eyes once again. 
"You know, you aren't all that bad Y/LN" Guro smiles, placing a hand on yours. 
"Same with you, Reiten" You give her hand a squeeze. 
"I don't wanna go back to the girls after this, I'm gonna get quizzed" Guro groans. 
"You can always come over to mine? Vic and Gio will be home but we can order some food in and chill?" You offer, she nods in response. 
━━━━━
You open your door and you're hit with silence, either they're in their rooms or out. 
"The coast is clear, go go go" you say, dragging Guro in. Luckily you were right, neither of your housemates were home. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. 
Gio - GURO REITEN?! 
As you both settle on your sofa you respond to Gio. 
Y/N - Damn doorbell… Just a friend x
Gio - Liar. Keep your naughty business to your room please, we will be home soon (I didn't tell Vic)❤️
You sigh as you lock your phone, look at Guro who's also looking at your phone. 
"Just a friend?" Guro looks at you. 
"Well… I didn't wanna put a label on it, that's a lot of pressure for us" You mumble. 
"Well I don't wanna just be your friend Y/N" She strokes your cheek "I like this side of you, nervous, caring and a real charmer".
"I try, I try" You chuckle "But in all seriousness, I feel the same. How about… Dating?" You suggest.
"As long as that means I can do this…" She leans in and kisses you, you get carried away until you hear the door being unlocked, you both run up the stairs and hide from your housemates who luckily didn't spot you. 
"That was a close one" Guro breathes out heavily.
You hear a hello downstairs from someone you didn't expect. 
"Oh my god Frida's home from visiting her girlfriend!" You instantly jump up "I'll be right back! FRIDA FRIDA FRIDA" you run down the stairs yelling and jump into your best friend's arms. 
"Oh hello Y/N, I missed you too" Frida laughs, hugging you tightly. "Where are the other two?". 
"They went out, they'll be back soon though!" You smile "You should probably unpack and shower, I'll leave you to it!" you say as you run back up to your room. Guro is just sitting on your bed, admiring your room and looking at your medals and awards. 
"Enjoying yourself?" you smile, she nods. You pass her your phone with your local Chinese takeaway menu on it so she can pick what she wants, once you order you cuddle on the bed just chatting quietly. 
"I can't believe I'm dating an Arsenal player" Guro groans. 
"I'd be honoured too" You smirk. 
"You're never getting me to wear your shirt, national team maybe but Arsenal it's a hard pass" She kisses your cheek. 
"What would it take to get you to wear an Arsenal shirt" You ask her. 
"Hmmm" she taps her chin thinking. You smirk and lean in to kiss her. "That won't work but it'll help your case". You connect your lips and carry on from where you left off downstairs. You lean over her and kiss her from above her, it continues getting fairly heated, quiet moans, shaky breaths. 
"Hey Y/N your food is…. WOOOAH! I am so sorry! I didn't know you had someone up here… wait GURO?!" Frida shrieks. 
“I would say it’s not what it looks like but… yeah” You sigh as you roll off Guro.
“Y/N, a word please? In private” Frida says, waving you out of the room and shutting the door. “Okay you know I love you a lot. But Guro has been through a lot, don’t play around with her, be honest and open and you’ll be fine”.
“Frida trust me, I don’t ever want to hurt her. Yeah it’s a lot for only a day of getting to know eachother, but there’s a connection we have and I can’t explain it. Ever since I first played against her a few years back I always felt nervous seeing her. She’s just so pretty and I used to find her somewhat intimidating. I wanted to get her attention but I knew she had a girlfriend and it’d just be seen as me doing ‘a Y/N’. Main reason I stopped partying and messing about, and she doesn’t even know it.” You ramble.
“Y/N…you really do care about her don’t you? I remember the last match you played Norway that you went all blushy when you did a shirt swap with her. It all makes sense! Y/N has a loooover” Frida sings.
“Shut uuuup!” You groan. “Now can I get back to my girlfriend but not girlfriend?” You whine.
“Yep, but on one condition, you tell the team when you’re official. Both teams that is” She smirks.
“Deal” You say as you open your bedroom door to go back in. 
“Come sort out your food you two, or I’m stealing your spring rolls” Frida yells up the stairs. You instantly spring off the bed.
“NOOOOO!” You run down the stairs and tackle Frida, with Guro following behind, removing you from your friend and pinning you down.
“Traitor! You’re a traitor!” You say towards Guro.
“Us Norwegians stick together” Frida fist bumps Guro and you scowl at them.
You hear a commotion at the door followed by your other housemates walking in. 
“Oh. My. God. We have a Chelsea player in our house, this feels so wrong” Gio jokes, going to greet Guro “I’m Gio, but you can call me Y/N’s worst nightmare”. Guro laughs and gives Gio a small hug. Followed by Vic. The two had brought home food for them and Frida so you all sit on the sofas and eat your food, engaging in chatter. 
“Guro, why her though” Frida whines.
“Hey I heard her ramble to you through the door, I think just that alone was self explanatory” Guro shrugs, your eyes go wide. Guro hugs into your side. 
"I never thought I'd see Y/N with a girlfriend. You're so happy and it's barely been a day" Vic grins.
“Yeah well, get used to it” You smile leaning more into Guro.
After a few hours of chatting, eating and watching shows your housemates decide to call it a night.
“I should probably get going, I’ve got training in the morning” Guro sighs, with a sad smile on her face “I had a lot of fun Y/N, I’m really glad we did have the guts to have a drunk sleepover”.
“Me too, how about I give you a lift home? That or you can always stay for the night? I’ve got some spare clothes and I can take you home in the morning and give you a lift to training, I have no plans tomorrow so I don’t mind hel-” You ramble until Guro breaks it with a gentle kiss. 
“If it helps you stop rambling, I’ll stay tonight. How about we go out for dinner tomorrow…its a team dinner with partners at Chelsea so you’re more than welcome to go with me, that’s if you’d want to do that” She blushes. You nod in response.
“We aren’t moving too fast are we?” You chuckle “Because if so, I don’t care”.
“I think we’ve both had our eye on each other for a while, so I guess we are just making up for lost time” Guro smiles, squeezing your hand as you stifle a yawn. 
“Right you, let’s go to bed” She pulls you upstairs.
━━━━━
Part 2 is already in the works :)
469 notes · View notes
crazyoffher · 8 months
Text
PARANOID.
wednesday addams x fem!reader
summary: wednesday becomes what one would call "jealous" and the only way to get her to stop is through confession.
warnings: none.
word amount: 2300+
a/n: this is a rewrite of my old wednesday fic "jealousy doesn't suit me well" (old version now archived)
Tumblr media
Ajax, a gorgon boy, was somebody that you considered your best friend. He was one, if not the most energetic person you’ve met beside Enid. You loved him dearly, seeing as he was the only person willing to even sit next to you in class when you first started at Nevermore, and your friendship with him quickly grew.
In present time, you hung out with a newcomer in the same year as you, a deathly Wednesday Addams, more than you hung out with Ajax. He understood well, seeing as your crush on the monotone girl grew like wildfire and he was distancing himself from you too, finding his time consumed by day-to-day dealing with his own crush.
A nice, peculiar girl by the name of Enid Sinclair, but God, did she have to annoy you that much? You knew she only ever meant well, so you tolerated her for the sake of Wednesday and Ajax.
As the months drew closer to summer, you made a pact with the gorgon that you would hang out with him a lot more for the sake of friendship, homework, and crushes. That put a toll on Enid, constantly being cornered by the girl and swearing to make pinky promises that you weren’t sneakily getting with him, which you mentally gagged at the thought of.
He was a nice guy. Well groomed, kind-hearted, intelligent, and attractive, but he just wasn’t for you. After all, your eyes grew into hearts only for one psychotic goth girl.
On the topic of her, your constant hanging out didn’t only affect Enid, but Wednesday too, the girl seemingly more sullen and dead-eyed when you’d drop by her dorm to say goodnight after spending the entire day with Ajax. She constantly bombared you with questions…
“Where were you?”
“Were you alone with him?”
“Why do you feel the need to constantly be in his presence?”
And every time, you’d give her the same answer.
“I can’t tell you.”
That wasn’t a lie, you genuinely couldn’t for the life of your own sanity and Ajax’s. She’d shut up after your responses, to your surprise, and give you a small goodbye before shutting the door in your face.
You felt bad, and you’d only hope your plan would work out in the end. Your shreds of hope being thin didn’t ever help your nerves as the days passed by like television calendar montages, paper after paper being discarded because you just couldn’t form your emotions right.
In the present timeline, your head was lulled down as you made your way through the halls of Ophelia, walking down the pathway mindlessly with your feet stuttering a bit as if you were a drunkard. Your hand rummaged in your pants, desperately trying to get a grip on the slippery key, and you shut your eyes in contentment when you pulled the metallic object out of your pocket.
“Finally.” A mutter was vocalized from nobody but you, rubbing your eyes with your other hand from your need for rest as you trudged up to your dorm room door, the space empty as your former roommate had recently faced expulsion for a reason that was still classified as unknown. You shoved the key into the lock with might, hand clasping over your mouth as you let out a deep yawn, feet stuttering once more into the room.
You were tired, but even saying that was an understatement. You felt close to death, your classes taking their normal toll on you, and you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to help Eugene get his bees in control at the tiring hour of 5:30 a.m. It had been nineteen hours since you had awakened, and last time you checked, that wasn’t a good thing in your books.
The bright lights lit up the room immediately after flipping the switch, verbally groaning, and shutting your eyes as you walked further into the room. You soon faced your closet, squinting your eyes as you searched for a fresh pair of pajamas, but your eyes flew open, and you let out a small yelp at the voice coming from the other side of the room.
“Back so late?”
“Fuck, Wednesday!” You jumped, your hands flying to your chest in an attempt to calm your breathing. Through your widened eyes, you noticed the girl sitting on your former roommate's bed, hands intertwined and set on her lap, her posture straight, and her eyes bored into your figure. “You are aware it’s midnight, right? What’re you doing here?”
“I could only presume you were aware of the time too.” Wednesday stood up, her posture still straight, and she walked toward your study desk, fixing up the mess that consisted of pencils and papers strewn out. “Curfew was two hours ago.”
You grabbed a plain black shirt from your closet, turning to give her a quick ‘really?’ look. “Yes, because I bet you care so much about curfew. Need I remind you of the times you forced me to break the rules last year?” The gothic girl didn’t reply, shuffling your papers into one thick stack.
“It was for commendatory reasoning. I know nothing about your trips; carry on the fact that you prefer to keep them private, but I can assure myself that what it is that you’re breaking curfew for isn’t an adequate reason.” She spoke calmly, well-paced, and formally; you could only mentally snarl at her quick-wittedness.
You moved to your drawers, pulling out the first pair of shorts that revealed themselves. Wednesday faced you now, her eyes never leaving your figure as she awaited a response from you. Her eyes were filled with their normal sense of death and destruction, but almost had a small glint of… sadness?
“And yet,” you started off, shutting the drawer closed and throwing the clothes on your bed, “here you are, in my dorm instead of yours. If you’re going to berate me for rebelling against a simple curfew, at least don’t be a hypocrite about it.” 
“What were you doing today?” She disregarded your words; her body leaned against your study desk, and your head turned to face her, eyes unconsciously raking over her body from her shoulders to her legs. “It’s like you want to hear the same answer every time.”
“I’d rather not.” She pushed herself off your desk, the lingering of your eyes over her body not going unnoticed, a small smirk begging to form against her lips. “I was hoping to get a different answer from you—the truthful one, you could call it.”
“The truthful one?” You questioned. She did a curt nod, her bangs jumping slightly from the movement. “Fine. I went to Séance Society at 1:30, Archery Club at 2:30, and then Ajax and I went into town. We stopped at the Weathervane for coffee and to do homework, then we walked around before we went to a corner store to buy snacks. We waddled all the way back to the school grounds, and here I am.”
At the end of your sentence, you pointed to your shoes, marking your location. Wednesday only sucked her teeth, taking a step forward before crossing her arms. “And?”
Your lips thinned, with dimples popping out at the action, and you tried your hardest not to create an outburst. You questioned how you'd managed to develop a crush on her when she drives you crazy. “That’s it. Why do you care so much?”
Wednesday’s expression didn’t change, but she was having a mental battle with figuring out an excuse to say that would sound like her. “You are my friend, and I care about my friends.” That didn’t sound like her at all. “I must know your whereabouts at all times for your safety.”
“Bullshit.” You stated, your gaze now fixed on her. “You wouldn’t ever admit that, meaning that those words were an on-the-spot lie-”
“Well, we’re not on the topic of me right now.” She interrupted, annoyance lacing her voice at your accusations—your true accusations. “We’re conversing about you and your secrecy. Tell me what you do with him; I’m not asking anymore.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, and you let out an agitated huff at her sternness. Your mind was in a battle, deciding whether today was the day or if you should just tell her half the truth. Would Ajax kill you? Maybe, but your confidence was at an all-time low, and you had no other options.
“Ajax’s been discussing with me a... uhm, sort of... plan about Enid. Ajax has a crush on her, and we’ve been figuring out a way for him to, er, confess his feelings to her so they can date. Yeah…” 
God, did you suck at lying, and Wednesday could see right through you. She advanced toward you this time, and from the distance between the two of you, you could see the mixed emotions welling up in her gaze. “What else?”
“Wh-that’s it, Wednesday. I swear-”
“But your swears mean nothing.” Ouch. “You couldn’t hold eye contact with me; your words were faltering; your fingers were itching at your arm; and your voice was half an octave higher. I firmly believe you are truthful in your speech about Ajax and Enid, but you’re lying to me about it being the whole truth.”
You gulped, your brain shredding under her gaze, and you thought hard. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5-
“Fine!” You huffed, stomping to the front door and crouching down to pick up the bag that you left. Wednesday would rather die than admit that she mentally flinched at your tone, watching as you ruffled around in the bag before pulling out a journal.
“Now is not the time to ask for my help on your homework, (Y/L/N).” You shook your head at her words, walking back to where you stood before and opening up the journal on a random page. Inside that page was a folded piece of paper, and your fingers twitched as you went to pick it up.
To say your nerves were at their peak would be a trivialization when you looked up and saw Wednesday standing directly in front of you, staring at you with narrowed eyes. You drew your hand out in her direction, silently telling her to take the paper, which she did not. “What is that?”
“Read it and find out. Not today, though! Tomorrow seems like a goo-” Wednesday took the paper, carelessly opening it, and her eyebrows scrunched when she saw how much was written. She looked up at you with curious eyes, not preparing to be outside your dorm room with the door slammed in her face a couple of seconds later.
You sank into the door, hands over your face, and you screamed, the sounds of embarrassment muffled. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” You repeated, bolting away from the door, settling into your chair, and gasping for air. You sat there for about thirty seconds, though it felt like hours, when a knock was placed on the door.
"Y/N, open the door," Your ears pick up Wednesday's voice, which is quieter than you anticipated and infused with a rare warmth. She sounded sincere rather than irritated or sarcastic.
You took a deep breath, getting up from your chair and going to unlock the door while swallowing your anxiety and peering out to see Wednesday's frustrated expression.
"Look, I know this is unexpected," you started in a voice that was shaking. ”However, what I stated in that letter is real. Wednesday, I've liked you for a while.”
It was like a major weight was taken off of your shoulders. You had finally confessed to the girl you’d been chasing for over a year, and you watched a battle happen through her eyes, multiple emotions mixed in her mind and overdosing her brain.
There’s a slight shift in Wednesday's mood, and you can see the turmoil in her eyes. "I do not understand why you would think that about me. I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around," she acknowledged, her tone containing a hint of vulnerability. Your eyes softened at her words, a pang of sympathy coursing through you for the girl. 
She had been so despised, so targeted, even if most of it was her fault, that it broke her down — broke her mindset down into believing that she was unlovable, even by her friends.
You take a step forward, your attention fixed on her. "You may not realize it, Wednesday, but you are incredible. You're powerful and unique, and I respect how you remain loyal to yourself regardless of what people say. Your willingness to go against standards intrigues me."
Her usually stoic face shows a small crack, a glimpse of uncertainty. "I've never been in a situation like this," she confessed quietly. You found that hard to believe; the beauty of the girl was something you drowned in most days, but you knew that it was the truth because people were afraid of her. Never you, though.
With a gentle smile, you say, "Me neither, but that's okay. If you let me, we can figure it out together."
Wednesday keeps silent for a second before taking a cautious step closer to you. "You make me feel... different, too," she confesses, carefully choosing her words. You clench your jaw to fight off the large grin that threatens to form on your face, and your heartbeat remained fast-paced, but for a different reason this time.
You reach out, taking her hand with caution in your movement. You didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in anyway, but she reassured you when she gave your hand a light squeeze. “We don’t have to figure out anything right now. Consider this… confession?” You gave her a small smile, and it grew wider when your eyes fell on the corners of her lips, watching them twitch into the smallest smile.
“Confession.”
taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @rhythm-catsandwine @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @alexkolax @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @n0vabug
1K notes · View notes
stevenose · 8 months
Text
wrote this in 25 minutes like a madman
cw: afab!reader/reader with a vagina and breasts; friend!steve; car sex??; heavy petting; oral (reader receiving); shy!reader; idk what this is 🫶🏻
Tumblr media
you’re friends with steve. barely. by association, really. you know your shared friends more than you know him. but he’s nice, he’s charming, he’s funny. he’s incredibly handsome. it’s part of the reason why you don’t know him more. your heart kicks when he’s around and you’re shy with him.
you don’t know how much he likes that.
eddie usually takes you home, but he left early for a ‘meetup’, which means he’s either selling or fornicating. you’re a little lost with what to do at the end of the night, calculating how long it would take for you to walk home from robin’s house.
“i’ll take you,” steve says, noticing your anxiety.
“steve’s got such a nice car,” robin says, laying on the floor and rubbing her eyes with her knuckles a little too hard. she’s drunk.
“you’d know,” steve snorts. he gives you a look that makes your chest tight. like you’re sharing a joke, which you kind of are, because robin let’s put a little ‘huh?’ then ‘psssh, whatever.’
she reaches up with her hands, holding them out to steve. he grabs them, thinking he’s about to help her up, but she’s dead weight. “get ‘em home safe.”
“you don’t trust me?” he gives you the same look again, like, get a load of this guy.
“i do,” she promises, squeezing his hands. then she reaches out to you, and you hold her slender fingers in yours. “get home safe.”
you laugh. “that’s up to steve.”
he makes light conversation with you as you head down her steps, which you’re thankful for. you don’t know how to talk to him. you’ve never really had to. he holds the door of the passenger side open for you and you smile, climbing in and moving yourself away so he can shut it. he jogs to the driver’s side and slides in.
“you work tomorrow?” you ask as he starts driving.
“of course.”
“not too early, i hope.”
“any shift at family video is too early.”
you laugh and then there’s silence, nothing but tires on tar and a hum from the radio. you look out the window, bouncing your leg and playing with your fingers.
“you look nice tonight,” he suddenly says. “cute.”
“oh,” you say, looking over to him. he’s just being nice. he is nice. “thanks. so do you.”
“yeah?”
“always,” you say, still thinking this is a bit of banter.
you’re looking at the side of his face and then suddenly his hand is on your thigh. fingers gently digging into the flesh on the inner parts of them. you freeze, stomach flipping. he’s still looking at the road. his nonchalant demeanor makes you relax slightly. maybe this is friendly touch for a guy like steve. maybe he’s just trying to stop you from bouncing.
but then his hand creeps up and up and up until his pinky finger is right at the edge of your underwear.
you’re still staring, dumbfounded, cunt pulsing. your stomach feels hot and admittedly a little sick, but just from the attention. you’re confused but not complaining.
“i like it when you wear skirts,” he says, finally glancing over at you.
“oh,” is all you can muster.
“this one’s my favorite,” he continues. his hand moves back down your thigh but only to touch the bare skin this time, your skirt having rode up from his previous movements. “this color looks so good on you.”
you swallow anxiously. “thank you.”
“have you ever done something like this before?”
it takes a minute for you to compute and another for you to find your words. “have - have i ever…? in a car?”
he chuckles, his hand moving up again. “you’re cute.”
“have i ever what?” you’re nervous for what he’s going to say, to do. you never want him to take his hand off of you. if he wasn’t always so nice - if you didn’t see how he takes care of robin - you’d be scared of this being a prank.
“have you ever fooled around with someone before?”
his fingers tickle as the glide up. he’s close to your core now. you swallow again. “not really.”
“do you want to?”
you look out the windshield. you’re close to home but truly, he cannot come inside. you weren’t planning on having company. and your head’s spinning fast, trying to understand what’s happening. he’s never showed you attention before, so why now? though, to be fair, he’s never had you alone before. you’re always with someone else. but he does linger in his hugs, smiles a little too wide when he sees you.
“now?”
he starts retracting, hand moving away, but you’re lightning fast in grabbing his wrist and placing it back where it was. “i didn’t say no.”
he smiles. he drives past your road. his fingers finally meet your clothed slit and you gasp, grabbing his wrist tightly.
“now that we’re alone,” he says. “are you okay with that?”
“y-yeah,” you say, bewildered. it’s hard to focus on the situation when his digits are running up and down, just barely giving you pressure on your clit.
“i always liked you, y’know,” he says, “think you’re so adorable when you can’t look me in the eyes. i like hearing you talk, too. just didn’t know when i could do something about it.”
“so you chose your car?” you ask bluntly.
“works, doesn’t it?”
now his fingers are moving under the sides of your cunt, where your underwear seam meets the apex of your thigh. you moan lightly when you feel his skin on yours. the sound - god, the sound. you’re so wet it’s pathetic.
“oh,” he says. the car goes slightly off-kilter but he readjusts. “just from this?”
you have to think about it. like, really. because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten you riled up. at least twice you’ve shivered and thrown your underwear into the hamper haphazardly after a hangout, the cotton a little too soaked for a night out with friends.
“i don’t know,” you say truthfully. “i like it when - w….”
the pads of his fingers are clumsily circling your clit. how he’s found it with such precision, you don’t know. well, you can guess. he’s had experience.
“like it when…?”
you swallow again. “when y-you wear those f- those button downs.”
“oh, yeah?”
“uh huh.” you reach for his sleeve. “when you roll - when you roll these up.”
“you should’ve told me,” he says, “would’ve done it more often.”
he’s pulling over now. you’re near a field. he awkwardly reaches his left hand around the wheel to put it in park and cuts the ignition. it’s quiet now, save for the wet sounds of his stroking.
“you’re so pretty,” he says softly, finally able to look over at you fully. he smiles and undoes your seatbelt. “so soft, honey.”
honey. it makes your stomach flip again. it’s been flipping for the last ten minutes. “steve,” you whimper, back arching off the seat a little to chase his fingers. his gaze is entirely too deep and entirely too soft. you choose to shut your eyes and let your head fall back against the leather.
“make some more noises for me,” he coos, fingers moving down to just barely prod at your opening before gliding back to your clit, bringing slick up with it. “hardly get to hear you.”
you moan. it feels a little loud because it’s so quiet in the car. “s-sorry.”
“huh?” he asks, leaning over to get closer to you. “nothin’ to be sorry for.”
you nod and bite your lip to hold back a groan. “o-okay.”
“does it feel good?”
you nod again. his fingers gently pinch your clit.
“tell me.”
“oh, s-so good, shit,” you whisper. now you’re grinding down, canting your hips, needing more pressure.
his hand moves away suddenly and you almost cry, hips still bucking. he twists his body to fully face you, his left hand coming down now to stroke you over your underwear. he leans in to the shell of your ear, lips grazing it. “will you let me taste you?”
you’re nervous as he’s helping you out of the car, legs feeling like jelly, shaking. he coos at you, frowns, wraps an arm around your waist. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you promise.
“sorry i surprised you,” he whispers. “couldn’t help myself, y’looked so pretty tonight.”
you laugh breathlessly. “good.”
steve laughs too, squeezes your waist before pulling away and fixing the front seats. he pushes them all the way up so there’s room in the back for him to kneel. he helps you in first, then gets in after, laughing at how awkward it is to get in front of you. he pushes your skirt up, bites his lip when he sees your underwear. “can i take ‘em off?” he asks, looking up at you with soft eyes.
you nod, shaking legs bending over his shoulders. he pulls them off of you and sits them beside you on the seat. you sit and wait while he stares, feeling self conscious. you don’t expect him to lean forward and inhale deeply. but that’s what he does.
“woah!” you say, placing a hand on his head, and the guttural moan he lets out makes your body catch on fire.
“so goddamn good,” he growls, wrapping his arms under and around your thighs. “swear i’ve smelled this before when we were together. you smell like honey.”
he wastes zero time, leaning forward and promptly devouring you. you gasp and keen, lifting off the seat. steve’s strong arms work to keep you pinned, his tongue lapping at you roughly. his nose nudges every so often against your clit and he takes another deep inhale. he moans lowly before kissing your cunt, making out with it.
“holy fuck,” you gasp, tugging his hair so hard it might rip out. “steve, what the fuck, oh - oh my fucking god-“
he laughs incredulously. “been wanting to eat you for a fucking year,” he says, the wording making you throw your head back. “know how hard it was?” he licks a broad stripe up you. “watching you?”
you kind of do. in the same way it was hard to watch him and act normal because you’re friends and you always have someone else around. not like you could make any moves, and certainly not like you even considered it. someone like steve seemed so far out of your reach. not to mention the plethora of dates he’s gone on since you met him, the flings that were hard to keep track of.
he’s sucking on your clit now, breaking you out of your thoughts. you gasp and tug his hair again, your hips stuttering. you let out choked gasps and swears, intermixed with little steve’s that make him groan into you. when he starts fucking his tongue into you, you’re done, the debauchery sending you into orbit. “fuck!” you sob, riding his face, his nose nudging your clit just right.
“uh huh,” he moans. at some point during all of this, he fished his cock out of his pants, jerking himself off hard and fast and rough. you push his head away when you’re too stimulated. his face is soaked, eyes hooded, brows furrowed together. pretty pink lips parting with a gasp as he cums into the seat. the sight makes you tense up, cunt fluttering, clit pulsing.
“fuck,” he groans, voice wrecked. he pants. the windows are fogged.
you have no clue what to say, like usual. you’re warm and light and dazed. you stroke his hair while he comes down, his head resting on your thigh.
“so good,” he finally says. “you’re so good, beautiful.”
“i didn’t do anything,” you laugh. “i’ve - i’ve never cum like that before.”
“doesn’t have to be the last time,” he mumbles, kissing your thigh softly before pulling away. his hairline covered with sweat. you don’t hear him, because you’re not paying attention. too spent and exhausted to do so.
he helps you back out, the cool air feeling good against your skin. you offered your underwear to him to clean up his own mess, his cheeks red when you hand them to him.
“i want them back,” you say as you re-enter to sit in the passenger seat once again.
“after i wash them,” he promises, and your face heats at the thought of him not - of having a pair that’s been ruined by him.
his hand is back on your thigh as he drives you to your place, rubbing gently. the car stills in front of your house and you turn to look at him.
“thanks for the ride,” you say timidly. “both of them.”
he grins. “how about i start picking you up and taking you home, huh?”
you nod. “think i’d like that.”
1K notes · View notes
sunflowergirl522 · 2 years
Text
Eddie My Love
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: Eddie comes over to find you singing and cooking breakfast.
Word Count: 799
Eddie’s been knocking on your front door for a while. When there’s no response after five minutes of waiting and trying he knows your parents aren’t home, again, and he assumes that you’re asleep so he fumbles around in his pockets for the spare key you had given him the last time he was locked out and climbed into your bedroom window. ‘Eddie this just won’t do, we have to get you a key’ you had said after helping him through and he’s used said key countless times. Since then he’s used the key countless times, your parents mostly being gone on business trips means that he’s basically living here. 
He’s greeted with the sound of soft music coming from the kitchen and he smiles knowing that you’re listening to the mixtape he made you. It was full of old love songs that he normally wouldn’t be caught dead listening to but he knows how much you love them. That was an interesting week and the guys gave him hell when they caught him with a Chordettes cassette but it was worth it to see the big excited smile on your face and the koala hug he received after he gave it to you.
“Eddie my love, I love you so. How I’ve wanted for you, you’ll never know.” You’re singing along to the music swaying back and forth while cooking breakfast. He leans against the doorway of the kitchen enjoying the view of you in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of panties while he listens to you sing. 
He’ll never know how he got so lucky to have you be his. He’s constantly left speechless at the thought of it. At the fact that of all the people who had fancied you in high school you had picked him. The day that you sat next to him in the cafeteria after telling one of the basketball players off for calling Eddie a demon spawn and looked up at him going ‘you alright Eddie bear’ was the same day you officially had him wrapped around your little finger. He made sure to make a show of it each time he reminded you of that by wrapping his whole hand around your pinky.
He smiles to himself before pushing off the frame and walking up behind you wrapping his arms around you and causing you to jump in surprise.
“Keep singing Sweetheart.” He chuckles against your neck at your reaction, placing a kiss at the hollow of it.
“Eddie! You’re early! I’m not even dressed yet.” You giggle, turning in his arms and smiling up at him.
“Hm, I’m not complaining. If I didn’t love seeing you in my clothes so much I’d say you were too dressed.” You laugh again and give him a kiss that was much too short for his liking before you turn back around to turn the stove off.
“You want eggs? I made extra just in case you decided to sneak your way in here before you’re supposed to pick me up.” He was taking you out to see that new movie The Fly later. He wanted to see it because it’s supposedly a new horror film and he thinks you’ll be holding onto him the whole time but you mainly wanna go because Jeff Goldblum is hot, not that Eddie needs to know that. 
“It’s not exactly sneaking in if I have a key and a drawer of clothes now is it?” He walks over to your stereo in order to replay what has to be his favorite song to hear come from your mouth. Once it starts again he holds his hand out for you. “Dance with me?” You’re taking his hand before he can finish. 
He pulls you into his chest holding you close and relishing in the feel of you against him. Together the two of you sway around the kitchen blissfully in love with each other. The two of you keep going after the song ends and Ritchie Valens ‘We Belong Together’ starts playing.
“You’re mine and we belong together. Yes we belong together, for eternity.” Eddie sings softly in your ear causing you to gasp and move away from him slightly just to look at him.
“I thought you didn’t know any of these songs?”
“What can I say?” He leans his forehead on your own, your noses bumping into each other. “You make me want to branch out from metal.” The smile on your face at that statement could keep him feeling warm in the coldest of winters.
“I love you Eddie bear.” You nuzzle your head back into his chest.
“God I love you so much Sweetheart. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
“You better believe it because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Eddie Taglist: @starbxcks
4K notes · View notes
angel1kisses · 3 months
Text
Sim Jaeyun as your Boyfriend ੈ♡˳
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Containsੈ♡˳ nsfw content under the cut , mention of Jealousy, Clingy!Jake , petnames, Fluff
Tumblr media
SFW
☆He absolutely thrives off of the attention he gets from you and he's so dramatic as well — he always pouts and whines if he doesn't get your attention , acting dead and saying something along the lines "I'm going to die if my wonderful, beautiful , magnificent , absolutely perfect Wifey doesn't pay attention to me. I'm lacking Vitamin U". Like i said, he will be dramatic
☆Arguments do happen — well they aren't really Arguments, you just get petty. We all know how Jake purposely flirts with engenes to get us jealous , so you're being mostly petty about that. If he asks you something while you're being petty , you'll respond with "I don't know , ask one of your other bitches" with a petty huff. In all honesty , Jake loves your reaction and can't help but say that you're adorable followed by a chuckle
☆Jake's the type who's really touchy. He loves patting your head and ruffling your hair , he loves having his hand on your body (doesn't matter where). He just needs to touch you. He's also the type who'd love to have you sitting on his lap , doesn't matter if there are still seats left , he'll pull you on his lap and wrap his arms securely around your waist.
☆You'll bet your ass he'll call you by petnames. He only calls you by your name in serious situations. He calls you "Love" , "Babe" and "Baby" but refer to you as his "Wifey" to others.
☆On your anniversary , he gifted you a matching ring — specifically a pinky ring. "Pinky Ring until I get a wedding ring", is what he always quotes and he stands by it. Once the time is ready and the two of you have been dating for a while , you bet he'll propose
☆Please, by the love of god, play with his hair when you're cuddling. Talking about cuddling, he physically can't live a day without having cuddled with you at least once. If he sleeps over at your place or you at their dorm , he'll whine in the morning about "5 more minutes" which always ends with him coming late to work just because he wanted to cuddle longer
NSFW
contains : oral (F! receiving) , Face sitting, overstimulation, Hand Kink, usage of names, consented somno, hair pulling
☆we can all agree on the fact that this men eats pussy like a starved men. It's his breakfast , lunch and dinner. There are some nights were you'll wake up with his head between your legs, his mouth practically making out with your pussy
☆pull on his hair when he's eating you out , he fucking loves it and gets raging hard
☆he loves eating you out so much , that he always unintentionally overstimulates you. Always whispering "I know you can give me another one like a good girl , please give me another one. You taste so good". Also , he begs for you to sit on his face , he likes the feeling of you almost suffocating him while his tongue is lapping at your pussy
☆he knows how much you love his hands and he'll use that to tease you. Purposely does things like caressing something slower, knowing that you're watching and remembering how he caressed your skin just like that. He also purposely plays around with his rings. It makes his ego boost up knowing how turned on you get just from his hands alone
Tumblr media
Taglist ☆ @chlorinecake @czlluvriki @sunjaywoning @seyoran
385 notes · View notes
uhlunaro · 11 months
Text
CANINE TEETH
Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: older!leon x gn!reader
summary: A mission leaves you wracked with survivor’s guilt. Leon helps the only way he knows how.
words: 3.3k
warnings: blood, explicit injury descriptions, death (unnamed characters), smoking, angst with a happy ending
notes: an anon requested hurt/comfort and i absolutely ran with it. RE lore is confusing so forgive me if things are wrong.
Tumblr media
You’re bloodied from the waist up, and you dread Leon’s first sight of you.
The bioweapon just would not fucking die—at least, not without taking half your squad with it. Their bodies have been laid out on the pavement, away from all the rubble, and the bullet casings, and the fresh blood.
Some faces you don’t recognize, and the ones you should have been mutilated beyond human comprehension. You help identify most of them by way of tattoos and birthmarks and the slivers of their faces still left intact. An eye here, the twist of a mouth there, a crushed nose. 
Some time between sifting through the leftovers of the town, picking out the pieces of your friends, and breaking for a quick smoke, you’re corralled into the medical tent. The small space remains just as solemn as the streets, if not for the groans of pain and cries of grief. Civilians and personnel alike, packed in close on rickety cots. The smell of blood, so potent it clings to the back of your throat, is what gets you. Churns away at your insides. Always has.
During times like these, you fucking hate your job.
The medic—Marcus, a close friend, a man who once saved you from a severed femoral artery—waves you over to a recently abandoned bed, the material stained a deep red. Not fresh, but not old, either, and you’re sure any leftover soaks into the butt of your muddy pants.
“Any updates?” you ask, because coping is easier when you don’t. When you stay calm, and professional, and routine.
“Heard talk from the CO’s. Think they’re bracing for a second attack.” His dark eyes cut sharp over the rim of his glasses. “But you didn’t hear it from me. Got it?”
He applies pressure to a jagged laceration on your arm, mutters something about stitches and gauze and the depletion of QuikClot.
But there's no need for any of that. Not when your blood freezes still inside your veins. “A second attack will wipe us out.”
A layer of gauze is wrapped around your half-torn pinky, bent at an angle just beneath the first knuckle, and blood saturates the fabric. If not for the elephant-sized potency of adrenaline coursing through your system, you’re sure you’d be on the floor right now. 
It needs surgery—hell, you’ll probably lose the finger altogether. If you aren’t already dead by morning.
“They’re trying to call for backup. A favor for a favor or some shit.” Your blood slicks up his fresh gloves, bright and glistening.
“From who?”
He leans back into his rickety chair and throws out both arms, almost clipping the hip of another medic passing by. “How the fuck would I know, Mouse?”
“‘Cause you eavesdrop like you’re being paid for it.” You attempt to wipe the itching blood from your cheek, but only succeed in smearing a fresh coat over the left half of your face. “God—listen, we’re all fucking stressed. No need to be an asshole.”
“That’s not…” He sighs out a long, exhausted breath, and that exhaustion rolls off him twelve hours thick. Reads clear in his pallor, in the state of his clothes, in the slump of his posture. You feel bad for him, for everybody stuck neck deep in the mud of this bullshit situation. Yourself included. “That’s not what I meant to say. But we’ve all watched our friends get ripped apart, so forgive me if my fuse is non-fucking-existent.”
You both begin to stare at each other as a group of soldiers file into the tent, a battle of wills keeping you glued in place. Marcus is fucked up over this, and so are you. It’s a stupid thing to get angry over, but tensions are high, and you’re fit to burst at the goddamn seams.
“Mouse.”
Just like that, you feel small again. Weak. And you would rather rip the rest of your finger off than turn around and face that voice. “Leon.”
He’s always professional enough to keep up appearances—use your call sign, subdue his voice and body language—but you know him inside and out. Every quirk of his tone. He’s angry, yes, but not at you.
Marcus cuts you a knowing glance, then gives a nod to the fuming man just over your shoulder. “Patched ‘em up best I could.”
“Not good enough, apparently.”
You turn to look at him then, his muscled form dressed all in black, arms crossed over his tactical vest. He glares a hole through Marcus’s forehead, expression severe, intimidating even by your standards.
“He did what he could, Leon.”
He catches your eye a moment, looks again with widened eyes, and his arms twitch open as if wishing to reach for you. To touch you.
Later, you mouth, and you witness a part of him die. Right inside this medical tent, surrounded by the aftermath of a city-wide apocalypse.
He wants to hold you, and you aren’t sure who he seeks to comfort most. You or him. Leon now, or Leon the rookie.
Marcus notices—the man notices everything unfortunately. He shoos you away, orders Leon to watch over you, to keep that finger intact. 
It’s probably lost anyway.
“I thought you quit,” Leon says, as you pull a crushed pack of cigarettes from one of the many pockets of your fatigues.
You stand outside the medical tent, and the headache-inducing smell doesn’t stop.
“Covers up the blood,” you say, lighting the end with a match. Half the tobacco’s fallen out and there’s a tear near the filter, but it produces smoke and that’s all you care about right now. “Not like I can smell any worse.”
You stink of death. A sickly sweet, metallic, rotting perfume that will take days to wash off, long after you’re home safe. The nightmares will come back. You’ll hate the color red for a while.
The blood mats your hair. Dirt packs under blunt-bitten fingernails. You’ve barely slept in two days.
You look like utter shit, near-death warmed over, and still—
Still, Leon dares to love you. He’s here, fresh off the bird. That’s proof enough. 
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, once the cigarette’s been half-smoked and your throat burns from something even worse than nicotine.
If you cry now, you won’t stop. You might drown in the wreckage, take everyone with you.
A better way to go than this, you suppose. 
“Don’t think I can right now.”
You crush the cigarette then, nothing but filter and ash, beneath the toe of your boot. Silently muse for a moment about littering, then look around to the plumes of smoke and the kicked-up dust and the wind-swept trash. The city will be flattened before the day’s end anyway, and you still have a few hours left to go.
The sun settles low in the sky, and the shift from yellow to bathing orange remains in infancy.
Two, maybe three at most.
“The second attack.” You look over at him with empty eyes, worn down and grieving. “They’re waiting for nightfall, aren’t they?”
He sighs, steps back to lean against the concrete wall. “It’s a hypothesis.”
“And you’re the back-up.”
“One of many.”
Leon… well, he isn’t a hopeful man these days. Years of counter-bio-terrorism will do that to you. But now, neck-deep in chaos, he looks hopeful. Maybe for your sake. Maybe for his own. But he looks hopeful, and you almost believe it, too.
“If I die—“
His posture stiffens, and he shakes his head. “We’re not doing this.”
“Leon. Just hear me out. Please.” When he gives nothing but a sigh in response, you continue. “If I die out there, and I don’t get to see you after this is done, you need to know that I love you. And that you deserve better than this.”
“Better than what?” His voice croaks out weak, and you understand how he felt back in the medical tent.
Need to hold him, feel his heartbeat, assure yourself that he’s alive and well and that all this is real. 
You deserve selfishness for once in your fucking life.
“Better than the DSO, and the violence, and all the hurt you’ve carried around since Raccoon City.”
He smiles soft at you, like a candlelight dinner, a late-night kiss, a shared bubble bath. An affection so potent that you almost damn propriety and embrace him right here on the bustling street.
“I’m glad you didn’t mention yourself.”
The smiles that stretches your lips is relieving. A power only he can possess, amusing you at a time like this. “God no. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Excuse me?”
“Had a really nice bottle of tequila one time…”
“Tequila doesn’t rub your back so you can fall asleep.”
“Hey, anything’s possible.”
You’re in the middle of a war zone, and he has you laughing. And you realize, just as you did all those years ago, that you love him. Would die for him. Would rather die with him—but not like this, not here, ever.
“What are our odds?”
As you join him against the wall, looking out at the rush of people—police, BSAA, civilians seeking refuge—he leans toward you, victim to the same magnetic pull that brought you together in the first place.
“Redfield’s on his way.”
It’s all he says, and you choke out a laugh. “Shit. In that case, this battle’s as good as won.”
“Have you seen him recently?”
“Not since Edonia.”
“You’re in for a surprise, then.”
The dread that nibbles on your skull makes you fidget, and the concrete wall is rough as sandpaper, spikes catching on your clothes. “I don't like surprises.”
“You’re in the wrong field, honey.”
“Was that an affectionate ‘honey’ or a sarcastic one?”
“I save the sarcasm for everybody else.”
You nudge at his arm, and he stares down at you. Eyes full of stars, constellations, galaxies. As if your presence crafts his universe. “How sweet of you.”
“Don’t tell anybody. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Evening turns to sunset turns to night. The streets lay still, a tense silence as you wait. And wait. And wait. All you can do is wait.
Your CO demoted you to a last-resort-only combatant. Bullshit, far as you're concerned. Your friends—good people, with families and lives and struggles of their own—left to rot, and you have no place to lay your anger.
Well. Their empty graves, maybe.
The second wave begins shortly after sundown, and with the city’s power grid all but destroyed, you see nothing but the flashing of bullets. The spray of incendiary. Creatures howl and soldiers fire off coded phrases on the comms.
Raven Team down. Six K.I.A. Requesting backup on East Second Street.
Another frequency.
Three B.O.W.s spotted. Ready to engage.
Another.
I got wounded civilians, two children. Need a medic ASAP.
You vomit right outside the safe house. An effect of broiling anxiety, that feeling of helplessness that made you leave the military and join the BSAA in the first place. You’ve always hated it, and it returns furious, feasting.
You’re sent back to the medical tent. Diagnosed with a concussion. Confined to a cot with a cloth over your eyes to fight an oncoming migraine, to block out the lamplight. Years of training, of war zone activity make it easy to drift off, despite the echo of gunshots and the explosions rocking the tent.
When you wake, daylight seeps through the cloth. The fighting has stopped. The room remains silent.
You right yourself, and the change of scenery leaves you disoriented. Not the medical tent, actually. Not the city at all. A hospital room, with blaring white walls and ringing phones and the beep of your heart monitor.
The blood pressure cuff expands around your arm, and everything hurts.
Movement from the corner of your eye, and you look over to find Leon with a clear, plastic cup in hand. Your head pounds. The light from the large windows blurs your vision.
He realizes before you do. Fetches a bedpan from the corner-room chair and places it in your lap. And you vomit out an empty stomach.
You hate throwing up. Hate the state of your body even more—nothing but ache and soreness and the simple act of moving feels like muscles ripped clean from bone.
“Am I dying?” you ask, once he’s laid you back in bed and cleansed your mouth with lukewarm water.
“Not this time.”
“Everything feels so bad.”
“You look even worse. And I don’t say that lightly.”
“I wanna go home.”
“You can handle staying a few more days.”
Beneath the darkness of your eyelids, you reach for him blindly. His comfort is what you need—a childlike desperation that leaves you in tears.
You blame it on the pain.
His hand cradles yours, moving wires to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand, just above the scrape of skinless knuckles.
“Doc said you’ll be just fine. Just gotta get that fever to go away.”
“Fever?”
“B.O.W. blood can do a number on you.”
“Am I infected?”
“You have an infection, but the tests came back clear.” When your eyes blink open to look at him, he grins. Swipes a thumb beneath your eyes. “No superpowers for you, I’m afraid.”
You lean into his touch, the odd chill of his skin, and sigh out a long breath. “When we get home, can we order pizza?”
“Pizza. That’s what you’re craving?” said unimpressed, almost monotone.
“No. The good pizza from that family business near the house. Ya know, the one where the kids are always counting the money in the cash register.”
“Papa’s Pies?”
“Yeah. That one.”
He exhales a warm laugh, and his eyelids lower as he gazes upon you. Crafting galaxies. “Pizza it is, then.”
Leon stays true to his word. As soon as you arrive home and your appetite returns, you sit down to a meal of grand proportions. Most of it looks like leftovers to you. Not that you’re complaining.
You’ve been reduced to nine fingers, and the surgeon says the nerve damage to your arm is permanent, and you require frequent rest for the next month, but you’re alive. Leon’s unharmed. The good guys won. 
You should be happy. Right?
“Something’s wrong,” he says. Knows you well. Well enough that privacy and emotions cease to coexist.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
You push away from the table, and your chair skids against the floor. “Everything that’s happened.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Wanna talk about it?”
You appreciate the offer, and he means well, but the wounds have barely healed and squeezed lemon sounds horrifically painful right now.
“I think I’ll take a rain check.”
He nods because he understands. Has been there before, time and time and time again. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable baring your hurts, flaying yourself open to expose all the decay.
You share in the nightmares, and the toxic coping, and the panic attacks. You supported him when he quit drinking. He stopped you when you craved to cut teeth on broken skin.
Where else would you be without him?
Dead, probably.
You stand up from your chair and collect your plate. “I’m gonna go take a bath or something. I need to relax.”
“What, no invite?”
“Oh, you’re very welcome to join me. Just thought you had calls to return.”
“Calls can wait.” He stands as well. Begins cleaning up the table. “Go ahead and start the water. I’ll be there in a minute.” You walk toward the sink, fully prepared to sort out dishes, but he stops you with a, “Leave it.”
You spin around to face him, and he raises his eyebrows at you. Daring, a pre-threat stare. “I can still do things, you know.”
“And I’m giving you an out. Take it.”
You set the plate on the counter and raise your hands in jesting surrender. Back away toward the bathroom. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t push it, Leon,” you call, rounding the corner into the hallway.
He laughs, a heart-swelling sound muffled by the bathroom wall.
If this is what the rest of your life could be, domesticity and love and rest, then surviving would be worth it.
The water scalds your skin as you sink beneath flower-scented bubbles. He keeps lavender stocked for situations just like this, a routine borne from some off-handed comment that the smell aids you in relaxation.
He strolls in some time later, already bare from the waist up. Takes a moment to shirk pants and underwear, then joins you beneath the steaming water.
If you felt well enough, you’d be jumping his bones right about now.
He complains immediately. Hisses a breath through his teeth. “Are you trying to melt your skin off?”
“I was hoping it would undo the nerve damage,” you grumble, scooting back to allow him room. The porcelain cools your upper back, makes the hair on your nape stand on end.
“That—what?” He tugs your legs over his hip, pins you with a furrow-browed stare.
“I don’t even know. Let’s just blame it on the concussion.”
Everything still blurs at the edges. Memory, thought itself. As if you never woke from that sleep. Sometimes, you question if you even did. 
You’re just so tired.
He massages a palm over your shin, pauses each time the flesh puckers into a raised line. The deep ones still remain—knife wounds, gunshots, claw marks. When you were younger, some mid-twenties optimist with your whole life ahead of you, the idea of permanence terrified you. A symbol of death, in your eyes. Death of happiness, death of freedom, death of beauty.
Look at you now. Married, twenty years deep into a hellish career, scarred from head to toe.
It doesn’t seem so terrifying now. Just a matter of life. A law of juxtaposition.
He kisses the curve of your knee, just below the jagged edges of an old burn. Your scars don’t scare him, either.
“We should go somewhere warm. Lay low for a while,” you say, hand resting on the knee he bent to fit inside the bath.
“Think that’s a good idea?”
“Have any of my ideas been good?”
He pauses to think, eyes roaming over floor tile. “The pizza. I think that’s it, though.” He heaves out a laugh when you kick him soft in the side, and a wave of water sloshes onto his chest.
“Seriously, though. We should take a vacation. Maybe we can drag Redfield along.”
His smile fades. “You wanna bring Redfield.”
“If anybody deserves a break, it’s him.”
“He can take his own vacation.” He moves your legs aside, hovers over you on his knees, braces a hand atop the lip of the tub. “Besides, I was hoping for some alone time.”
His brows raise in a silent suggestion. One you’re much too keen to follow through with.
You pull him into a kiss, tender and slow and lazy. A hand curls over his shoulder blade. You missed this. Him. The warmth, and the butterflies, and the comfort of his skin.
His knee slips against the slick bottom of the tub, and you hold him upright with a grip to each of his shoulders. Water sloshes over the side, puddles up on the floor, and you both stare at each other. Snort back a shocked laugh.
Bath over, you suppose.
“Well,” you say. “I think we have a few bags to pack.”
930 notes · View notes