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lnfours · 9 months

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everything | l.n

summary: he’s your best friend and you’re in love with him, but he’s not in love with you. or so you think, anyway.

warnings: fluff, a hint of angst, reader not knowing how love feels, kinda a situationship scenario but idk, also kind of hot trash?? - inspired by ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

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₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

he was finally home. after months of busy schedules and being away from home, he was back. and the first thing he did? he texted you. he texted you and asked if you were busy, like he always did every time he was back in london.

you had told him no, your plans had fallen through last minute and to be honest, you missed him. you missed his laugh, the way he hugged you, the jokes the two of you shared. he was your person and you were his, it was as simple as that.

and sure, maybe he was your person for another, completely different reason. but at the end of the day, to you, he was just lando. he wasn’t ‘lando norris, formula one driver for mclaren’. he was the boy you had known since you were a teenager, the boy you cheered for on the sidelines ever since he decided he wanted to work towards his dreams.

so the two of you had made plans to go out for a drive and catch up, the tradition you held every time he came back. you’d drive around, get some take out, and head back to your apartment for a few episodes of your favorite shows or a movie he’d seen and thought you would like. he had picked you up, the mclaren running on the side of the street as you climbed in, closing the door behind you.

you smiled, leaning into his touch when he leaned over and wrapped you into a side hug from the drivers side, “hey! missed you,”

you smiled back at the brunette, his green eyes meeting yours, “missed you, too, lan.”

his eyes scanned yours before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. a new tradition you two had picked up ever since that drunken night in singapore. you had went to the grand prix with max, showing support for your best friend, just like you always did. somehow, someway, the two of you had found yourselves stripping each other’s clothes off in his hotel room. nothing but the sounds of your quiet moans and his mumbled curses filling the room as you learned each other’s bodies.

and it had become a thing, every time he’d come home you’d both find yourselves in the same predicament: tangled in the sheets within the hour.

the whole ordeal was like a dream come true in the beginning, something you had been wishing for since the moment you realized that maybe you loved him more than in a platonical way. now, as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, legs tucked underneath you as the rain pattered against the roof, your food in your lap as you stared out to the city lights below you, you weren’t sure it was a good idea. you had seen the girls that practically throw himself at you, why would he choose you over them?

he noticed your silence, tilting his head towards you and placing a hand on your thigh, “you okay?”

you swallowed thickly, “mhm,”

he knew you better than that, though, “no you’re not.”

you sighed, how do you tell someone who’s not in love with you that you want something more, “‘m fine, really.”

you picked at your nails, ignoring the way your phone was buzzing against your leg. you had assumed it was your friend texting you, begging for updates between you and the boy you were sitting next to.

“you know you can tell me anything, right?”

not this. not now.

you nodded, “i know.”

he nodded back at you, “okay,”

you looked back out to the window next to you, watching the rain drip down the glass. you swallowed the lump in your throat, biting down on your lip as you felt the tears prick your eyes. you felt stupid, stupid to feel like there was ever a real chance. a real chance that he could ever love you the way you loved him.

you felt his eyes on you again, “y/n?”

you hummed, turning back to face him, which was a mistake. you felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

“what’s wrong? seriously, i don’t know if i can handle the silence for much longer.”

you chuckled softly, shaking your head, “it’s nothing, really. promise,”

“stop lying to me,” he sighed, “c’mon, i’m your best friend. you can tell me anything.”

best friend.

you sniffled softly, which made his attention shift from your eyes to the small tear falling down your cheek in the dim lighting of the street light, “i just feel so… dumb.”

he raised an eyebrow, “why do you feel, dumb?”

he absentmindedly reached out and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head and backing away from his touch.

he looked at you confused, a hint of hurt in his eyes as he watched you cry in front of him. he was wracking his brain, trying to figure out where he went wrong. trying to understand what you meant with your words, all while trying not to make himself feel like he was the reason for your tears.

you opened the car door, the rain smacking the pavement as you stepped out, “i can’t,”

he watched as you closed the car door, stepping out into the night sky and cold rain. he sat there for a second, his brain unable to catch up to what had just happened. his brain caught up, opening his own door as he chased after you into the freezing cold rain.

“y/n!”

you didn’t want to turn around, your tears mixing with the rain on your face. he was faster than you, though, grabbing your hand and holding you back from walking away from him. he spun you back to face him, your face glowing under the street light as he noticed how broken you look.

“what’s wrong!” he yelled over the pouring rain, “please, don’t shut me out!”

you let out a quiet sob, “i can’t do this right now, lando!”

he stood in front of you, frozen, as you repeated yourself, softer now, “i can’t keep doing this to myself.”

he shook his head, “what’re you talking about?!”

“just say it!” you shouted back, “just say you don’t really want me so i can move on and forget about it and we can go back like nothing ever happened!”

“what makes you think i want that?” he asked, “y/n, why do you think i come back to london instead of monaco whenever i have a break? because i want to see you!”

“not for the same reason i want to see you!”

“you don’t know that!”

you cried softly, turning away from him as he approached you again, taking your face into his hands. your eyes met yours as he spoke again, “y/n, i come back home to you because you’re all i think about when im not with you. every little thing i do, i think about you.”

you watched as his eyes scanned yours, begging for you to speak. he spoke first, though, “you’re all i think about, every night, every day. i should’ve told you how i felt sooner instead of dragging you on, but i’m falling in love with you.”

you shook your head, backing away from his touch again, “don’t,”

“don’t what?” he asked, “tell you i’m in love with you?”

“don’t say it if you don’t mean it. please, don’t say it just to make me feel better.”

“for one second can you just stand here and actually listen to me?” he sighed, “can you let yourself understand that there’s someone who actually loves you, standing right in front of you telling you. someone who’s ready to drop everything and show you.”

he reached for your hand and pulled you closer to him again, but this time you didn’t back away. he was so close to knocking down the final wall you had put up, so close to knocking down the walls you had put up as a sense of security. to keep yourself guarded, too scared to wear your heart on your sleeve once again.

but here he was, your best friend of all people, standing here in the pouring rain and giving you the fairytale moment you had always hoped for. the boy with curly brown hair and gorgeous green eyes was everything you could’ve ever wanted. everything you dreamed about, every future map you’d come up with in your journal, it always had him in it. one way or another, the two of you were meant to be.

two souls intertwined. that was you and him.

“lando-“

“i fucking love you,” he said, “so much that it physically hurts. like my chest gets all tight, and it feels like i can’t breathe-“

“lan-“

“and that night in singapore was when i realized you were the person i wanted to be with. not the models or the girls who throw themselves at me, i want to be with you. the one who knows my favorite flavor of ice cream, the one who knows all my greatest fears and all my secrets. the one who doesn’t judge me and i can talk to about anything. it’s you. it always has been, i’ve just been to blind to see it.”

the final wall came crashing down as you said his name, “lando,”

he hummed, his heart damn near flying out of his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your face so close to his as you mumbled a soft, “kiss me.”

he didn’t give it a second thought, immediately pressing his lips to yours. you kissed him back, the rain long forgotten about as the water from his hair dripped onto your forehead. he put every ounce of longing, passion and love into the kiss, a kiss nothing like the ones you had both shared before.

he pulled away, his forehead against yours, “you don’t have to say it back, but now you know that i love you.”

you pulled him back to you by his jacket, “i love you.”

he smiled before his lips were pressed back against yours. and you stood there, kissing in the rain, and everything felt like a scene straight out of a movie. the feeling something new to you no longer felt scary, or intimidating. it felt safe and warm.

and it was all because of him.

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delfiore · 1 year

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—LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO.

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: a collection of private moments from a relationship between two public figures.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: IMPLICIT SMUT

a/n: this fic was proudly sponsored by hozier’s entire discography and my need to get a gf

SEQUEL: DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

ONE. As It Was.

As it always was, London was raining when you came home.

The pitter-patter of the rain hitting the window panes reminded you of childhood, when it was autumn and smelled like the earth, and burying yourself in the piles of dry leaves in the backyard was like swimming in the clouds.

The rain reminded you of love and hot cocoa and scented candles.

The apartment was bathed in an orange hue from the three candles placed neatly on the coffee table when you dragged your suitcase inside. You could still hear the rain when you saw the way her eyes lit up and felt her heart pressed against yours.

You let yourself smile like it was the easiest thing in the world; because it was. You were home because you were with her.

TWO. Eat Your Young.

“Babe! What d’you want for dinner?” You heard her call from the living room.

You had just finished a chapter from your book. “Eh . . . pasta?”

“We already had pasta last night, love.”

“More pasta?” You smiled sheepishly, seeing the way she rolled her eyes but went along with your idea.

To her, there was never anything she could have the heart to deny you from, especially now that she had you back after having lent you to your work for so long.

You were supposed to be halfway across the world filming your new movie. It was only because of the writer’s strike, an unforeseen event, that gave you back to her. You had flown back from a shoot to be there for her in the days after she ruptured her ACL and when she had her surgery, but she found herself missing you the moment you left for work again.

Music played softly from the speaker on the kitchen counter as you chopped the cherry tomatoes while she boiled the noodles since that was the only thing you were okay with her doing without burning the entire building down.

“Remember to let the water boil first,” you said without turning around.

“I did,” she whined, her words trailing longer than necessary if she was telling the truth.

You stopped chopping and glanced behind your shoulder with a deadpan. “Leah.”

The water was clearly not bubbling, and yet the poor rigatoni noodles were already dunked in the pot.

“I’m sorry, I forgot again,” the girl smiled sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head as she sidled up behind you with her arms around your waist.

You could never grow tired of being held in her arms like this, the warmth created by her chest pressing up against your back, and the anticipation of her timid kisses against your neck. The knife in your hand had long been set down in fear of injury by your trembling hands. Your footballer always liked to tease you until you had no choice but to submit.

“Am I forgiven?” Her voice was husky in your ear.

You were quick to regain your composure before you turned around. “Depends on if those noodles are edible or not.”

“Or we could just ditch dinner and eat each other instead.”

“Cute,” you grinned and pressed your lips against hers. You heard the slightest whimper when you gathered her bottom lip with your teeth and lightly tugged on it. “Needs some seasoning. Otherwise, good enough.”

“That’s what I meant, obviously.”

In the end, the pasta was long forgotten, and you had to order a pizza instead because, by the time she was done, you could barely walk to the other side of the kitchen.

THREE. I, Carrion (Icarian).

You had always been uncomfortable with silence. It was why you brought your speaker everywhere, why you preferred the city over the countryside, why you always felt the need to fill the silence in a room with conversation where there were other people. To you, silence meant a weapon, a way of waging war without actually doing it—the cowardice of dishonesty. So any chance you had to snuff out a glimpse of it, you did. Most of the time, though, the only war waged was the one you did to yourself in your mind.

But whenever you are with her, none of those threats present themselves. She has made silence enjoyable and something you wish you had learned to appreciate earlier, not fear it.

She had put on a movie for the both of you to watch on the couch. You usually felt the need to provide commentary were you with friends, but you were content with enjoying the movie in silence, occasionally looking over to your blonde lover to admire her on the other end of the couch. Your left leg was currently stretched across the cushions, as Leah gave you a foot massage whilst watching the movie.

Sometimes she didn’t feel real, like it was all a sick and twisted dream waiting to drop you on your head when you wake up. But it never did, because every time you reached for her, she was always there; even when you were timezones apart, she would find a way to be there for you in spirit.

“Babe, watch the movie. I like this one,” she spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I feel like it should be me giving you a foot massage,” you said, lifting your chin towards her healing knee.

“Nah. You were the one sitting on a 12-hour flight to get back here,” she put pressure in the center of your foot.

With your arm on the backrest, you lifted it to brush the tips of your fingers against her hair, inching closer toward the skin on her neck. She noticed, of course, and sent a cheeky grin your way.

Your lover smiled and laughed like a child does. You loved it whenever she showed her teeth when she smiled, stripping down the front of the stoic and reliable captain of European champions that she had to be. You hated that she always lifted others up, yet put so much pressure on herself. You wished that she would be selfish sometimes, for when you weren’t there to pick up the pieces.

You never fared well, being away from her for long, which was why when she pulled you towards her and closed the distance between the two of you on the couch, you obliged.

“I love you,” she whispered after pressing a slow kiss on your lips.

With a lovesick sigh, you caressed her cheek and repeated her words. You loved the way her blue eyes narrowed watching you when you were so close to her face. The movie was running on the TV, but the only one you wanted to watch was her. You’d have to rewind it later.

FOUR. To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe).

There was a simplicity in all of it. This aspect of your life that, amidst the chaos and complications and unfairness in the world, was just that. Love. It was simple, it was sweet, it was yours.

It reminded you of a quote you read once: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” If anyone asked you why you loved her, you wouldn’t be able to answer. It would simply be that because she was she, and you were you.

Maybe Zeus never intended for soulmates to find each other. He was the one who split them up in the first place because he knew they would be impossible to part if the two halves merged.

She is half of your soul, as the poets say.

There was something so transcending about loving someone, and having it reciprocated. Every part of it; the good, the bad, the ugly. But you wanted all of it. You wanted to experience everything with her, because she was half of your soul, and it was the only way you could ever feel close to whole again before Zeus split you into two.

Your lover was panting quietly on top of you, her golden hair falling over her face like a lion’s mane. Her eyes fluttered close, her lips parted, her skin was hot to the touch. You watched, seeing the slightest shift in her face as she pulled your legs to her chest, the friction of her rocking slowly turning palpable as it fell into a rhythm. You would hold onto her, your fingers pressing down to create temporary craters into her skin, treading lightly, not wanting to disturb her pleasure, like a lone astronaut exploring a rogue planet.

You sighed contentedly hearing her quiet whines, an indication of an impending release. Your lover has never been loud, like she was saving everything she was feeling for you like everything would only be contained in these four walls, only for the both of you to share.

At some point, she had mumbled something and leaned down to flip you on your front. Even while her movements were restricted by her healing knee, she still liked to be as rough as she could, and you liked it, when she was always so sweet and gentle out of bed. It made you feel wanted, the way she pinned you to the bed and pressed herself against you, the way she intertwined your fingers and coaxed you through your high and kissed you until your lips were bruised and pulsating.

She made you feel wanted, even after you both had given each other euphoria, her frantic kisses to your skin always managed to elicit short giggles out of you. You would whisper in her ear after she had rolled over, the bedsheet warm and damp where she lay, holding her lean body close to yours, just like before Zeus had split you in half.

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and unless a primordial god physically grabbed you by the waist and tore you away from your soulmate, you would stay here, one moment after another, until infinity. After that, you’d wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

FIVE. Wasteland, Baby!

Your lover was a light sleeper. You had discovered that within the first few months of dating. The way she stirred awake was not dissimilar to how a fussy baby wakes up at the slightest of noises. Usually, she would be quite grumpy as well.

Your circadian rhythm looked more like arrhythmia with the jet lag you were experiencing, in addition to the irregular hours you slept due to having to adjust for filming. Which was why you were in the living room, reading, so your tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

Once again, whenever you were with her, the silence didn’t bother you. Not when you were bathed in her scent wearing her sweater and the premise of her resting a room away from you.

It was around two in the morning when you heard the bedroom door open and close, and the sound of quiet feet shuffling on the floor.

“Hey, you. Why are you awake?” You asked gently, extending a hand out to her.

“I woke up to use the bathroom and you weren’t there,” her bottom lip jutted out like it always did when she wanted your attention.

You stifled a giggle and a coo at how adorable a 26-year-old woman could be. “I just thought I’d leave you be since I couldn’t sleep.”

Without prompting, your lover made herself comfortable on the couch and snuggled into your side. “You’re wearing my jumper.”

You continued reading with one hand while the other rested on her head, and stroking it lightly. “Yeah, found it lying around.” You placed a short kiss on her hair.

“I love this, Y/N,” she said, her words nearly unintelligible from mumbling into the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I made a Pinterest board the other day for our future home.”

“Ooh, tell me more.”

“I’d like to live in the countryside somewhere, with like a farm. It’ll be a cottage with vines all over the walls and everything, wooden kitchen set, a sunroom.”

“I can see that,” you said, “what about the city? You ever dreamed of living in New York? Paris? Hong Kong?”

“I’d feel like a fish out of water. I can barely stomach London. You’d been to all those places.”

You have, but nowhere felt like home unless you were with her. You could make a home in Antarctica if she was there with you.

“All of them are overrated anyway.” You hummed. “I like it wherever I’m with you.”

Her nose crinkled whenever you’d say cheesy stuff like that. You never knew how much those words made her heart skip a beat, as she buried her face in your neck.

“I realized as I said it,” you scrunched your face too.

“Working with Wes Anderson made you a sap now, hasn’t it?” She quite enjoyed this side of you. “It’s fine. I like it.”

Sleep found her again shortly after. In the morning, she woke with a sore back, but her heart was full, realizing she had been tangled in your arms all night.

SIX. Swan Upon Leda.

To know pain; the kind of pain that cuts through your flesh and leaves you bleeding dry. A stinging sensation that soon turns into agonizing hellfire and the knowing that there are several more spirals of hell still waiting to make you bleed. It was to witness someone who was half of your soul be in pain whilst you were powerless against the evil, and all you could do was pray that it would spare your soulmate and take you instead.

Your hand clasped around hers like iron chains, rubbing her back soothingly, as if the warmth from the back might manifest in her front and assuage the pain. She lay on the bathroom floor, her breathing slow and hard, like she was grappling with the evil that, by the looks of it, was winning. Clutching the heating pad to her stomach, her only lifeline, she curled away from you and into herself even further.

“Love, let’s move you to the bedroom where you can lay comfortably, yeah?” You asked gently.

She huffed and grunted. “Can’t move. Hurts.”

Your lover, your Lioness, Queen of Europe, falling apart by an invisible evil, immobilizing her like a wounded deer. The coldness of the tiles couldn’t have helped, but she couldn’t move.

Spare her. Give me the pain instead.

You leaned down, lowering yourself slowly to the cold, until you were flat on the floor too. Gently, you pulled her to turn to face you. Your Lioness was clenching her jaw, a vein splitting her forehead from how hard she was trying to pretend it didn’t bother her.

And it stung even more when she let out a choked sob.

Then she said with a trembling sigh, “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

Her face was stained with streaks of silent tears, a sign of the raging battle she had to endure for years finally getting the best of her. But the evil had never seen the best of her; she reserved it all for you.

“Oh, baby.” Your hand came up to cup her face, the frame that held the entire world.

It didn’t matter that your lover was curled up on the bathroom floor, she was still your bravest girl, your strongest soldier, and your fiercest Lioness.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” you said sincerely, “and I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”

Your lover beamed tearfully like sunshine in the rain and clung herself onto you.

Young love was the thing of fairytales. You would never claim to have it all figured out, but if what you had wasn’t love, you didn’t know the half of anything.

SEVEN. Like Real People Do.

As serious as your lover made herself out to be, she was the biggest goof on the planet the moment a drop of alcohol entered her system. Never acted out of line, never said anything that she’d regret in the morning, just the rowdiest thing that considered waving her arms in the air while wobbling back and forth dancing. It made a spectacular scene to watch, especially whenever she was with her best friend, whom you had to thank for bringing her into your life.

Even the people in her life who knew her as responsible and trustworthy would be concerned at this entirely different side to her, to which you only waved them off with a laugh, and said, “She’ll be fine.”

She would always be because she always had you to take care of her.

“Water, babe?” She knew to listen to you and chugged the whole thing in one breath.

“Come dance with me?” She offered when the DJ slowed the music.

She looked too good not to, so you took her hand and followed her to the dance floor. Once there, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Come closer. You smell so good.”

You laughed. “Creep.”

“This is our song,” she chuckled.

The familiar melody elicited distant memories of shy ‘hello’s and stolen glances, her best friend pushing her towards you, and her keeping your number on the phone all night until she finally gathered the courage to press on it.

It was the first song on every playlist you sent each other, like a stamp, a greeting, a confession.

It was the song that played when it was just the two of you alone after she became her country’s pride and joy.

“I remember,” you said, brushing a strand of her hair back from her blue eyes, dazed ones that looked at you like you held the world in your hands. “I thought you’d be more confident, just from seeing how you are on the pitch. It was very endearing.”

“I was nervous, okay?” She groaned, laughing quietly. “I didn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of a movie star.”

“I’m glad you asked me to dance, even though—”

“I’m shit at dancing, yeah.”

You giggled, and bumped her nose. “I feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

She was swaying you back and forth, humming to the song gently, a far cry from the first time you had asked her to dance, and she panicked and said her legs were made for football and not dancing.

“I’m still shit at dancing,” she chuckled.

“I don’t care,” you shook your head. “I still love you.”

“Even if I’ve got two left feet?”

“Mmhm.”

She grinned and kissed you, inhaling deeply. “I can feel Alex taking pictures of us—Yup, her phone is out and it’s pointing at us. Very subtle, Alex.” You laughed when you turned around to see your lover already flipping the bird at her best friend.

“We do have her to thank for getting us to meet.”

“That’s ‘cause she beat me to it first. I would have found a way to you.”

“You didn’t even know me then, babe.”

“Yeah, but I’d still find my way to you.” She was giggling because you had pulled a face. “What? It’s true.”

Leah loved deeply, and boldly. You made her feel special like she was the only person in the world. You also made her feel ordinary, like she wasn’t the face of a nation and only any other stranger walking down the street. Inside the little bubble you were both in, you were just Leah and Y/N, two people in love.

The song had come to its end, and yet she still hadn’t let you go. Three little words sat on the tip of both of your tongues. You pressed a kiss to her lips first. She kissed you back, on the lips, then on the neck softly.

I love you.

What you didn’t know was that she planned to make you a promise of forever, with a ring hidden in a drawer waiting at home.

Simple. Sweet. Ours.

EIGHT. De Selby (Part 1).

“Lee?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Mate, honestly like—“

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #england wnt #lionesses #leah williamson x you #leah williamson angst #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso #fifa wwc 2023 #engwnt #woso imagine

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kelstey · 8 months

Text

friendly neighbourhood spider-man

modern! au, spider-man!mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : none

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

you rested up in your bed, the light pitter patter of rain pouring up against your window. the sky was a gloomy, dreadful grey. despite the dim - depressing outside, you were fully engrossed in your book.

rainy days were the best, tucked up in bed, shitty, cheap fairy lights hanging by a thread covered your walls, a hot cup of tea and a book.

thankfully - you had the day off of work, and there would ve been no better way to waste your day away than engulfed in a fully fictional world of your own as you read about men that simply would never exist in the real world.

you sipped the fruit tea, realising you maybe went a bit overboard with the honey but it was good - nonetheless. and with the cost of living crisis it's not exactly like you'd waste away a, somewhat, good cup of tea.

you rolled your eyes, setting the book down as you looked out your window. for fucks sake. you let out a huff, opening the window to let the red and blue suited man in.

"mattheo what have i told you about coming to mine? especially in your costume," you shut the window as he climbed into your room.

"lovely to see you too," he sat down on your desk chair.

"fuck! mattheo you're bleeding!" you grabbed his wrist and pulled him up, leading him into the hardly made-for two bathroom. "sit," you told him and he sat up on the counter.

"it's not that bad," he finally took his mask off, a cut visible on his nose. there was splatters of blood all over his face, his forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat yet he still looked amazing.

"not that bad? are you fucking joking me?" you couldn't even look at him - more so focused on trying to gather items to patch him up with.

it wasn't unusual, matthe showing up to your flat unannounced. though you had told him multiple times that it wasn't safe for the spider man to wander into some random flat in the middle of london.

you didn't want any of his stupid enemies trying to hunt you down - gosh, mattheo would go batshit insane if anyone ever laid a hand on you.

despite that - the stupid fucker was at your flat, once again.

"well at least i'm alive.?" he shrugged.

"best believe you won't be alive if you keep getting injured like this," mattheo hissed as you wiped him down with some rubbing alcohol. "do stupid things, get stupid consequences."

mattheo was fighting his smile back - adoring the way you were mad at him yet still were helping him. "i'll be okay," he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

you stood between his legs, arms on either side of him as you looked down. "i really care about you, mattheo. i don't like seeing you hurt," your eyes watered as you made eye contact with him.

as much as it hurt you that he was visibly injured and bleeding - he still looked as good as ever. the cut on his nose was truly something.

"i know, baby. but it's kind of my job, you know? your friendly neighbourhood spider man?" he placed a hand on one of your cheeks as he admired you, using his sweet, gentle eyes on you.

"i fucking hate you, you know that, right?" you looked away as a smile spread across your lips.

"you gotta admit though, it's a flex to call spider man your boyfriend," mattheo chuckled.

"sweetheart i think you forgot the part where only i know you're spider man. and ned - and auntie may."

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #fanfic #slytherin #slytherin boys #fictional men

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whereforarthur · 28 days

Text

Unrequited Love Hurts Like A Bitch

Request: arthur tv angst!!

Pairing: ArthurTv x BestFriend!Reader

Summary: Unrequited love is a bitch

Category: Angst

Word Count: 2k

*****

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” ― James Patterson

Y/n sat in the bustling café, a sanctuary of warmth against the dreary London backdrop. Rain pattered against the windows, each droplet racing down the pane like a tear escaping a tragic story. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries filled the air, a comforting balm to the chilly day outside. She sipped her steaming latte, the foam leaving a creamy mustache on her upper lip. The café was her favorite spot, a place where she could lose herself in the comforting buzz of other people's conversations while she worked on her latest YouTube script.

Her thoughts, however, remained unshackled from the tranquil scene before her. They wandered back to Arthur, her best friend and unrequited love. His laughter echoed in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of their friendship and the chasm that lay between them. She watched the people around her, the couples sharing intimate glances, the friends bantering over a cup of tea. It was in stark contrast to the silent confession she held in her heart, a confession she knew would change everything if spoken aloud.

The door chimed as it swung open, and in stumbled Arthur, his cheeks flushed from the cold, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead. He looked around the café, spotted her, and beamed. Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the anxiety that grew with every step he took towards her. She knew he was seeing someone else, someone who didn't know the real him like she did. Someone who hadn't shared late-night confessions or seen the vulnerability that only she had the privilege to witness.

"Hey, Y/n," Arthur said, his voice a familiar melody that made her heart ache. He took off his damp coat, revealing the faded band t-shirt she had given him for his birthday. He sat down across from her, shaking off the last droplets of rain, and reached for a napkin to dry his hands. His eyes searched hers, looking for the same camaraderie that had always been there, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within her.

They talked about their day, the mundane details of their lives, but Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing him to someone else. Each shared giggle felt like a stolen moment, a reminder of the time they had spent together that now seemed destined to fade away. As they sipped their drinks and picked at their food, the weight of her secret grew heavier. The words she longed to say remained trapped behind her teeth, a cage of fear and doubt.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she took a deep breath and decided to confront the elephant in the room. "Arthur," she began, her voice quivering slightly. "I need to tell you something." He leaned in, his eyes full of concern, and she took it as a sign to continue. "I know you're happy with her, but I just wanted you to know…" Her voice trailed off as she watched his expression shift from confusion to surprise, and then, as understanding dawned, to something she couldn't quite read.

He remained silent for what felt like an eternity, his eyes searching hers as if trying to find the truth in them. The café's chatter faded into the background, and all she could hear was the rhythmic patter of the rain and the erratic thumping of her own heart. The moment stretched on, the air thick with the unspoken words that hovered between them. "Y/n," he said finally, his voice gentle. "What is it?"

The words she had rehearsed so many times in the safety of her own thoughts now felt clumsy and inadequate. "You can't tell I am in love with you because you were too busy loving someone else to notice me." she blurted out, the confession slipping through the cracks of her carefully constructed façade. The silence that followed was deafening, and she wished she could pull the words back in, swallow them down like a mouthful of hot coffee gone cold. But it was too late. They hung in the air, a declaration of love that she had hidden for so long.

Arthur's eyes widened, and his hand paused mid-air, holding a piece of cake. For a moment, he looked like he had been slapped. Then, ever so slowly, a smile began to creep onto his lips, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Y/n," he murmured, his voice a mix of shock and something else she couldn't quite place. "I had no idea." He took a deep breath, and she watched the color drain from his cheeks. "What do you expect me to say?"

Y/n felt her chest tighten, her heart racing. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I had to tell you. It's been eating me up inside." She looked down at her hands, twisting the napkin into a tight ball. The café's ambiance, once a comfort, now felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in around them, and she wished she could take it all back.

Arthur set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The silence grew heavier, a palpable force pressing down on them. "I need some time to process this," he said finally, his voice measured. "I care about you, Y/n. More than you know. But…" He trailed off, his gaze drifting out the window. Raindrops continued their frantic dance, as if mimicking the chaos of emotions within the café.

Their conversation stalled, and the air grew colder than the rain outside. They both knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The friendship they had cherished was now tainted by the revelation that had been festering beneath the surface for so long. Y/n nodded, understanding all too well that she had just cracked open a Pandora's box of feelings that could never be stuffed back in.

They finished their meal in silence, the usual banter replaced by a tension that was as thick as the London fog. When they stood to leave, Arthur hugged her, holding on longer than usual. His embrace was warm, but she could feel the hesitance in his arms. He didn't know how to navigate this new landscape of their relationship, and she didn't blame him. As they parted, he whispered, "We'll talk soon, okay?" But the promise held a question she wasn't sure she wanted to answer.

*****

Outside, the rain had turned into a drizzle, the cobblestone streets reflecting the dull glow of the streetlights. Y/n pulled her hoodie tight around her, the chill seeping into her bones. She watched Arthur walk away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he was swallowed by the misty night. With a heavy sigh, she turned and began the lonely trek back to her flat. Her heart felt bruised, the weight of her confession a permanent fixture in her chest.

The walk home was a blur of wet pavement and neon lights, each step echoing the thud of her heart. She thought of the laughter they had shared, the late-night adventures, the comfort she had found in his friendship. Now, it all felt tainted by the love she had never dared to voice. Would they ever find their way back to that easy camaraderie? Or would the shadow of her love always loom between them?

Once inside her cozy flat, she collapsed onto her bed, the quietness enveloping her like a cold, unwelcome blanket. The glow of her laptop screen cast a lonely light on the walls, a stark reminder of the YouTube channel that had brought them together. As she lay there, the words of her confession echoed in her mind. She had hoped that speaking her truth would set her free, but instead, she felt more trapped than ever.

The days turned into weeks, and the anticipation of Arthur's response grew more unbearable with each passing moment. The silence between them was a constant reminder of the secret she had shared. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. The truth had been set free, and now she could breathe, even if it hurt.

Y/n threw herself into her work, creating content that was more authentic than ever before. Her videos took on a new depth, a raw emotion that resonated with her viewers. Yet, every time she uploaded a new video, her thoughts strayed to Arthur. Would he watch them? Would he see the change in her? Would he understand the subtext hidden behind her smile?

One evening, as she sat in the dim light of her bedroom, editing a particularly introspective piece, her phone buzzed with a message notification. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Arthur's name light up the screen. He had been scarce, their interactions reduced to awkward nods and forced smiles when their paths crossed. But tonight, he had reached out.

"Y/n," the message began, "I've been thinking about what you said. I know this isn't easy for either of us. Can we meet up? Just to talk. Like we used to?" The words hung in the digital void, a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of their friendship. She typed back a simple "Yes," her thumb hovering over the send button for what felt like an eternity before finally letting it go.

The café was quieter than usual when they met again. The rain had stopped, but the dampness remained, clinging to the air like a ghost of their past. They sat in their usual spot, the warmth of the café a stark contrast to the coolness that had settled between them. Arthur's eyes searched hers, and she knew he was looking for answers she wasn't sure she had.

"I don't know what to say," he began, his voice tight with emotion. "I care about you, more than I can put into words. But I'm with someone else. And I don't want to hurt her." Y/n nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She knew this was coming, had braced herself for it, but hearing the words still stung like a slap to the face.

"But I can't ignore what you've told me," he continued. "I need to figure out what this means for us, for our friendship." His hand reached across the table, tentatively touching hers. The electricity of his touch sent a jolt through her, a reminder of all she had confessed to feeling.

They talked for hours, navigating the minefield of their emotions with caution. Arthur listened intently, his gaze never leaving hers as she spoke of her love and the pain of watching him with someone else. His eyes searched hers, looking for a way to bridge the gap that had grown between them. And for the first time since her confession, she felt a flicker of hope.

*****

As they left the café, the London night had grown darker, the stars obscured by the city's glow. They stood on the sidewalk, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. Arthur took a deep breath, his hand still holding hers. "I need some time," he said, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of traffic. "But I promise we'll figure this out."

Y/n nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. She knew she had no other choice but to wait, to hope that the friendship they had built could weather this storm. As she watched him walk away, she felt a strange mix of relief and fear. The confession had changed everything, but it had also brought a clarity she hadn't expected.

The chilly air stung her cheeks as she made her way home, her thoughts racing. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: she had been brave enough to tell Arthur how she felt. And whether they found their way back to each other or not, she knew she had done what she needed to do. The story of their friendship had taken a new turn, and she was ready to face whatever chapter came next.

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

#angst #arthur x reader #arthur frederick #arthur tv #arthurtv #arthurtv x reader #british youtubers #imagines

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

Note

Hellooo,

Thank you for everything you're doing for this fandom <3

I wanted to ask if you might have any recommendations in which either Crowley or Aziraphale are hurt/injured and trying to hide it from the other (with the other finding out eventually and taking care of them)?

Thank you, again, for all the work you guys are putting into this

Have a lovely day/night!

Hi! Here are some fics where one of them hides an injury from the other...

My Feelings Beneath by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After a run-in with an angry human, Crowley tries to hide his injuries from Aziraphale. It doesn’t take Aziraphale long to notice that something is wrong.

I may bear my evils alone by Cuppa_Rosie_Lee (M)

Crowley returns from a particularly violent review in Hell. Broken and battered, he just about manages to get himself back to his flat alone, but when Aziraphale calls Crowley can't hide how bad it is any more. Aziraphale immediately worries and insists on coming over to take care of him. Hurt/comfort with a calm and fluffy ending. CW: implied violence, and graphic descriptions of internal injury. Title taken from Twelfth Night II i

The Day that Icarus didn't Burn by theRavenMuse (T)

Crowley gets himself into a spot of trouble. It's a good thing that he has a patient angel determined to help him. AKA Crowley has grown accustomed to hiding his pain for six millennia and Aziraphale finally convinces him that it's safe to share.

There's no healing the wound by meridian_rose (T)

Crowley gets hurt but when he can't heal the wound he doesn't do the sensible thing and tell Aziraphale. Instead he hides the truth, tries to fix it himself, and when it looks like the wound might be fatal drags Anathema into the situation. When Aziraphale does find out he's furious as only a angel at risk of losing his beloved demon can be.

I'll Think About Tomorrow If I Can Get Through Tonight by asparkofgoodness (T)

"Rain pounded like fists on the shop’s windows. The shelves and stacks of books sat in silent darkness, the sign on the door turned to 'Closed.' Suddenly, with a small popping noise, Aziraphale appeared, breathing heavily. After glancing around, lights clicking on all at once in every room, he let his eyes fall closed with a tremulous exhale. He was safe. The steady patter of the rain masked the sound of thick golden droplets falling from his left sleeve onto the threadbare carpet. His hands shook." Trouble finds Aziraphale while he's outside of the protective circle of London and Crowley's company. Fearing Crowley would put himself in harm's way if he knew what happened, Aziraphale tries to recover on his own.

the cutting edge of eternity by gazing (T)

When Aziraphale begins to fall from heaven, he tries to hide it for as long as possible. But Crowley has been through this before. He knows the signs. And he's sure as hell (pun intended) not going to let Aziraphale go through it alone.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #hurt crowley #hurt aziraphale #secret injury #injury #mod d

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angel-of-the-moons · 6 months

Text

Ligyrophobia

Moon Boys (Jake focused) x Mama!Reader (Feat. Khonshu and Victoria!)

TW/CW: fluff!

A/N: This just popped into my head because i suffer from this as well and God damn it I needed fluffy Khonshu

Note: This ties into my mini-miniseries, "Small Surprises". Just a drabble on Khonshu's tough bitchy exterior chipping away because Victoria is adorable and he's secretly a big ass softie

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dreary day. Another storm sweeping over London, blotting out the sun's rays behind the angry dark clouds.

You and Jake had run out to gather things to make for dinner, and Victoria didn't want to venture out with you. She had a bit of a fever and a sniffle, and you were hesitant to leave her behind.

You and Jake were flabbergasted when Khonshu had offered to babysit her.

Jake was hesitant to leave your precious child alone with him, but... even he had to concede the point when you told him that as a protector of the innocent, he would never hurt Victoria.

He had sneaking suspicions that something else was going on with you in particular, as even Steven was far more protective of you than usual.

But... here he is now, with your sickly daughter who sniffled and rubbed at her eye as she huddled beneath her desk, her plush scarab clutched against her chest as though it could ward off the booming thunder from outside.

The power had blinked out, so the flat was dark, only the dim light from outside provided any illumination, which seemed to frighten the child more.

He kneeled down, peering at her.

"You can come out. It's only thunder." He said, trying to keep his tone gentle and quiet. She was a child after all, and it was natural for children to fear things outside of their control, and things they did not yet understand. Especially children like Victoria (and Steven).

Victoria shook her head and cried softly, burying her face in the stuffed toy, her feet curling and rubbing together again, and again as she rocked back and forth, noises bubbling up beneath her tiny sobs.

"Little one--" Khonshu's voice was cut off when a loud crack of thunder shook the flat.

He looked towards the window to see the heavy rain pelting the glass with loud patters, the wind shaking the glass.

This was a bad one, he couldn't help but wonder what triggered this.

His head snapped back to look at Victoria when she hiccuped and began wailing, rocking back and forth, her breathing so quick and ragged he was afraid she would faint.

Her face messed and streaked with... ugh.

But... he couldn't deny something inside of him tugged at the sight of her so tiny and helpless, afraid of what her little psyche could possibly label as some sort of monster outside her home.

Khonshu sighed and reached down, his voice low and soft.

"Come here, little one." He says gently, his large hands curling around her tiny body and pulling her out from her hiding place.

He wasn't surprised when she squirmed and cried, trying to get free to go back to her "safe place". He let her flail, to fight him, until he sat back, cross-legged and cradled her against his body.

She sniffled, her breathing broken up by little sobs as she finally relented, body tense as Khonshu held her, his robes flowing around the two of them, creating a buffer between Victoria and the storm outside.

She snuggled against him instinctively, drawn in by the warmth he exuded, but still made little noises and groans as the thunder roared outside.

Khonshu cradled her back with his hand and pressed her a little tighter against his chest, feeling her rub her cheek on his robes and bandages in a manner similar to how she would stroke her cheek on you or one of your lovers.

"Hush." He murmurs softly, petting her curly hair in an effort to calm her. "You are safe."

She didn't respond. She didn't usually talk when she was having a meltdown, often only rocked and made odd sounds in an attempt to work off her frightened or nervous energy; and it was difficult to break through to her mentally when she was like this.

Khonshu sighed.

And then... began humming.

It was a small melody, but one he remembered well. Hathor would often pluck her harp and sing it to him before he was sent into exile. He remembered being present during the feasts and festivals in her honor, her followers often sang the same song and performed it in the streets.

His deep, vibrating voice seemed to soothe her, little bit little, judging by how she relaxed against him, the tension in her body loosening as he gently rocked her, humming the heavenly song to her.

While this moment was happening, however, he didn't notice the monitor in the corner, the little red light blinking.

He did not know that it automatically switched to battery mode when the cord was disconnected or the power was switched off.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Jake squinted at the bottles of vitamins, trying to figure out why one bottle was more expensive than the other when their ingredients were the same.

"Ay, paying for brands is so fucking stupid." He growled, ignoring the weary looks from people as he cursed in Spanish.

He plucked a bottle of the shelves and held it up, clearing his throat so the pregnant young lady next to him would look.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything...." He said awkwardly. "But which bottle of these is better? Would you say?"

The young woman seemed a little nervous at first, until she spotted the bottle on question, and realized he was looking at the same shelf of vitamins she was.

Her left hand rubbed her belly as she shyly took the bottle from his fingers, turning it over, and looking at the facts on the back of the bottle.

"Oh! For these, you can just get generic. They have the same stuff and are cheaper." She chirps.

Jake sighs with relief as he replaced the bottle with the recommended one. "Sí, that is exactly what I was saying."

"You're.... shopping for someone?" She asked.

"Ah... Yeah." He laughed a little stiffly, dropping the bottle in the basket he clenched in his fist.

"My fiancé."

"Aw... how far along is she? Er--I mean, I don't mean to assume, I was taking prenatals before I got pregnant just for the health benefits, uh..." She floundered.

Jake flashed her a charming grin, his beard creasing around his plush lips. "She's due sometime in the summer. Only found out a week or two ago."

"Oh! Congratulations!" She smiled, relaxing a bit.

"Gracias," Jake chuckled. "Our little girl is going to be excited--we hope--when we tell her."

"Aww... I hope everything works out for you guys." She giggled, grabbing a bottle of vitamin gummies for herself as well. "Well, maybe see you around!" She chirped once more before cutely waddling away.

Jake grinned again, he couldn't wait to see you waddle like that. Like a cute little penguin.

"Jake! Jake!" You panted, apparently having run with the shopping trolley just to find him. The panicked edge in your tone had him immediately on alert.

"What's wrong? What is it?" He asked, dropping his basket in the trolley to hold your arms in his palms.

"The power's out at home." You heaved, holding up your phone.

He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Did something happen? Was Victoria all right? Did Khonshu do something--

"You have to see this." You say, interrupting his thoughts as you swiped your password in, opening the app to the baby monitor. You weren't out of range just yet, as the shop was relatively nearby, and you'd purposefully purchased that expensive monitor because of the large signal range it had.

You turned your phone around, a face-splitting grin on your face as you showed him the most recent clip recorded. The monitor, when you weren't looking at the receiver at your bedside, uploaded clips in five-minute intervals to the app for storage for you to look at later.

Khonshu and Victoria were highlighted plainly in the night vision mode. Victoria was curled up in his lap and Khonshu was... was singing to her. He didn't understand the words he said out loud, assuming it was some ancient language that Steven could only decipher; as his large hands patted her hair and back, rocking and soothing her like one would do for a baby.

"....See? Who was right? Told you she'd be fine with him." You grin slyly, a hand over your ear, awaiting the inevitable.

"Okay, okay, mierda." Jake ran a hand through his curls, shaking his head at you. "You were right. Maybe the old bird is... coming around."

"Victoria has a way of charming everyone." You giggle, looking at the recording with a glimmer in your eyes.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands resting on your belly, thumbs tracing your soft curves beneath your shirt.

"Yeah, well... I'm willing to bet her sibling will have the same charm."

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #khonshu #khonshu moon knight

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lifeofpriya · 4 days

Text

So Long, London - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: this fic was heavily inspired by @pyotrkochetkov's post a few days ago about a jack angst fic idea she wanted someone to write 🤭 this is probably the longest fic i've ever written, so sit down, grab a drink and some snacks, and buckle down for the ride, y'all!

summary: what once was a vibrant relationship begins to fade, leaving both of you to drift apart and question your future together...

You woke up to the soft patter of rain outside the window, the sound barely audible over the steady hum of the city below. Stretching, you felt the stiffness in your body from the long hours spent at the office, the tension that had become a second skin to you. Your apartment in the heart of London was a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where you could shed the mask of the day and just be.

Jack's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold to the touch. You knew his schedule by heart now: early morning training sessions, a quick breakfast, and then off to the courts. You had met him at a charity event a few months ago, and it had been love at first serve. His hazel eyes had pierced through the bustle of the crowd, his smile a warm embrace even in the chilly London air. He was everything you had ever wanted: successful, charming, and attentive.

But lately, something had changed. The texts grew shorter, and the phone calls less frequent. His dedication to tennis seemed to have swallowed him whole, leaving you with the crumbs of his attention. You tried not to let it show and pretended everything was fine, but the cracks in your relationship had started to widen like a fissure in a frozen lake. The apartment that once echoed with laughter and shared dreams now felt more like a museum of memories, each room a silent exhibit of what used to be.

As his career was reaching new heights, your world was slowly shrinking. The thrill of watching him play had become a distant memory, replaced by the cold reality of his absence. His victories no longer filled you with joy, but instead, a sinking feeling of loneliness. You had become an afterthought in his life, a box to check off his to-do list. You missed the way his eyes used to light up when you talked about your day, the gentle way his hand would brush against yours, the way his laughter could fill a room.

The effort you put into maintaining the façade of happiness grew tiresome, like a dance you had learned by heart but no longer enjoyed performing. You'd stay up late into the night, scrolling through social media, watching as his life played out in highlight reels and sponsored posts. The more successful he became, the more invisible you felt. You tried talking to him, but he'd always dismiss it as work stress, promising things would get better once the season was over. Yet, the seasons changed, and so did nothing else.

One evening, you decided to surprise him at his match. The stadium was packed, the air thick with anticipation as he took to the court. You watched him from the stands, his muscles flexing with each powerful serve, his eyes focused solely on the prize. He didn't see you there, not even when you cheered louder than anyone else. After his victory, you waited for him by the exit, clutching the bouquet of flowers you had bought. He walked by, surrounded by an entourage of fans and colleagues, and for a moment, his eyes met yours. But they didn't linger. They slid away as if you were just another face in the crowd.

The ache in your chest grew sharper with each passing day. You found yourself questioning every little thing: every unanswered text, every late-night training session, every time he chose the courts over you. The silence between you had become deafening, a void that swallowed up the love that once thrived. You knew you couldn't go on like this, living in the shadow of his career, but you were afraid to let go. The thought of ending it all was like contemplating the destruction of your own heart.

The rain had stopped, but the gray sky remained a gloomy backdrop to your mood. You decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear your thoughts. The cobblestone streets were slick under your shoes, and the scent of wet earth and the distant waft of a bakery mingled in the damp air. Each step took you further from the apartment, away from the reminders of the life you had built together, and closer to the realization that it was all falling apart.

As you strolled through the quiet, tree-lined streets, you passed by a small café. Through the steamy window, you saw a couple holding hands over a cup of coffee, their smiles a stark contrast to the sadness you felt. You thought about the times you and Jack had sat in places like this, sipping hot drinks and sharing your hopes and fears. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Your eyes stung with unshed tears, and you quickened your pace, not wanting to be caught in a moment of weakness.

You found yourself in the park, the same one where you had shared your first kiss. The leaves were turning gold, a poignant reminder of the autumn of your relationship. You sat on a bench, watching as children played nearby, their laughter a bittersweet symphony that taunted the silence in your soul.

You had enough. You knew you deserved better, more than the fleeting moments of affection and the empty promises of quality time. So, you gathered your courage and decided to confront Jack. You waited for him to come home, your heart racing with every tick of the clock. When he finally walked through the door, sweat-soaked and exhausted, you couldn't hide the sadness in your eyes anymore.

"Jack, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

He looked up from his gym bag, surprise etched on his weary face. "What's up?"

You took a deep breath, the words you had rehearsed so many times now poised on the edge of your tongue. "This isn't working anymore, is it?"

Jack paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he processed your words. The weight of the unspoken hung heavily in the air, a silent testament to the distance that had grown between you. He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world, and dropped his bag to the floor. "What do you mean?"

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lines around his mouth that had deepened since you last had a real conversation. But there was something else, too. A flicker of guilt that confirmed what you already knew. "I mean," you began, your voice wavering slightly, "that we're drifting apart. That your tennis is consuming everything, and I'm just… I'm just here, waiting for you to come up for air."

Jack leaned against the door, his posture deflating as he took in your words. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he was stressed or confused. "I know I've been busy," he started, his voice low and sincere, "but I thought we were okay."

You felt a knot in your throat, the years of pent-up frustration and love tangled together in a mess that was difficult to unravel. "Okay isn't enough," you said firmly. "I need more than okay."

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for a hint of the spark that had brought you two together. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out tentatively, as if to bridge the gap that had grown between you. "What do you want from me?"

You hesitated, the question echoing in your mind. What did you want? You wanted the love you had felt in those early days, the excitement of discovery, and the comfort of shared experiences. But that seemed like a distant dream now. "I want you," you said finally, the words coming out more as a plea than a demand. "I want the person I fell in love with."

Jack's expression softened, and for a moment, you thought he might understand. But then his eyes clouded over again, and he took a step back. "You know I can't just quit tennis," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and resentment. "This is my life. This is what I've worked for."

You felt the sting of his words, but you didn't flinch. "I'm not asking you to quit," you replied calmly. I'm just asking for balance—for us to be a priority again."

Jack looked at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding. He ran a hand through his damp hair, leaving it in disarray. "You know how much this means to me," he said, his voice strained. "But I'll try."

You nodded, hope flickering in your chest. Maybe there was a chance, a glimmer of the love you had lost. But the doubt remained, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. The next few days were filled with tentative gestures and half-hearted attempts at connection. He'd stay up later to watch a movie with you, or surprise you with breakfast in bed, but the underlying tension remained. You could feel it, a tightrope you both danced upon, afraid to misstep and send everything plummeting into the abyss.

One evening, Jack came home earlier than expected. He had lost a match, his first in months. The defeat etched on his face was raw, unfiltered. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, that you were there for him no matter what. But when he saw you, his eyes darkened, the weight of his failure crushing the fragile peace you had constructed.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, his voice laced with frustration. "I need to be alone."

You felt the rejection like a punch to the gut, but you remained steadfast. "Jack, it's okay to lose," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "It doesn't change who you are."

He shrugged you off, his eyes burning with anger and disappointment. "You don't get it," he said, his voice tight. "This isn't just a game to me. It's everything."

You took a step back, the coldness of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You had never seen this side of him before, the side that was consumed by the sport, the side that didn't have room for you. "I do get it," you said, trying to keep the hurt from your voice. "But you can't let it be everything. You can't let it eat away at us."

Jack didn't respond, instead, he turned away and headed to the shower, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, unsure of what to do next. The apartment felt smaller, the air thick with the unspoken. You knew you had to give him space, but the walls seemed to be closing in on you, suffocating you with the weight of his pain and your own fear.

You wandered into the living room, the silence deafening. You picked up a book from the coffee table, trying to find solace in the pages, but the words blurred together, indistinct and unimportant. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation, to the coldness in his eyes when he pushed you away.

The sound of the shower finally stopped, and you could hear Jack moving around in the bedroom. You set the book down and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

When he emerged, his face was scrubbed clean, but the sadness in his eyes remained. He saw you sitting there, and for a moment, the anger was gone, replaced by a look of regret. He sat down next to you, his elbows on his knees, and leaned his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to push you away."

You put the book aside and turned to face him. "Jack, we can't go on like this," you said gently, taking his hand in yours. "I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it's not."

He looked up at you, the regret in his eyes deepening. "I know," he murmured. "I've been so focused on tennis that I've neglected us. I've taken you for granted."

You shook your head, "I can't live my life fueled with empty promises anymore." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that had formed between you.

Jack's gaze dropped to the floor, his grip on your hand tightening. "I know I haven't been the best partner," he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "But I want to change. I want to make it work."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. You knew he meant it, but the doubt remained, a stubborn shadow that had taken root in your heart. "I've given you so many chances," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I'm done fighting for a relationship that feels one-sided."

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a newfound vulnerability. "I know," he said, his voice thick with regret. "And I've let you down. But if you give me one more chance, I'll prove to you that I can change. That we can find that balance."

You felt your heart ache, torn between the love you still had for him and the pain of his neglect. "Jack," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

He looked at you, the reality of your words sinking in. He leaned over and took your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "Please," he begged, "just one more chance. I'll do whatever it takes to make it right."

You stared into his eyes, the green of the leaves outside the window casting a mottled light over his features. The love you had for him was still there, a dull throb that wouldn't go away, no matter how much you wished it would. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But the doubt was a heavy burden that you had been carrying for too long.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pulling away from his grasp. "But I can't keep doing this." Your voice was shaky, but your resolve was unwavering.

Jack's eyes searched yours, desperation pooling in their depths. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of dry toast. "I mean, I can't keep holding onto something that isn't working," you said, your voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill over. "I've given you all of me, and I need more than just the leftovers of your time and attention."

Jack's expression fell, the realization of his actions settling on him like a heavy fog. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The silence that followed was a physical presence in the room, a thick and heavy blanket that suffocated any semblance of comfort.

You stood up, the tremble in your legs betraying your inner turmoil. "I need some time to think," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked to the bedroom, each step feeling like you were walking away from a piece of yourself. You shut the door gently, leaving him sitting on the couch, alone with his thoughts.

In the bedroom, you leaned against the closed door, your chest heaving with the effort to hold back sobs. You took a moment to compose yourself, to breathe in the air that was now thick with the scent of their cologne, a smell that was once comforting but now a stark reminder of the empty promises and unfulfilled dreams. You looked around the room, at the photos of happy moments together, the trophies that gleamed in the soft light, and the empty space on the nightstand where your picture used to be.

You grabbed your phone and dialed your best friend's number, the one person who knew every detail of your relationship, every high and low. You needed her calm voice, her unwavering support. She picked up on the first ring, and without saying a word, you could feel the empathy radiating through the line. She knew something was wrong.

"He's not changing, is he?" she asked gently.

You took a deep breath, the truth of her words a heavy stone in your chest. "I don't know," you managed to choke out. "I want to believe he will, but I can't ignore the feeling that it's just going to be more of the same."

Your friend's voice was a soothing balm, offering comfort without judgment. "You've done everything you can," she said. "It's time to think about what you need."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you. You knew she was right. You needed more than just a promise of change. You needed action, a commitment to the relationship that matched the one you had been giving all along. You sat down on the bed, the mattress squeaking under your weight, and took a deep breath. The rain had started again, the droplets tapping a solemn rhythm on the window.

Jack's side of the closet was a testament to his life on the road, a chaotic mess of suitcases and rumpled clothes. You stared at his tennis shoes, the ones he had worn when you had watched him win his first major tournament. They were pristine white, now scuffed and worn from his relentless pursuit of greatness. You felt a pang of sadness, wondering if his dedication to the sport had cost him more than just your happiness.

With a heavy heart, you began to pack a bag of your own. You didn't know where you'd go, but you knew you couldn't stay here anymore. Each item you placed in the bag was a symbol of your own strength, a declaration of independence from the shadow of his success. The sound of your zipper closing was the final act in a play that had gone on for too long.

You walked out to the living room, your bag slung over your shoulder, and found Jack still sitting on the couch. He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy, the weight of his own regret etched into his features. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, but the words felt hollow in the face of your resolve. "I guess this is it," he said, standing up.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The words you wanted to say, the anger and hurt you had bottled up for so long, threatened to spill out in a flood of accusations and recriminations. But you knew that wouldn't change anything. You had made your decision, and it was time to move on. "I need to go," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging within.

Jack stepped aside, allowing you to pass. As you moved through the apartment, each room whispered memories that now felt like ghosts. You paused in the kitchen, the sight of the mug tree bringing a lump to your throat. So many mornings you had made him tea, hoping the simple act would be enough to keep him grounded, to remind him of what he had waiting for him at home. It was a futile hope, one that had been shattered by the relentless pull of the courts.

You took one last look around, the walls now echoing with the silence of your unanswered calls and the emptiness of his promises. The door clicked shut behind you, a finality that resonated through your bones. The cool air outside was a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere you had left behind.

You wandered the streets, the rain now a gentle patter that matched the rhythm of your thoughts. Each step took you further from the apartment, from the life you had built with him, and closer to the unknown. The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a shimmering glow that seemed to mock the darkness of your heart.

You called a taxi, the neon lights of the car blinking through the mist like a beacon of escape. The driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. You gave him the address of a hotel you had found online, one that offered a quiet refuge from the tumultuous storm of your emotions.

As the city passed by in a blur of lights and rain-slicked streets, you stared out the window, the cold glass pressing against your forehead. Your thoughts swirled like the wind outside, a chaotic mix of doubt, anger, and sorrow. You wondered if you were making a mistake, if you were giving up too quickly. But the weight of the decision settled in your stomach like a lead ball, a sure sign that you were doing what needed to be done.

When the taxi pulled up to the hotel, the doorman rushed to open the door, offering you a sympathetic smile as you stepped out into the damp night. The lobby was a welcome respite from the storm, warm and quiet, with a faint scent of vanilla and fresh flowers. The receptionist offered her condolences for the weather as she checked you in, her eyes flicking to the bag slung over your shoulder, but she said nothing about the tears that had streaked your cheeks.

You took the elevator to the top floor, the ride up feeling like an ascension to a new chapter of your life. The room was small but cozy, with a plush bed that beckoned you to rest and a view of the city that reminded you of the vast expanse of possibilities ahead. You set your bag down, and for a moment, you just stood there, listening to the rain tap against the window, feeling the weight of the silence that was now yours alone.

You called your friend back, her voice a lifeline in the sea of your doubt. She talked you through the pain, her words of encouragement and understanding a salve to your bruised heart. She reminded you of who you were before Jack, of the dreams you had put on hold, of the life that was still waiting for you outside the shadow of his ambition.

You took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the tension and the tears. You felt the warmth seep into your skin, rekindling a spark of life that had been all but snuffed out. When you emerged, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel and looked in the mirror. The person staring back at you was tired but determined.

You pulled on a pair of comfortable pajamas and climbed into the bed, feeling the cool sheets against your flushed skin. You lay there for a while, listening to the rain outside, feeling the sadness wash over you in waves. But as the night grew darker, something shifted. The weight of your decision began to feel lighter, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. You had stood up for yourself, and that was something to be proud of.

As you drifted off to sleep, your mind played back moments of your relationship—the laughter, the tears, the passion. You felt the ache of loss, but also the flicker of hope. Maybe this was the end, or perhaps it was just the end of a chapter. Either way, you knew you had made the right choice.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the city waking up. The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You felt a strange mix of emotions—sadness, relief, fear, and a hint of excitement for the unknown. You knew you couldn't stay in this hotel forever, but for now, it was your sanctuary, a place to heal and decide your next steps.

You ordered room service, and the comforting taste of tea and toast was a gentle reminder of the life you once knew. You spent the day in a daze, watching movies and scrolling through social media, trying to distract yourself from the reality of your situation. But every notification, every article about Jack's latest match, brought the pain back in full force.

In the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you allowed yourself to grieve the relationship you had lost. The highs and the lows, the love and the neglect, all culminating in this moment of solitude. You cried until there were no more tears left, until your eyes were puffy and your throat raw.

As the days passed, you began to feel the tentative beginnings of strength. Each time you checked your phone and saw a message from Jack, you resisted the urge to respond immediately. Instead, you took a deep breath and waited, letting the words sit unanswered, giving yourself the space to think and feel.

You started to explore the city again, the same streets that had once been the backdrop to your shared life now a canvas for new adventures. You visited museums and parks, wandered through markets and cafes, rediscovering the joy of doing things on your own terms. The world didn't revolve around his schedule anymore, and the freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Meanwhile, Jack's life continued on the tennis tour, but the sting of your departure remained. He found it difficult to focus, his mind often drifting to the emptiness of the apartment and the echo of your voice. His performances on the court suffered, and the whispers of doubt grew louder in his ears. He knew he had lost more than just a partner in you; he had lost a piece of himself.

"Game, set, match, Alcaraz," the announcer's voice boomed through the stadium, and Jack's shoulders dropped in defeat. His eyes searched the stands, but there was no sign of you. It had been weeks since you had last spoken, and the void in his life was a constant reminder of his failure.

The applause from the crowd seemed muted as he made his way to the locker room, the weight of his loss heavy on his shoulders. His coach tried to offer words of encouragement, but Jack knew that nothing could fill the emptiness that your absence had left. He had pushed you away with his obsession, and now he faced the stark reality of a life without your warmth and support.

In the quiet of his hotel room, Jack stared at his phone, the screen lighting up with messages from his agent, his coach, and his friends. But the one message he craved was from you. He knew he had to make a change, to prove to you and himself that he could balance his career with the love you both deserved.

The weeks passed in a blur of matches and press conferences, but Jack couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that had settled in his chest. His game suffered, his focus scattered. His entourage noticed the shift, their worried glances and hushed conversations a constant reminder of his personal turmoil.

One evening, after a particularly crushing loss, Jack found himself unable to face the empty hotel suite. Instead, he wandered the streets, seeking solace in the anonymity of the city.

He ended up at a small, dimly lit pub, the kind of place where the locals gathered to drown their sorrows and share their stories. The warm, woody scent of beer and the comforting murmur of conversation wrapped around him like a blanket. He took a seat at the bar, the polished wood cool against his palms.

The bartender, a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a knowing smile, approached him. "Rough day?" she asked, her voice a gentle rumble.

Jack nodded, his eyes downcast. "Rough few weeks, actually," he murmured, the weight of his words heavier than the silence that followed.

The bartender leaned closer, a hint of concern in her gaze. "Love troubles?" she ventured.

Jack sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Something like that," he replied, staring into the amber depths of his whiskey.

The woman nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's tough when you lose someone important, especially when you know you're the one who messed up." She wiped the counter with a cloth that had seen better days. "But you're young, and you're talented. You've got time to make it right."

Jack took a sip of his drink, the burn in his throat mirroring the ache in his heart. "I just don't know if I can," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I've lost so much already."

The bartender's expression softened. "You can't change the past, love," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "But you can learn from it. Sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom before you realize what you truly want."

Jack nodded, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. He knew she was right. The pain of losing you had brought a clarity to his life that he hadn't felt in a long time. Tennis was his love, his passion, but it couldn't be his everything.

The next day, Jack took a deep breath as he walked into the gym, his eyes scanning the familiar space for any signs of change. His coach noticed the determination in his stride and nodded approvingly. They began to work on a new strategy, one that didn't just focus on his serve and volley but also on his mental fortitude. Between sets, Jack's thoughts drifted to you, to the way your eyes would light up when he talked about his matches, the way you'd listen intently and offer insights that often proved invaluable. He missed that connection, the way you understood him in a way no one else did.

As he swiped the sweat from his brow, Jack made a silent vow to become the person you deserved, to find the balance between his love for tennis and his love for you. It wasn't going to be easy, and he knew that he couldn't expect you to come running back with open arms. But he had to try, for both of your sakes.

One day, while he was in line at the coffee shop, Jack heard a familiar laugh. His heart skipped a beat, and he spun around, only to see you with an unfamiliar man, smiling and chatting away. The sight of you with someone else was like a knife to the chest. He quickly averted his gaze, pretending not to notice, but the pain was acute. He realized he hadn't seen you in person since that rainy night you left.

Jack's hand trembled as he took the coffee the barista handed him. He stepped aside, watching you from a distance, feeling like an outsider in a scene that used to be so intimately his. The stranger put his arm around your shoulders, and Jack felt a surge of jealousy that surprised him. He had known you needed more, but seeing it with his own eyes was a different story.

But you didn't miss the way Jack's eyes lingered on you, the desperation in his gaze. You felt a pang of guilt, but you steeled yourself. You had moved on, hadn't you?

You couldn't deny it, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him. You wanted to run into his arms and tell him you'd made a mistake, that you could work it out.

"You still have feelings for him, don't you?" You heard Alex whisper, a sad smile playing on his lips. You nodded, sipping your hot beverage.

"It's hard not to, but…I've moved on," you replied, trying to convince yourself more than anyone else.

"Have you though? Really moved on?" Alex's question lingered in the air, his gaze holding yours as you took another sip of your beverage. You swallowed hard, the warm liquid doing little to soothe the sudden tightness in your throat. "It's okay if you do," he added gently, "but maybe it's time to talk to him."

Jack watched you from across the street, his heart hammering in his chest. He had hoped that with time and distance, the pain would lessen, but seeing you with someone else brought it all rushing back. The months of training, the endless matches, none of it had filled the void you left behind. He knew he needed to make a change, to find a way to balance his love for the game with the love he had for you.

With a newfound resolve, Jack approached you, his sneakers squeaking on the damp pavement. You turned, surprise flickering in your eyes before they clouded over with caution. Alex stepped aside, giving you space. "Can we talk?" Jack asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leading the way to a nearby park bench. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean, the scent of wet earth and leaves filling the space between you. You sat down, leaving a respectful distance, your eyes avoiding his. "What is there to say?" you began, your voice tight with unshed tears.

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I've been thinking about us," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't a priority."

You remained silent, watching the children playing in the distance, the sound of their laughter a stark contrast to the heaviness of the conversation. "It's more than that, Jack," you said finally, your voice steady. "It's about feeling seen, heard, and valued. It's about being a team, not just having someone to come home to when you're done with your day."

Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I get it," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I've been so focused on my career, I lost sight of what's truly important. I want to change that. I want to be better for you."

You studied him, looking for the truth in his words. The old Jack, the one who used to make you feel like the center of his world, seemed to be peeking out from behind the tired, burdened exterior. "What does that mean, exactly?" you asked, your voice laced with skepticism.

Jack took a deep breath, bracing himself for the hardest conversation of his life. "It means that I'll make time for us, really make time," he began. "I'll schedule breaks in my training, show up for dinner without my phone, and actually listen when you talk about your day." His voice grew stronger as he spoke, the conviction in his eyes growing brighter. "I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

You felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly doused by the memory of his past promises. "Words are easy, Jack," you said, your tone measured. "It's the actions that count."

Jack's expression grew serious, the lines around his eyes deepening as he nodded. "You're right. I know I've said a lot of things I didn't follow through on, but I'm different now." He paused, searching for the right words. "I've missed you. I've missed us. I can't stand the thought of losing you for good."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Jack, I want to believe you," you said, your voice wavering. "But I've been here before. How do I know this isn't just another fleeting moment of clarity before you're off to the next match?"

Jack reached out and took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "Because I'm going to prove it to you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm going to show you that you're not just a part of my life, you're the most important part. And if that means taking a step back from tennis, then that's what I'll do."

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit or doubt. But all you saw was sincerity and pain. "I don't want you to give up your dreams," you whispered. "But I need to know you're willing to make me a part of them."

Jack nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said. "And I'm not asking you to come back right now. I just… I want you to know that I'm willing to make changes. To make us work."

You felt the warmth of his hand, the familiarity of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You had missed this connection, but the fear of history repeating itself was stronger.

"Jack," you began, your voice shaky, "I want to believe you. I really do. But I've been hurt too many times. I can't just jump back in without knowing it's for real."

Jack's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a comforting gesture. "I know," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I don't expect you to. I just need you to know that I'm ready to fight for us. To make this right."

You sighed, the weight of your decision pressing down on your chest like a boulder. "Okay," you finally said, your voice barely audible. "Let's take it slow. No promises, just…see where it goes."

Jack's face lit up with hope, a small smile playing on his lips. "I can do that," he said, squeezing your hand. "We'll take it one day at a time."

The days turned into weeks, and Jack kept his promise. He made an effort to be present, to listen, to be there for you without the distraction of his phone or his thoughts of the next match. He started to include you in his training sessions, even asking for your advice on his game. It was a tentative dance, both of you testing the waters, feeling for the old rhythm that had been lost.

You found yourself slowly letting your guard down, the warmth of his attention thawing the icy walls around your heart. But the fear remained, a persistent shadow that followed you, whispering doubt into your ear every time he had to leave for a tournament.

One evening, as you watched him pack his bag, the memories of the past filled the room—his hasty goodbyes, the forgotten anniversaries, the missed phone calls. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. "Jack," you said, your voice wavering, "are you sure this is what you want? That you can handle it?"

Jack looked up from his suitcase, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce determination. "I've never been more sure of anything," he replied, crossing the room to stand in front of you. "I love you, and I'm going to prove it every single day." He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of improvement. Jack's dedication to the relationship was evident, and his performance on the court reflected the newfound balance in his life. The press took notice, praising his renewed focus and maturity. His wins started piling up, and the whispers of a potential comeback grew louder.

But it wasn't just his game that had changed; it was Jack himself. He had become more thoughtful, more attentive. He'd surprise you with flowers, leave sweet notes around the apartment, and ask about your day with genuine interest. He was the partner you had always wanted him to be, and you felt yourself falling back in love with him.

Yet, the doubt remained, a quiet thief in the night that stole moments of happiness. You would catch yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the day when he'd slip back into his old ways. Each time he picked up his phone to check his schedule, you'd hold your breath, waiting for the apology that usually followed.

But the apologies didn't come. Instead, Jack made plans with you, around you. He talked about the future with a warmth that had been absent for so long, his eyes lighting up when he spoke of trips you could take together, the life you could build outside of tennis. It was as if he had finally realized that there was more to life than the scoreboard.

One rainy afternoon, you found yourself nestled in his arms, watching a movie you'd both seen a hundred times before. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, and you felt a sense of peace that had been elusive for months. As the credits rolled, Jack leaned in and kissed you softly, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"I'm going to miss you," you whispered, as the reality of his upcoming tournament loomed.

Jack pulled you closer, his arms a warm cocoon. "I'll miss you too," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise, I'll make it up to you when I get back."

The days leading up to the tournament were filled with sweet gestures and stolen moments of intimacy. Jack took you on surprise dates, showered you with affection, and even cooked for you, a rarity in your usually hectic lives. His dedication to making amends was palpable, and you found yourself feeling hopeful for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

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qwimchii · 1 year

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𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 (pt. 2) — 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦

𝘱𝘵. 1 𝘱𝘵. 2 𝘱𝘵. 3

𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦—𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.7𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘣𝘤 𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦’𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 (𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳)

author's note: i'm so sorry for the long wait alkdsjfslkdjf but it's here now!! also i know that this is just mostly fluff for now but i wanna build up a bit before we get to the… devil's tango ;) anyways, enjoy lovies!

weeks passed since you last saw him at the bar.

it was a strange thing that left you wondering in quiet moments with glazed eyes. moments at work where you’d zone out while a student was asking you a question, or when you were sitting on the grass in the schoolyard at recess. oliver, ever the rambunctious and curious kid, had prodded at your side with big eyes that had melted away your daze in seconds. he had held up a long piece of grass, offering to play a round of grass wars with you, which brought you straight back to the lazy summer afternoons of your childhood. the sweet smile on his face made sure you couldn’t refuse.

and once he was satisfied, running across the playground and wrestling with other boys in the field, you’d pick at the grass incessantly with your eyes trained on a distant point, not sure what exactly you were focusing on.

you remembered his silhouette like it was burned into your brain—tall, broad, rough at the edges but all soft and warm against you. you remembered him as clear as day and the solidness of his body—real and strong. but now, it was like he had disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

he wasn’t at the back of the bar like usual, puffing on a cigar, with a gruff exterior and eyes searing hot when they landed on you. instead, you were slipping back into a time vault—back to running from deadlines and running from the stressors of your life. back to square one.

it seems like your prayers weren’t answered.

that was the amusing thought that bubbled up in your throat, as you poured over some textbook materials splayed across the old desk you had thrifted ages ago. it filled up approximately half the space of your bedroom, and no matter how you thought you could rearrange it all, your meager apartment seemed to always be stretched to its max. being an elementary school teacher didn’t really pay the bills. not in london at least.

and that’s why you are in this master’s degree program: to further your career, to gain a sweet surplus in your salary, to move into a bigger apartment. not to daydream over strangers you saw at the bar—no matter how addictive.

it’s what you tried to convince yourself, at least, without much success. sighing as you leaned your cheek against the coolness of the desk, you looked out over your bedroom window.

it was raining, but you pulled open the window just a crack anyways. the soft patters against the glass were comforting—like the gentle ringing of bells into the night that clashed with the lingers of sirens and the loud chatter that crowded the streets below your apartment. the humid air poured into your bedroom, and usually the stickiness would bother you, but it only reminded you of home.

back in the rolling plains, where late nights were filled with jumping into bone chilling waters on humid nights like this. where the little lake nestled deep in the dispersed woods beckoned you, your friends, and the quiet twinkling fireflies.

you closed your eyes.

you remembered the words that lingered between your friends and family. it was a small town. she wants to move to london. it wasn’t a thing that they whispered—it was more of a hiss of disapproval. growing up, you thought you never liked that small town. grown up, you don’t really think that you liked the big city either.

but you’ve come this far. there was no way you were turning back now.

those were your last thoughts before exhaustion overcame you, pulling you into those familiar deep murky waters. and the next thing you knew, you eyes were flying open with a loud gasp.

you pushed yourself up with heavy arms, willing your slow legs to move from beneath you. you lurched, almost falling off your desk chair as you blinked sleepily. the rain had stopped. the loud, drunken laughter that bounced off the walls of the alleyway below had ceased, and sirens didn’t drone in the distance. instead, you could hear the rush of automobiles and the loud sputter of the city commotion. and it wasn’t night time anymore…

it wasn’t night time anymore.

you gasped again, this time with much more urgency. finally, you registered the light that streamed through your cracked bedroom window—which you didn’t even bother to close as you dashed through your room, picking up a random t-shirt and pair of blue jeans thrown haphazardly on your bedroom floor.

shit.

in the bathroom mirror, you stripped down the remnants of last nights sleepiness with a lightning fast shower, brushed teeth, and the new change of clothes. you ran through the living room, pulling your hair back into something simple and comfortable as you juggled your work bag and all its clunky items through the front door.

shit.

you stumbled back into your apartment when you realized you didn’t even think to put on shoes. then you snatched an untoasted bagel off the counter last second.

shit, shit, shit.

the metro couldn’t seem to come fast enough and you were bouncing from one foot to the next, as you chomped on the bagel and pushed your way into the crowded train. crumpling in on yourself, you cringed every time a stranger’s shoulder bumped against yours on the shaky train.

that fifteen minute train ride was probably the longest wait you’ve ever felt in your life. and you stumbled off the train, shoving the last of your bagel into your mouth, when you bumped into someone and their iced coffee came pouring down onto your leg.

for an awful moment, you stared at each other in silence before you took off again, shouting an apology over your shoulder as you ran up the stairs of the train platform. quick footsteps swallowed the distance between you and that little elementary school glowering on the far corner of a well-kept suburb.

you were almost never late to work. you tried to never be late to anything. but this wasn’t just work—you were fifteen minutes late to a parent-teacher conference.

pushing into the school with a quick key swipe, you rounded the corner of the tiled hallway, almost slipping on your way, and stopped dead in front of your classroom door. using the back of your hand to wipe away the dampness of your face, you hefted your bag further onto your shoulder as you steaded your rapid breath. you pressed a hand to suppress the quick rise and fall of your chest, closing your eyes before opening the door.

“oh my goodness, i am so, so sorry that i’m—”

shit.

you knew as soon as you locked eyes. dark blue. a steady strong gaze that unfurled warmth in your stomach, and a deep flush rose to your cheeks because you were flustered.

for the first time, you weren’t seeing him through a drunken stupor or the hazy dark bar air, with long drawn shadows cast over his face, but in the clear-cut mid-afternoon sunlight. the gruffness of his face was softened in the bright morning light and you could make out the gentle lines and age of his face. you could see his eyes clearer than ever, and it made all the words die in your throat.

it was him, with a simple black beanie that cut down all those sexy facades about him. it reduced him to something sweet, and weirdly, something domestic. something you wanted to wake up to cooking in your kitchen every morning. something you wanted to tuck in your arms every night.

it was him, sitting at one of the small tables, with a little blonde head tucked under his arm. you swallowed when you saw your student—oliver.

“hi miss y/l/n!”

and suddenly it hit you.

a dark feeling sunk from all the way from your throat to your stomach to the bottom of your toes. your eyes flickered, and a spark of something twisted lit within you. disappointment. you were disappointed with the way you were reacting to this.

a child—oliver was his child. a single father?

or was he married?

old worn t-shirt and unwashed, greasy hair. iced coffee on your thigh. you knew looked like a mess, and you wanted to curse him out for seeing you at some of your worst moments. drunk, late to work. irresponsible. you knew he was thinking it, or at least you thought you did.

he was the opposite of you. older, more mature, more experienced, married with a child. he was above you in a way.

and you were here, young and irresponsible and struggling and still developing irrational crushes like you were in high school. developing irrational crushes on fathers.

for a long charged moment, you just stared at them, spluttering to find the words. but he found them first.

“pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

that low, pitched gruff tone sent a shockwave through you. a familiar low vibrato that rumbled through his chest and into your skin some weeks ago. he said it with aloofness, so serious it almost came off as abrasive. that familiar tug of his lips into that gruff smirk shot a nervous twinge through the pit of your stomach.

“jonathan price.”

you just nodded at his curt introduction, pressing your body to the door behind you, anchoring yourself to the small click of the door closing. for weeks, you had been looking for this man—his stern look, the smell of pine and ash on him, and the broad safety of his shoulders. and now, he had reappeared right before you. and right now, more than anything, you wanted to escape this room and never come back.

you chewed out your name in reply, body practically flattened against the door as your staring contest ensued. with the way he was looking at you—head tilted, eyes narrowed, just a slight pinch in between his strong brows—you wondered if he even remembered you. the expression he was giving you seemed… pained.

swallowing, the pulse of your heart only rose and thrummed from your fingertips to your toes.

you had almost forgotten your student was still in the room, the innocent look on oliver’s face cutting through the tension spearing the air. the boy waved a small piece of paper above his head, almost falling out of his seat, wobbly, with a lack of coordination that only seven year olds could carry.

“miss! i drew this for you,” he sang, eyes scrunched in a big teeth-baring smile.

jonathan steaded him with a strong arm looped around his waist as he leaned to you, wiggling the paper between his fingers. you strode over to him, managing a light laugh that bunched at the back of your throat, as you plucked up the drawing and studied it.

hand in hand with an abstract orange and blue cartoon oliver, the sketch of you dawned an unhealthy shade of green skin and a loud shade of purple hair. a smile tickled your cheekbones, and the brewing mess of emotions in your stomach melted away.

“i love it. thank you, oliver, ” you said, feeling all gooey inside as you moved to pin it to the cork board at the front of the classroom. and as you looked back to smile at a cheery oliver, a blush bloomed up your neck when your eyes flickered to jonathan’s. he was giving you that look again. the one he did at the bar—guarded. heavy-lidded and dark.

you bit your lower lip, moving to sit beside oliver as you desperately tried to ignore jonathan’s gaze hot on you. you straightened your papers on the table and began recounting oliver’s eventful year as a second-grader. because that’s what you were here for, you reminded yourself like a burrowed tick in the back of your brain. for your profession.

you tucked free strands of hair behind your ears with nervous, twitchy hands.

“oliver’s very proficient at reading and writing. he’s already reading some fourth grade level chapter books.”

you swallowed, lightly pausing, when the scrape of jonathan’s chair against the tiled floor interrupted you. he had moved closer to you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of his arms bracing himself against the table, knee almost brushing against yours. but you kept your eyes trained to the paper in front of you. and he kept quiet. like he always does.

“he’s also doing well in math—maths. some initial trouble with multiplication but he smoothed that out pretty quickly.” you looked up to shoot a smile at oliver, who was puffed up with pride, and you had to resist the urge to reach over and just pat him like he was a puppy.

“overall, he’s doing very well in his academics. just one thing in particular—” your eyes flashed up to take in jonathan’s expression, and he was just staring down at you, and for a moment you wondered if he was even listening to your words, “—is that sometimes we struggle to keep our hands to ourselves in the classroom. we’re quite rambunctious and eager at times.”

his eyes lingered on you, a small smile overtaking his face, a dark twinkle reaching up to touch his eyes. “‘fraid that’s a genetic hand-me-down of the price’s.” he tousled oliver’s hair. “natural-born athletes, per say.”

you hummed, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “look, all i’m saying is that maybe some extra soccer, er football, lessons outside of school could do wonders.”

“soccer, eh?” he raised a brow and you just stared at him.

“yes,” you replied, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, before tacking on an impromptu: “mr. price.”

a little crease formed between his brows and he huffed a laugh.

“no, no, i get it. we’ll have a chat at home about it, right champ?” jonathan patted oliver’s shoulder and oliver nodded, seemingly undisturbed by your comments.

your pursed your lips, eyes flickering over jonathan’s tight expression. you felt like you had gone wrong somewhere.

“mr. price i—”

“it’s john.”

he leaned a bit over the table, sliding closer to you, bracing his weight with crossed arms. you could see the warmth of his eyes. the light grayness lacing his beard. you could’ve sworn you felt his gentle breath brush the tip of your nose. you swallowed when his knee brushed against yours beneath the table.

“call me john.”

you nodded wordlessly, eyelids fluttering, as you squeaked out a small john, feeling a bit confused by the mixed signals flying around the room.

after a long moment of him just looking at you with that gaze that sent tremors up your spine, the one that sent embarrassing waves of ache between your thighs, oliver piped up. “can i go play on the carpet, uncle john?”

your eyebrows shot up, eyes flashing to oliver’s, then back at john. you barely murmured under your breath. “uncle?”

he smirked, leaning back, somehow seeming satisfied as he adjusted his beanie. satisfied about what… you didn’t know.

“sure thing, champ.” john nodded at the eager boy, oliver’s sparkling eyes turning to yours for a long moment before you realized that he was asking for your permission too. you huffed a little laugh, waving him off to let him play to his heart’s content.

then, you were shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the heat of john’s gaze on your face. and the silence that filled the small space between you.

he just kept staring at you, making the blush in your cheeks intensify. you tried to brush the heat away in your face with your fingertips, a bit embarrassed by the tendrils of relief that laxed that tense spot between your shoulder blades. a bit embarrassed by the messy internal panic that had set over you just some minutes ago when you first walked into the room. uncle.

as if sensing it, john tilted his head at you.

“parents aren’t in town. luckily…” he shrugged. “i was.”

you nodded, slowly, chewing your next words just as slowly. a flicker of something darker seeped into your mouth—a flicker of those moments in the past couple of weeks where you were pouring your morning dose of caffeine, quiet and wondering, why his disappearance left a soft space in your heart. and why, in his presence, every ounce of self-control was thrown out the window, overpowered an unsettling sense of longing. want.

“and you’re in town for… how long?”

his lips twitched into a smile, and in a moment of self-indulgence, you let your eyes smooth over his face. it was easy to look at him. comforting. fresh, and relaxing. masculine.

“that’s need to know, ma’am.”

you huffed at little, suppressing the shyness you knew was creeping onto your face. he was teasing you.

you watched his face pass through a range of emotions, tightness, calculation as his eyebrows pinched together, before a rumbling laugh escaped him like a sweet afterthought. his voice was pitched deep and rich with laughter. the sound sent you into the clouds.

“it would be quite irresponsible tellin’ that…” he leaned forward, heat emanating off him in slow rolls, and the breath in your throat locked itself in when a large, warm palm brushed over your thigh. “...to my nephew’s favorite teacher.”

you shifted immediately up into his touch, and he tilted his head, like he was asking for permission. “right darlin’?”

your eyes slid shut, rolls of neediness twisting into a deep ache in your stomach, when his hand made a slow path up your thigh. he stopped just beneath your hip bone, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. your heart shot through your throat, relishing in the way his breath fell over your collarbone, and that familiar musky scent of cigarettes and dark green forest filled your nose.

then, he released you and your eyes shot open.

“right?” he repeated. you blinked up at him.

“depends,” you mumbled, leaning closer to him as if the proximity would intensify the warmth he was filling you with. and his face split into a smile. sweet and soft. a far cry to the onslaught of neediness that was rushing through your pulsing veins.

“god, you are…” he hummed as he trailed off, running a palm over his beard roughly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn’t even begin to decipher.

suddenly, a childish whine broke the tense air between you. and your eyes fell on oliver, small and forgotten on the carpet. a twinge of guilt twisted in you, because somehow, john always had you falling and folding however he liked with just one glance. he had the power to drain every ounce of maturity out of you—like you were a needy teenager all over again—because you had forgotten that this was still a parent-teacher conference, and poor oliver was being neglected.

“uncle i’m hungry,” he whined, rubbing his tummy and your face scrunched at the adorable image. and whatever intoxicating sexual veil that john draped over you was lifted.

“right. sorry poppet,” john muttered, standing from the table as he moved to take up oliver’s small hand in his bigger one, moving to the classroom door.

you were still frozen in place, his touch on your thigh lingering with a searing heat, and you stared at the pair in a bit of a daze before you remembered yourself and followed them with a bit of a stumble.

you leaned against the doorframe, finding purchase for the slight wobble in your knees, as you cleared your throat, brushing back your hair and tugging at your shirt. the silence was charged, bordering on awkwardness.

for a moment, you thought john was going to walk off without saying anything at all, and you pursed your lips, eyes trained to the floor. disappointed.

but he turned suddenly with that pained expression on his face again, brows pushed together in concentration. calculating.

he looked down at you, the rise and fall of chest following the swell of his steady breaths, and you fisted your shirt in your hands. you thought, if he really wanted to, he was close enough to lean down and press those lips to yours, but you immediately brushed the thought away.

“you ever drink?” he hummed, nonchalant, and you wanted to laugh knowing what happened that night all those weeks ago. his soft lips brushing yours, the prickle of his beard against your cheek, and the strong arms that wrapped around you. and the uninvited ones. a thank you lingers in the back of your head, but you’re too taken aback by his comment to bring it that night. especially not at work. especially not in front of oliver.

your throat felt bone dry. “not on weekdays,” you managed.

he smiled, slowly shuffling away as an impatient and hungry oliver tugged him down the hallway.

“good thing tomorrow’s saturday,” he called out and you bit your lip. he didn’t even have to say when and where—you already knew.

“bye miss y/l/n!” oliver shouted down the hall with a toothy grin, and you waved with a laugh, watching john’s broad silhouette and oliver’s boyish frame grow smaller and smaller.

just before they rounded the corner, john sent you a long look, dark and knowing. it left the warmest feeling twisting in your stomach, filling you whole. the smile that settled on your lips was raw and genuine.

once they disappeared from sight, you leaned your head against the doorframe, closing your eyes dreamily, like a scene out of those corny romantic chick flicks. the ones that your mother used to hate whenever you played them in your cramped childhood living room.

a snort of laughter escaped you at the memory of your mom’s beet red face, turning back to your classroom when, across the hall, in a dark classroom that you thought was empty, a pair of eyes bore into yours.

your voice shook a little as you spoke.

“how much of that did you see?”

and the shit-eating grin that split across sally’s face was enough to make you strangle her.

“oh, i saw everythin’ babes.”

shit.

tag list: @louve-barnes @projectdreamwalker @neoarchipelago

#captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price fluff #captain price x reader #captain price #cod mw2 #cod fluff #task force 141 #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #john price smut #captain price smut #cod smut

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woso-fan13 · 11 months

Text

Comfortember 2023: 13 (Arsenal)

13. Baking

On a cool Sunday in London, rain pattered on the windows. Inside the house, though, you were warm and snuggly. Your Mummy and Mama had gotten you dressed in a fresh nappy and a thick pair of pajamas that morning, declaring that today was a good day to stay home. Though regressed and not fully comprehending, you agreed.

The morning had gone smoothly, but once you’re up from your afternoon nap, your parents realized they have no idea what else to do. You had built towers from your blocks already, but when you cried when they collapsed that game was stopped. You had listened to Mummy and Mama read stories, you had played with all of your toys, you had even watched the tele- something that was usually reserved for when you were sick or injured while little.

It was only when you were munching on your afternoon snack that your Mummy had a brilliant idea. The three of you should make cookies. You didn’t notice as Mama tried to protest- warning of the inevitable mess and sugar rush that were to come. You only heard one of your favourite words before you were bouncing in your seat.

Which is how you found yourself perched on the countertop. Beth and Viv were flitting around the kitchen trying to gather everything. Of course, they made sure that at least one of them was next to you at all times lest you tumble off the counter.

You had the most important job of the whole project. You were in charge of dumping the ingredients into the bowl once Mummy and Mama handed them to you. You were really good at it and only a little bit ended up on the counter.

Towards the end of the recipe, you had grown somewhat bored of your job. Your eyes wandered the kitchen, landing on the bowl of chocolate chips that had been left not far from you on the counter. Somehow, you manage to scoot slowly over to them without losing your balance or alerting your parents to your task.

The sound of objects moving in a dish draws Viv’s attention, your Mama looking up just in time to see your fist disappearing into your mouth. With the guilty look on your face and the partially empty bowl of chocolate in front of you, it wasn’t hard for her to guess what you had done.

“Are you stealing chocolate?” she asks with her hands on her hips, “don’t you know that only naughty girls steal chocolate?”

You pull your hand from your mouth, traces of chocolate covering your sticky fingers.

“No!” you shout in response, “not naughty!”

“Are you sure you’re not a naughty little girl? Because the chocolates are missing.”

“Was Mummy,” you insist.

“Mummy snuck the chocolates?” Viv asks with a fake gasp.

You nod seriously.

“I’m going to have to talk to Mummy, she’s been a very naughty girl.”

Beth walks back into the kitchen at this point, somewhat surprised when you shout.

“Naughty Mummy!”

“I’m naughty?” she asks in shock, “I was only gone signing for a package. What did I do?”

“Apparently,” Mama says, “you ate the chocolates that are missing from the bowl.”

“I would never,” Mummy swears, “but I think I do know someone who would.”

The women both turn to you as your playful eyes widen. They communicate silently with each other before approaching you. The two wrap arms around you to keep you from falling before wiggling their fingers over your belly. Your giggles fill the air as you’re tickled.

The torment finally comes to an end, but Mummy’s still not done. She begins pressing kisses all over your face while making exaggerated noises. When you poke out your lips, she gives you a final peck before pulling away and allowing you to calm down slightly from all the excitement.

She looks confused for a minute before licking her lips, “you taste like chocolate, do you know that?” she asks you.

You only shriek in reply as you’re again attacked with tickles.

#age regression #woso imagine #womens soccer #woso imagines #reader insert #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso soccer #woso community #arsenal wfc #awfc #arsenal women #arsenal x reader #arsenalwfc #reader

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chasingmidnights · 5 months

Text

So Long, London

Title: So Long, London

Summary: After eight years of being with Draco, it all comes crumbling down.

Warnings: First, this is for 18+, minor DNI!!! I don’t think there is much to look out for in this story. Just maybe some angst and mild cursing, and Draco being a little heartbreaker. I do believe that’s all of the warnings and I apologize if I missed anything, but you are responsible for what you read and what you consume. I do not claim to be a professional writer, any and all mistakes are my own. Nothing is beta read.

A/N: This one-shot was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, So Long, London, from her new album.

Wordcount: 703

The rain pattered against the window as you slowly packed up your belongings in your once beloved terraced house. The house that you truly believed that you would spend the rest of your life in and with the love of your life. You moved to sit on the edge of the bed and let out a heavy sigh. The house was eerily quiet, nothing but the old grandfather clock could be heard ticking away from its place in the sitting room. A housewarming gift from Draco’s mother when you first moved into the place. God you were going to miss that sometimes infuriating woman. She was a little wary of you at first, but then she noticed the good that you brought out of Draco and changed her mind instantly. You sat up when you heard the front door open and close, signaling that Draco was home.

You tried not to get too excited about seeing him, he did just break your bloody heart after all. It was hard though, you couldn’t just shut those feelings off, you had been with the man for almost eight years. The creak of the stairs caused you to wince and your eyes welled up with tears; honestly, you were surprised that you had anything left. You were over this god awful pain and just wanted it to go away. If you knew it was going to end this way - who are you kidding, you would do it the exact same way, over and over again. These had been some of the best eight years of your life, you never would have pictured yourself living in London if you hadn’t met Draco. You easily could have pictured yourself saying, ‘I do’ one day and you thought you were heading in that direction. The image was so clear in your head: you in a beautiful white dress and Draco looking as handsome as ever in a well tailored suit. But then, it all came crumbling down when Draco suddenly changed the plans. You were too lost in thought that you didn’t hear Draco come into the room.

“Still here, are ya?” Draco sneered, pulling you from your thoughts and your heart became heavy.

His voice used to sound so sweet, but now it’s laced with venom and hatred.

“Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.” You answered quietly, your voice sounded hoarse from all of the crying you’ve done recently.

When Draco barely acknowledged your answer, you could have easily screamed at him, but you refrained. It wouldn’t have done any good any way, it was over. You moved to start packing again as Draco changed into something more casual, the room filled with a thick, deafening silence.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m going out with Goyle and Blaise, you can finish packing.” Draco said, before he walked out of the room.

Just like that, you were alone again; a feeling you had grown accustomed to in the last year. Draco had grown cold and distant and you never understood why. But you did your best to wheel him back in and you did everything you could. You showered him with affection and did anything and everything he asked of you, but it was never enough. A few tears rolled down your cheek at all of the memories that you and Draco had made together. You quickly wiped away the tears and started packing again. As you packed though, you wondered where all of the love between you went, well more specifically his love. Where were the signs and how did you miss each one?

As you finished packing the last box, your heart felt heavy and you were filled with a great sorrow, one you hope to never feel again. Draco had clearly moved on, leaving you in the dust in the process. It was time to move on as well, even though you wished things had turned out differently. Instead of a wedding and possibly a family, all you had to show for the last eight years was a broken heart. Leaving London would be the hardest thing you would ever have to do, but it would always have a special place in your heart.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfic #draco x reader #draco malfoy oneshot #harry potter characters #tom felton #tom felton characters #tom felton fandom #harry potter fandom #a chasingmidnights story #chasingmidnights one shot #courtney writes

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dearestcynthiaw · 8 months

Text

Goodbye Stranger - House M.D x Reader

Chapter Two: Who Are You?

Source A: Photograph, with missing piece, and handwritten message: 'Spring 1928 - Trip to London' no other inscriptions.

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Hello again!

Sorry for the long wait, this chapter might be a little dodgy writing wise, but I'm hoping it'll sound ok.

I just wanted to add that themes might get a bit heavier from here, but I'm still unsure. I'll let you know if any trigger warnings come up.

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Chapter One: World Weary

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TW: Mentions of blood, death, cigarettes and alcohol. (Sounds like a underground band name)

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In truth, House thought about this peculiar encounter for the rest of the day. He never once closed the Wikipedia tab on this mysterious, yet apparent English Rose. He'd found himself opening it frequently and scrolling to the bottom of endless pages to really see how far this woman would go with her 'fantasy'.

Due to this anomaly in his usual work day, he found it challenging to engage with his current case, often sitting in his office and pondering in the silence. His eyes glued to the door she had disappeared through hours earlier. Would she ever come back? She had been such a fascinating specimen, he just wanted to know exactly what was going on in her head. He thought about the endless illnesses that could have caused this odd phenomenon, ones that would cause hysteria or an overactive imagination.

Was she here to fool him into a prescription? Was she living out a long time wish to live the life of someone with great lineage and aristocratic fortune? Did she want to live in the romanticised perception of the past? It was all a colossal enigma that he wanted to unearth and tease out of the woman.

To him, the current case was a bore compared to what had transpired earlier that day. It sounded like a harsh flu, but not one that he’d ever seen. They’d isolated the patient and kept up with questions, which the man was reluctant to answer. With House acting distant, the diagnosis seemed far out of reach. House thought of giving up at one point, letting his team of three figure it out for themselves. That was until they found the man’s ankles were swollen.

At this point, due to House’s lack of interest, the whole procedure was moving at a snail’s pace. The case was getting increasingly worse and House’s team decided the patient would need to be scheduled for an X-Ray of the chest, checking the lungs for fluid and the heart for implications.

The conclusion was the possibility of heart failure, yet they were still unsure of how it got to this point.

The end of the day was nigh. Still after plenty of pestering, House rebuffed the idea of at least looking at the patient through the glass. The idea of this patient dying seemed to have no effect on him, maybe deep down it did, but he appeared oblivious or distracted.

It was late when he got back to his car. The rain was heavily pattering on the roof of the multistory car park. It was loud, but that never detached him from his buzzing thoughts.

Dr Wilson, his friend (you’d like to think) and colleague, caught him just before he left, knocking sternly on his driver's side window, which House reluctantly opened. Wilson’s eyebrows were knitted and his mouth was pulled into a straight line 'What's gotten into you? I’m made to believe this is a one-of-a-kind case, not even you can figure it out.’

House only huffed at this, rolling up the window. Again there was a torrent of knocks.

‘What? I’m late to a date with one of the hottest chicks in town.’

‘Don’t mess about, this is a life or death House. Why are you not interested?’ Wilson spoke, his voice sprinkled with concern.

In return, House revved his engine ‘No time to talk, probably won’t see you tomorrow, I doubt I'll be able to walk with all the fun I’ll be up to tonight. Bye.’ With that he flew out of his space, leaving Wilson in the dust.

Rain drops danced on his windows as he bolted down the bustling roads. The street lights and headlights of other cars painted his window screen with an array of vivid colours. The music on his radio hummed in the background along with the rattling of the wheels on the dodgy tarmac.

He was eventually stopped at a set of traffic lights, watching people trudge through the rain as he sat snugly in his warm car.

Amongst the hoard of busybodies was a young lady, one with a look of discomfort and panic. She was instantly recognisable, yet her togs were soggy and discoloured with the spatters of rain. Her hair was heavy with water and had lost its neat, waved styling.

He watched intensely as a singular man approached her, touching her shoulder, causing her to jump back in fright.

The lights flicked to orange and he was about ready to move on, when she was pushed up against the wall unbeknown to those around her.

He moved on through the green light. He thought nothing of this interaction, knowing someone else would interfere.

He was part way down the road when without thinking he flicked on his right indicator, stopping in a lay-by, hopping out in haste with his hand roughly gripping his cane.

Bracing against the frigid rain, he splashed through puddles approaching the pair.

He was close now, and could see how dangerous this situation was. The man was grabbing at her with his filthy hands, his face was close and his voice low.

House put his cane between the two causing an instant reaction from the unknown male.

‘Whatcha think you’re doing, cripple?’ The male hollered.

He attempted to push the stranger away, making sure to keep distance in case he decided to lash out, which his body language suggested.

House’s mind was sharp thinking ‘This woman has a disease that’s contagious through touch. She’s an escapee and has been on the run for the past 2 days. You’ve probably contracted it by being in close proximity.’

The man seemed to instantaneously spring backwards ‘How come you’re fine?’ his face scrunched up.

‘Inoculation, dummies don’t have access to it. Now move on, nothing to see here.’ and with that the frowzy man scurried away. The appearance of his walking aid would’ve probably been enough to strike fear in the stranger, but the spontaneous story-telling seemed to bring the alarming interaction to a close.

House moved away as well, pacing back to his car.

She hesitated before shouting after him, forgetting about nearby eavesdroppers ‘Why did you help me? I thought you said I was mad and should be locked away.’

‘Doesn’t matter, you coming or you just gonna stand there staring at my back?’ House turned back to look at her, water running down his face.

He finally got a closer look at her when they were back in the comfort of his car. She was soaked to the bone, dripping on the fabric seats. Black could be seen about her red, puffy eyes where her cake mascara had smudged. Her hair was tousled and unkept. She was quite a pitiful sight to behold.

There was an uncomfortable silence before the engine was started up. House was hesitating.

Again the music could only be heard faintly in the background, not even a single breath.

‘I’ve seen a lot. New things, that is.’ She attempted to start a conversation, hoping that after this frightful evening he would see some sense in what she had said previously that day.

He ignored her.

‘I’ve got a car at home.’ She muttered under her breath, she was speaking to herself more than him. She was partly facing away, looking out the window as the streets flew by.

He turned the radio up to drown out her rambling. He would much rather be glued to the thumping music and the overactive thoughts building in his mind. He detested the notion of making awkward conversation with a lady he did not wholly trust.

The music was blaring now, the bass rattling the plastic interior of the car.

As she listened intently, she heard a new plethora of instruments that was very unlike what she was used to. She didn’t know what to concentrate on, she couldn’t tell anything apart. Every instrument seemed to drown each other out.

Her eyes were wide from the boisterous sound but she happily sat tapping her fingers on her lap to the rhythm. She could only pick out one phrase from the lyrics;

“Who are you?’’.

Who was she? That really was the truth. The song just exaggerated that query.

House finally let a question sit in the noisy atmosphere ‘You like The Who?’.

‘Who?’ She turned to him.

‘Very funny.’ The conversation was quick, short and littered with sarcasm.

The song had a bit of a quieter section but jumped straight back into the chaos. It made her jump slightly with the suddenness of it all, consequently causing House to humph with a singular hissing laugh.

Again, there was a gap of silence and a sort of sizzling, filmy sound that rang out from the central system in the car. The bulky set of technology to her left disposed of a silver, holographic disk and she looked at it curiously.

Panicked, she asked ‘Did I break something?’.

In a quick movement, he flicked open a compartment in front of her knees ‘Pick one, and replace it.’

She tentatively did so, taking the plastic cases from the glove box and splaying them out on her lap, looking at the different images. She seemed to figure it out, it was much like the vinyls she was used to, but in a different format. She gently replaced the circular disk safely into its matching case. Opening another dark coloured case with a man and a blonde woman displayed on the front, she placed the disk where the other had originally come from. As it slid from her fingers into the machine, her eyebrows furrowed in awe.The new song flicked on after a couple seconds of whirring.

‘Top Gun? Really?’

‘I didn’t know what to pick, I’ve never seen any of these before. It's the only one I could see with the musicians on the front.’

‘They’re not the musicians, it's a film soundtrack, Marty. Maverick and Charlie? Have you not watched the movie?’ He used that odd nickname ‘Marty’ again amongst his rambling.

She sighed, looking down at her lap at the remaining disk holders. She brought one close to her face as the darkness obstructed the image. ‘You listen to King Oliver? Are you a fan of Jazz?’ she perceived his seated figure at the wheel. She was delighted that this music was still being heard. If she could relate to him with music then it might make the atmosphere more comfortable.

Irked by her continued persistence on making conversation, House stared back at her. ‘What? Are you going to tell me that you were there when they came out?’

He was still fighting conversation.

Feeling knocked back she spoke quietly again ‘I’m only curious, that’s all.’.

Her thoughts consumed her that when House had parked and was now exiting the car, she was too slow to realise. They were before an unfamiliar single-story building, he was bugging her to leave the passenger seat.

He ushered her towards the front door, both traipsing on damp gravel, water still continuing to cling to their raiments.

Hesitating, she stood by the entrance ‘Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there and freeze?’. She was already cold, she had barely had time to dry and was finding it hard to conceal her shivers.

It had been a rough looking public house, she had no longer been pleased when seeing its interior. Truthfully, she was glad to no longer be stuck on the streets but this brought no hope as to what House had in mind for her. She pined for her home, at this point it seemed ever so far out of reach. The panic was devouring her insides as she walked with him to the long stretch of bar.

She still had her bag of small belongings clasped to her side; a small pocket watch, a delicately painted case of cigarettes, a metal lighter, a compact mirror, a gold tube of lipstick and a small amount of notes and coins. It was a pure set of luck that it hadn’t been snatched out of her clutches whilst she helplessly wandered the streets.

House had already placed an order whilst she lingered a distance back from him. He’d downed a couple doubles and was waiting for his glass to be topped up.

The bartender seemed to look at her in inquiry, she felt pressured to place an order too.

‘Cognac, a little soda, please.’ Giving a small smile as she felt relieved to finally have a drink.

‘You think we do that here, sweetheart?’ The man seemed amused by her request.

She felt embarrassed, flushing a rosé shade on the cheeks ‘Just brandy then.’ She spoke as she placed a few shillings on the counter.

‘We don’t take whatever those are.’

House surely thought she was a fool at this point, he pressed his glass to his lip and gave a sharp snicker. Every aspect of her life had to be littered with old-timey things. He thought; she was quite committed to leading this lifestyle and neglecting the reality of today’s society. She proceeded to sit beside him after the interaction with the bartender, who went to tend to another customer. Demoralised, she let out a shaky sigh, elbows on the bar and right hand over her eyes. She felt like crying, but was certain that the doctor would degrade her for it.

‘So what’s your real name then?’ House questioned after a lengthy couple of minutes, again grabbing the attention of the bartender to fill up his glass.

In a huff she pulled out a little red cloth-bound book from her purse and pushed it in front of him. ‘That’s my driving licence, have a look at it yourself.’ He opened it in a blasé manner, finding the same name she’d given when they met, written in neat looped writing. Alongside her name were the start and expiry dates for her driving permit that conveniently matched up with her story.

‘That’s all I've got in terms of identification. That’s it, that is my name. If you can’t believe me after this then I don’t know what will convince you.’

He continued to study it ‘This is a good forgery, looks authentic.’.

She didn’t know why she hung around, but she felt that he might be her only chance when it came to getting home. She opened her cigarette case, placing one at her lip, flicking open her lighter and taking a deep exhale.

‘Better put that out before you get caught.’ He said in a snarky voice with a face to match when she chose to ignore him.

With that final comment she left her seat marching outside, gasper still between her fingers. House trailed behind her to the overhead roof outside where she continued to take drags. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, not again, he was far from finishing his investigation.

Snapping she snarled ‘What is it? What is it that you want? You’re following me yet you refuse to help me. You don’t even believe me, not even my name! I’m beyond it all, I just- I just - want to get back home, yet you ridicule and tease me to no end! What is it ‘Dr’ House? What do you want me to say? That I’m faking all of this, then fine have it your way, I am. Are you finally satisfied?!.

There was a second of silent acrimony before she finally stated; ‘I’m going back to the hospital’. She stubbed the cigarette butt beneath her heel, beginning to move.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights blinked at them. They both stood still like a pair of stunned deer in the beam. ‘House!’ came a shout.

House squinted and called back ‘Can’t you see I’m with a babe?’.

She was too stunned to react to his crude joke.

‘She looks wet, House.’ The voice came closer, it sounded sympathetic.

‘I’m sure she is, from the sight of me.’

Gritting her teeth she sneered ‘For goodness sake!’ Crossing her arms for warmth and setting foot back into the intense rain, she began to trudge through the drenched car park. She stood by what she said, she was going to find her way back.

She walked as far as the side of the car who’s headlights had previously blinded them.

‘She looks distressed, Are you going to stop her? You can’t let her go back in the rain, the hospital is miles from here.’ The man came into view, appearing to her right. She flinched backwards as he tried to rest an assuring hand on her arm. His face was scrunched and his eyes were squinting from battling the downpour.

‘Just hold on a second, I’ll take you there- House- Jesus Christ, we need to get out of this rain-’ This new man managed to convince her to step back under cover, she still kept her distance from the both of them, arms defensively crossed over her chest.

‘I was trying to find you, and I found you at a bar? You need to take this seriously, your patient went into cardiac arrest, we were trying to get a hold of you but you weren’t answering your phone.’

Looking unbothered, House shot back ‘Is he stable?’

‘Yes but-’

‘Well it's fine then, let me get on with my night.’

You could hear a very heavy sigh from the other man as he pinched the bridge of his nose, ready to speak again.

She finally let her quiet fury go ‘You let this man deal with patients? He couldn’t be the slightest bit interested in a man that is actively dying. He can’t honestly be a doctor, he's such an ass!’

‘Hey! That's not very nice to say to your prince charming!’ his eyes flew wide, pulling a mock frown, his words were a little slurred.

‘Well, I’m not wrong, you’re being a complete and utter cad!’

House gasped, looking defensively at the other man shrugging his shoulders ‘I don’t know what she's on about Wilson.’.

That was his name, Wilson. Was that a first or last name? She was yet to know.

‘Can we stop fighting like children? You, House, are going home and you’re going to take the case-file with you. Get in the car.’ Wilson paused to look at the lady, taking in her peculiar outfit. He didn’t know whether it would be dubious to ask her the same, especially with how distraught her manner appeared.

‘Whaaat? Are you calling off my playdate?!’ House whined. ‘I can drive myself, you know.’ He added in a flat tone.

‘The man behind the bar has his keys, I saw him take them earlier.’ She muttered in earshot of the man named ‘Wilson’.

There was a stern ‘In!’ from Wilson before House gave in; ‘Fine fine, Jesus, you really know how to be a stick in my ass!’

She remained hesitant as this gentleman, Wilson, opened the back door for her, ushering her in. She really had no other choice at this point, afterall, she had nowhere else to go.

Wilson turned back to look at her when he had finally seated himself in front of the wheel. ‘What do you need to go back to the hospital for? The clinic closed two hours ago...’.

‘Don’t worry about it, any hotel will do, I’ll go in the morning.’ She spoke softly in defeat.

House let slip ‘Don’t know how you’ll do that with no money.’.

A gasp could be heard ‘House! I-I can’t believe you! Were you planning to spend an evening with her and then just dump her?!’ Wilson shouted in a whisper, which was partly inaudible to the lady in the back. ‘You can’t do that! You’ll have to let her atleast crash on your couch until tomorrow.’

‘Why can’t you?’ He mumbled back.

‘Because I’m living out of a hotel at the moment, you know it's not possible.’ His voice went lower ‘You got yourself into this, not me!’

House heaved out a sigh, he was too inebriated to protest.

The drive was prolonged by the squabbling going on up front. She let her ears tune out, concentrating on different landmarks passing by her window. She recognized a few from when she had been roaming earlier that day; The laundromat where a woman stopped her for a chat, commenting on how her voice sounded funny and there was the barbers where she had been catcalled whilst trying to ask about the area.These were only a handful of places that were recognizable. She set about situating them on a map in her mind. She had to know her way around before it was too late, knowing that it would become a survival tool when House inevitably left her on her own.

Her eyes were terribly heavy as she peered out of the rain soaked window, her elbow resting on the seal, her chin propped on her hand. She could see her likeness reflected in the pane, it looked pale and exhausted. Although she felt miserable, It was also surprising how comforting this stranger's car was. She should’ve felt on edge not knowing where she was going, but the warmth and humming chatter seemed to lull her into a peaceful state of mind and eventually a light slumber.

The door was pulled abruptly open, causing her to tumble sideways. ‘You getting out or what?’. She sleepily trailed behind House up a couple of steps towards a green front door. His keys turnt in the lock, this must’ve been where he lived.

She was greeted by an array of objects, all messily placed around the entirety of the apartment. There were dark bookshelves filled with all sorts of oddities, some of which were recognisable like lozenge bottles, anatomical figurines and the odd syringe that she would see used in her hospitals at home. They were being used like decorational items, which she found quite curious.

Amongst it all was a grand piano, one possibly made from a rich wood, it was the only surface completely clear.

House limped through the apartment leaving her standing stunned in the entryway, Wilson was behind her, moving to her left to follow the doctor. She’d only seen him in low light, now realising how much more smartly clad he was in comparison to House. He looked and acted more like a man bearing the title of ‘doctor’. He seemed genuinely kind, but after House’s reaction, she didn’t want anyone else caught up in the mess she had gotten herself into. They were still having their previous conversation, she could hear their muffled voices from the other room.

Her heels clicked faintly on the hardwood floor, following the two into what looked like a kitchen. House was propped against a cabinet with a vile of tablets clutched in his hand. He tipped a couple into his palm, tipping his head back to swallow them. He glanced to his side, his steel blue eyes fixing on her figure awkwardly standing just outside the kitchen.

‘I’m going to get her a towel or something, at least offer her a glass of water instead of staring at her.’ Wilson was prodding House to accommodate his guest. Wilson promptly made his way out of the kitchen space, making sure to keep his distance and disappearing down a corridor, leaving them both alone.

House appeared disapproving as he continued to study her, lips curling inwards in thought.

She looked down at her shoes and spoke at the floor to avoid eye contact ‘I apologise, I didn't get the chance to thank you…’. She spoke softly and with gentle words only to hear a sniff and a heavy swallow in reply.

‘I wasn't being very kind considering you did help me.’ She added.

Pushing past her, in a way that didn’t cause physical contact he announced ‘I'm going to bed, Wilson will show you where everything is. You’re sleeping on the couch-’

He turned on his heel slightly, looking over his shoulder, which caught her attention; ‘Unless you want to join me for some sweet, passionate sex.’ He teased. He couldn't help himself, she thought, he had to pull some rudimentary rubbish to cover his arse whenever she tried to be polite.

Showing a slight grimace, she watched his back as he staggered away. She shifted her weight behind her on the kitchen’s doorway, head positioned upwards regarding the textured plaster on the ceiling.

There were a couple subdued footsteps before she noticed Doctor Wilson beside her, holding out a rather plush looking towel.

With a soft ‘thank you’ and a nod, she wrapped it about her person.

‘I’ve run you a bath as well. House stopped me in the hallway and asked if I could. The bathroom is just down that hallway.’ Pointing his thumb over his shoulder he noted the direction she should take. ‘If that’s everything, I best be getting back. It's getting late.’

Just before he left she spoke up, clearing her throat quietly, ‘Oh uh, thank you for everything-’ was all she could stutter.

With a prompt nod and a thoughtful smile he slipped through the front door, shutting it firmly behind him.

It was deathly silent as she slipped through the passageway to the bathroom. She was still studying her surroundings, taking in all of the little nic-nacs, when she stopped by a shelf just outside the bathroom. Huddled amongst the books was a sweet, well-loved teddy. He was only a tiny thing, just bigger than hand. His fur was thoroughly worn, showing darker spots where the threads were visible. His nose was hand stitched and his eyes glimmered in the low light. She turned him over gently in her hands, finding his maker’s mark. He was a Steiff bear, absolutely identical to her own. Hugging him closely to her chest, she felt a wave of comfort fall over her. A kind of comfort that hurts so terribly.

She let a silent tear slide down her cheek, thinking desperately of home. Her dear companion was where she left it, settled amongst her bedsheets battling the biting cold of her bedroom. He would never know where she had gone.

The feeling further gnawed at her heart, her chest burnt with grief. She thought of family, how she’d left them behind, without uttering a goodbye. She thought of her friends and her dogs and finally her fiancé. She let her head tilt slightly back, her flushed lips parted, trying to stop the tears from dripping onto the floor, but they only bled down her neck, stinging as they made their path. Looking back at the bear, she pulled him back from her person, giving him a light kiss on his woolly cheek. Tenderly, she seated him back on the shelf and continued on her path.

She was finally amongst the cold tile of the bathroom. Quietly locking the door behind her, she began to undress, hooking her garments over the showerail above the tub. They might’ve had a chance of drying there.

She sat on the stool in the corner to unclip her stockings. There, she caught sight of a scrape on her knee where she had taken a fall earlier that day. The adrenaline had been overpowering the pain, only now realising how the crimson blood had seeped into the rayon. Peeling the fabric off the wound she set about washing away some of the blood in the sink, hoping that she could salvage the tattered hosiery. She left them to dry like the rest of her clothing and undergarments.

She felt it was only right to leave on her few pieces of jewellery, knowing her tired state, she would likely misplace them otherwise.

Placing a foot into the sudsy water, the pleasant water enveloped her numb limbs. She led down fully, letting the warmth rush over her, finally ridding herself of the dreadful frigidity that had lingered upon her skin. Allowing her eyes to close, she let out a contented sigh. This small pause, where her body was finally in a relaxed state, brought on small waves of dread. Much like the bath water sloshing about in the porcelain, the top of her stomach was sweeping like waves, twisting and pulling in agony.

She hunched over, pulling her knees up to her chest as a form of comfort. Her breath grew heavy, the sense of foreboding setting in. Burying her face into the hard bones of her knees, she struggled against her chest wracking with affliction. The pure anguish of the situation hit her, far worse than it had in the hallway. She desperately clung onto her breath not wanting to make a sound, tears smothering the entirety of her face. Her arms were firmly wrapped about her head, her nails digging into the tops of her arms, clinging onto any part of reality that wasn’t being deadened by her continuous fear.

She suffered a disjointed sob, drawing a further deep breath through her teeth. Her body shook with the deeply embedded desolation.

She hadn’t noticed the figure stood to her right as she continued to sink further into her melancholy, her form violently trembling with mournful weeps.

There was a masculine, pitiful exhale that filled the claustrophobic space.

From the sound, she let one bloodshot eye take a peak above her arms, perceiving a blurry staunch figure who was instantly recognisable.

Embarrassment entangled her as she realised how she might’ve appeared. Her voice sounded broken as she whispered a quick apology, drawing her limbs closer to her torso.

He continued with what he was doing, flipping open the mirrored cabinet above the sink.

All she could do was turn her head in the opposite direction to hide her obvious flushed face and tear stained cheeks. She heard his rusting around but was too humiliated to look.

Hearing his footsteps echoing away and the door closing once again, she turned to take a peek. There was a thin blue and white dressing gown led over the edge of the bath, it hadn’t been there before. She took that as a sign to leave the tepid soak, finishing up in the bath, placing on her chemise and French knickers that were mostly dry. It would have to suffice for the night. She assumed this dressing gown was left for her, delicately placing it upon her person and tying it tight.

She padded down the hallway, taking quick,quiet steps to the living room. Anticipating his presence in the sitting room, she felt she would have to turn back and lock herself in the bathroom for the rest of the night. She couldn’t face him again, she felt completely mortified after he’d seen her in that state.

Perching on the chesterfield, making herself somewhat comfortable, she peered down at the coffee table in front of her, her eyes landed on the patient case file that the other doctor had left. Curiosity overtook her, she took a cautionate glance at the space before flipping open the blue folder to take a peak. She had wondered what the two were discussing earlier.

Her breath caught after taking in the symptoms. It was the usual symptoms of something like influenza, high temperature, fever, sore throat, difficulty breathing and swollen glands in the neck. It was sounding a lot like what her uncle had caught, but how could they not see it was a kind of flu? Was there something else they were missing? There were updated notes too, scrawled in the typical hard-read writing of a doctor.

It was affecting his heart.

‘What have I told you about patient confidentiality?’

‘It's just some.. Reading..’ Was all she could stutter, she was quite lost for words after jumping out of her skin at his abrupt emergence.

His eyebrows seemed to quirk in amusement ‘Can you not see the amount of books on the shelves around you?’

‘Yes I know, but, Dr Wilson was urging you to read this and you still wouldn’t. I thought I might have a look to see what you were avoiding. Well, I can see why...’

‘It's not the flu.’ House stated bluntly.

She sighed at his forthrightness, she was quite familiar with it now. ‘I was just…Starting to see the similarity it had to a relative’s death..’ She couldn't stand looking him in the eyes after her confession, she felt he might just laugh in her face.

His questions were quick and direct yet her willingness to answer was becoming restrained ‘What did they die from?’.

‘Distemper- no, uh? I can’t remember - I don’t like to think about it.’ Her eyes were visibly glazed, her eyes squinting when racking her brain for the given name of the illness.

He pushed further ‘You can’t remember any symptoms?’

Swallowing gravely, she continued ‘Well, they found a grey coating in their throat after they died. The doctor was too late to see it before. Their um.. Heart was weak from birth, so we barely saw symptoms before they passed. But it-it was like your patient…The um, cough and fever..’

His eyes seemed to focus on a point in front of him, his pupils constricting. His mind was whirring, connecting dots.

‘A Pseudomembrane. So it was bacteria?’

She looked clueless, wanting to shake her head in apprehensive confusion. He went on to pull a small rectangular silver case from his pocket, snapping it open and tapping a couple buttons on it, eventually holding it to his ear.

‘Corynebacterium diphtheriae. Have you checked inside the patient's nose? I think you'll find we're dealing with bacterial disease instead of a virus.’

There was a pause before he interrupted the murmur coming from the other end ‘-then dose him up on antibiotics and monitor his heart damage. Yes, I know you’ve found it’s myocarditis, so put him on anti-inflammatories and any other pain killers he’ll whine for. He’ll survive.’ Flipping the silver item, supposedly a phone, closed after rambling to the person on the other end, he examined the lady before him. Other than the slight scrunch about his eyes, his visage appeared completely blank.

Gasping as if he were to speak, he held his tongue to look upon her, further studying her face. He sat on the other end of the settee, lowering himself down slowly, holding his leg as he did so. Making himself comfortable, he placed his cane upon the table in front of them.

‘Who was this relative then?’ His words seemed to strike a nerve. She seemed to render a sorrowful glint in her eyes. ‘Who was it?’ He pressed.

‘My brother, the oldest.’

‘You have a brother?’ It wasn’t like he already knew, after reading up on her all day, he just wanted to hear it from her. He cruelly wanted to see if she had rehearsed the entirety of the historical documents he had found on the web, pitilessly trying to trip her up.

She only nodded, she was hesitant to give away any more information on her personal life, but she still stated that she once had four male siblings.

‘I’m sorry.’ Stating it unremorsefully, he still exhibited an unreadable blank expression.

He didn’t remain seated for long, making his way back to the kitchen in his usual slow walk. He returned, after a bit of rusting in the other room, carrying glasses and a bottle of unidentifiable amber alcohol. Pouring about an inches worth into both glasses, he passed one over to the accompanying female who took a reserved sip, brushing her tongue along her lip to identify the taste.

Reaching into her chestnut coloured handbag, she pulled out her ornate cigarette case, opening it to offer one to House who was sprawled out on the sofa.

‘I don’t smoke.’

Pulling an inquisitive grin she spoke ‘If you don’t, then why have an ashtray?’.

‘Decoration?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She chuckled lightly at his comment. He did indeed take a straight, placing it at his lip as she sparked the metal lighter beneath it.

Doing the same for herself, the room became slightly hazy with the wispy smoke.

He appeared content with the taste ‘What are these then?’

‘Fribourg & Treyer, I have them when I'm in London.’ She gave a frolicsome smile ‘I’m not actually allowed to smoke, my father prohibits it.’

He made a humming sound, prompting her to continue. His interest was getting the better of him.

‘He’s a little old-fashioned, doesn’t believe women should smoke, he believes I’m starting to resemble the scandalous city girls. Not very fair considering my brother’s are happily welcomed to, and in his company. I mean one smokes a pipe, one does snuff for Heaven’s sake!’ Lamenting on the disparity of it all, she still displayed an impish grin.

His lips seemed to curl into a sort of smile as she spoke candidly.

‘What happened to your knee?’ He kept firing questions, one after the other.

She glanced down, finding the dressing gown was revealing the skin just above her knees. Readjusting the fabric she formed a response; ‘It's just a scrape, there’s nothing special about it. Anyway, are you ever going to stop interrogating me? I mean, you haven’t given me the chance to ask my own questions yet.’

‘Looks like you’ve been running, it’s elongated.’

She paused to flick her head away, looking back at him quickly again in discomfort, sharply stubbing out her cigarette.

‘Yes.. But that doesn’t matter.’

Regardless, he persisted ‘Who were you running from?’

‘I was just scared, alright?’ She exclaimed, nervously holding an odd smile.

It was deathly silent between them. The cars on the street outside echoed noisily throughout the front room.

‘Go on then, what were you going to ask me? No doubt it's going to be about my leg.’

She shook her head ‘That’s not for me to ask. I wanted to know what made you want to become a doctor?’.

‘I was greatly and passionately inspired by Patch Adams.’ He sounded dreamy, but she unperceived the underlying sarcasm.

‘I’ve never heard of them before? Did you know them?’

Bursting with an obnoxious laugh, he looked upon her as she rolled her eyes. There was no point trying to get any information out of him, House always found ways to deflect.

Leaning forward he forced himself to stand, hastily swallowing the rest of his nightcap, he began to stagger towards his bedroom. He gave one last comment before departing for good;

‘I know what you did.’ It was ominous. His back was still facing her.

‘I didn’t think you would have it in you to steal.’

-----

I hope you are enjoying it so far! This is going to end up being chock-full of metaphors XD

'Who Are You' - The Who 1978

-----

Tag list:

@indestructeible @suziek415

-----

~ I really have enjoyed my stay, but I must be moving on ~

#house #house md #housemd #drhouse #dr house #greg house #greg house x reader #gregoryhousexreader #housexreader #house md x reader #house x reader #1920s #1920s fanfic #historical fanfiction #dr house x reader #x reader #reader insert

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sweetprfct · 7 months

Text

Clandestine Meetings

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: How big is your empathy for someone you love? When do you know when enough is enough?

Author's Note: This hurts soo... good luck! Inspired by Illicit Affairs and You're Losing Me by Taylor.

Wordcount: 3.2K

The rain poured heavily down the city of San Francisco as you fluttered your eyes open and watched every raindrop slide down the glass window in front of you. The city lights burned brightly outside with the sound of the rain pitter pattering.

One year.

One year since you have been doing this. You knew damn well that this was illicit. You both have talked about this. You knew damn well that this was something that everyone would disagree on because you were nothing but just a normal girl from San Francisco. You weren’t known for anything else. You weren’t special, but he chose you. He chose to be with you.

You two had met one year ago at a bar when you had gotten yourself a bit too drunk after a long day at work, and he had come and talked to you. At that time, he was also in town to film a movie. For some reason, you had caught his attention. Ever since then, you two had been seeing each other. You would facetime each other when he was back in London. He would secretly visit you in San Francisco whenever he had time. It worked. It worked really well. Though, no one else knew about it. Not even your friends nor anyone close to you. It was just the two of you. You both agreed to keep this a secret because he didn’t want everyone else dipping their opinions on the relationship nor wanted his team to ask several questions because then, they’d start having ideas of how this could be publicized, and he didn’t want that.

You understood his decision. You supported his decision because you thought no matter what, you were important to him. That he cared for you and the reason why it was kept a secret was because he didn’t want to hurt you nor disturb your life in so many awful ways by the public. So, you agreed. But how far would you go? How do you know if enough is enough?

“Hey.” He whispered softly, planting a soft kiss on your bare shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your torso, pulling you close to him as he buried his face on the back of your neck, smelling your flowery scent.

“Joe.” You murmured. “I have to go.”

He hummed softly, his arm tightening around you. “Hm… no. Please stay.”

You couldn’t help but smile and slowly turned yourself around to face him. Your index finger poking the tip of his nose softly.

“You know I have to. We don’t want to get caught by Alex tomorrow morning, remember?”

Alex was Joe’s manager, and he was coming to stop by Joe’s hotel room tomorrow morning to drop off some paperwork for him and talk about his next schedule after the movie. Usually, you would sneak out of the hotel room early in the morning but not this time. You didn’t want Alex to catch you just in case he’s coming in early.

“Few more minutes.” Joe whispered, pulling you close to him as you buried your face on his neck.

You could never get tired of his minty fresh scent, and you had spent so much time with him that sometimes, your clothes were starting to smell like him or his scent would still linger on you when you arrived home.

“You know you’d miss me when I go back to London.” Joe said, his fingers gently brushing your hair, and it made you feel safe and warm in his arms.

“You don’t have to go, you know.” You replied.

You had told him that about a thousand times, but Joe loved his hometown, and he couldn’t just leave London just like that. You tried understanding that too because you knew it was hard for him to change his whole life and move to a different country with unfamiliar cultures that he wasn’t so used to.

Joe didn’t say anything as he set his index finger on your chin, lifting your face up, looking into your eyes before giving you a small smile. His lips touched yours softly as you kissed him back. You didn’t know what it was when it came to him, but you tend to get lost in his touch and every kiss that he gave to you made you want to just melt yourself in his arms completely.

“It’s raining, darling.” Joe made an excuse when you pulled away and swung your legs over the bed, letting your feet touch the cold wooden floors.

“You’re mental if you think I’m going to let you go out there in the rain.”

“Joe, I’m fine. I’m used to this weather.” You stated, slipping on your clothes.

“I know.” Joe followed right behind you, slipping on his boxers before sliding his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind and planting repeated soft kisses on your cheek.

“Joe!” You laughed as he continued to give you kisses all over your cheek and down your jawline and into your neck. “You always make it so hard for me to leave!”

“That’s the point, innit?” He laughed, letting go of you as you turned to face him, setting your arms around his neck.

“I’ll come back tomorrow night, I promise.” You grinned, leaning in to give him a chaste kiss.

“Alright, alright.” Joe sighed. “I’ll let you go if… you give me one more kiss.”

You laughed, poking both of his cheeks with your index fingers before sliding your fingers through his curly brown hair. You stared into his eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss him deeply. Joe smiled through the kiss as he picked you up from the floor and twirled you around the air, letting out a squeal from you.

Hood up and face down was what you told yourself as soon as you walked out of the hotel building later that night. Umbrella up as soon as you walked out under the rain and down the hilly streets of San Francisco. Your apartment building wasn’t too far to walk to, so you decided not to take the bus. As soon as you entered your apartment building, you shook off the rain droplets from your umbrella and coat and headed up to your place.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath as soon as you heard your phone rang and saw your co-worker’s caller ID. You hesitated for a moment before answering the phone call.

“Hey!” You answered with a cheerful voice.

“Where are you? I thought you’re coming.”

You gently slapped your forehead with your palm and scrunched up your face, trying to figure out an excuse as to why you have missed hanging out with them for the fourth time already.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. Something came up and my sister needed help moving some stuff in her place. You know how she just moved in.”

You were the worst liar ever because you have made the sister excuse for the third time already.

“Well, we really missed you. We haven’t seen you in a while, especially when you started working from home.” Your co-worker replied.

“I know. I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you all next time.”

And just like that, they believed that excuse again, but you doubt they actually believed it because you had told them the same excuse over and over again.

You know you wouldn’t.

Entering your place, you freshened up and immediately slipped yourself under the comforts of your own bed. The thought of Joe had appeared in your mind as you stared into the ceiling. You knew that your situation was hard, but you had fallen hard for him. He had made you the happiest in a long time, and you would do anything just to be with him. If that meant by enduring the hidden clandestine meetings in his hotel room or his little midnight visits in your apartment, you’d do it. You’d do anything because you were deep in this already, and you knew he wanted you too.

But the question kept repeating in your mind. How far would you go for him? How far until enough is enough?

The next morning, you had received a message from Joe saying that he couldn’t see you because he was running a little late from filming and so, you understood the situation again. The day after that, he had some kind of convention to attend, so there was no show of him in your place again. You understood the situation again. Then, news broke out about him dating a certain Hollywood starlet and that pulled your heartstrings a little too hard that you had found yourself up in his hotel room, waiting for him to finish his night filming. You waited for him until 2am until he arrived in his room, stunned to find you in his bed.

“Hey.” Joe furrowed his brows. “What are you doing here?”

“Is this true?” You held up your phone with the article on the screen.

“Baby.” Joe started.

“No, don’t call me baby.” You argued. “Just answer my question.”

“No, of course not!” He replied, walking towards you and sat at the edge of the bed across from you. He held your hands, his eyes staring right into yours. “You know how I feel about you. This is all just some kind of PR that Alex decided on.”

You looked into his eyes, trying to find the truth in them. You believed him. You really did. You saw it in his eyes that he was telling the truth and that made you relax a bit as you exhaled a sharp breath.

“I love you.” Joe said sternly.

Those three little words took you aback because it was the first time that he had said those words to you. You knew right then and there that he was telling you the truth.

“Y…You do?”

“Yes.” Joe smiled. “I love you. I love you so much that I can’t even explain how you make me feel whenever you’re here with me.”

“I love you too.” You smiled as he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers tangling in your hair as you smiled through the kiss and gently pushed him down on the bed, towering over him.

You pushed his hips down as you continued to kiss him, while he tugged on your hair a little bit, letting you escape a soft moan from your lips. He quickly turned you around so you were laying under him as he towered over you this time, letting his lips touch and burn every inch of your soft butterfly skin. Your head spun just like the way it always did whenever he kissed you. Your body shook just like the way he always made you feel whenever you felt himself inside of you. Your hazy eyes stared into his as he paused for a moment and gave you a smile. You were so in love with him and god, look how much of a mess he had made of you, but you didn’t care. For him, you’d do anything.

Burying your face on his chest that night, both of you still breathless and panting from the way you two had touched each other, you didn’t even realize that the next few weeks were going to be hell for you.

One year.

One year of understanding. One year and you both had fallen for each other deep but how come in that heavenly year, you didn’t expect that hell was coming? Because for the next two weeks, you didn’t see Joe. Although, you have seen him in articles with her. He had told you that this was only for publicity, but you were starting to feel different about it. You weren’t comfortable, but you understood because he loves you and this was only part of his job. But how big was your patience? How big was your empathy because the more he was busier, the more you were seeing him less, it was starting to tug on your heartstrings a bit too hard. A bit too painful.

It pulled your heartstrings when you arrived in the hotel lobby one night and an unfamiliar voice called your name. You turned around and saw Alex waiting for you in the lobby.

Uh oh. He knows.

“I knew it.” Alex scoffed, walking towards you.

You pulled your hood down and stood there frozen. You weren’t too sure what to say or do exactly. You and Joe didn’t talk about this.

“So, you’re the reason why Joe would disappear from our sight all of a sudden or when he tells us he’d be at the bar down the street when he was really with you.” Alex stated.

He looked furious, and you swallowed every bit of fear that was running inside of you right now. You weren’t too sure what to do in this situation, and you didn’t want to fuck it up by saying something that you might regret later.

“Alex.” You heard the elevator doors open and saw Joe walk out of it. “What are you doing?”

“We already know about her, Joe. Don’t try to cover it up.” Alex retorted back.

Do something. Say something, Joe.

“Alex, what are you talking about?” Joe furrowed his brows.

Lose something, risk something.

“We’re just friends.” Joe stated.

That stung.

You didn’t say one word because you didn’t want to get in the conversation that wasn’t meant for you to be in it, but those words stung. One year of this relationship, and Joe was weak. He couldn’t even defend you in front of his manager. How would he defend you if one day, you were caught in public together? How far and how long were you two going to be like this? Will Joe ever one day risk something just for you? He said he loved you, but did he really? You watched as Joe explained to Alex that you two met at a bar, and you have been there for him whenever he needed a friend, and you didn’t want to stand there anymore. You didn’t want to listen anymore because every word he said shattered every piece of you, and you weren’t too sure if you were able to piece yourself back together again after this.

As soon as Alex had believed him, Joe took you upstairs. You didn’t say one word to him in the elevator nor when you two walked down the hall. Your mind, however, was running a thousand thoughts. Your heart was beating so fast, and you just wanted to scream. Your face was starting to go gray, and you felt like you were going to throw up. The air between you two was thick, and you knew damn well how much it changed the moment he said those words. When you entered his room, your heart had stopped beating for him. He was slowly losing you. You were slowly fading from him, and Joe didn’t even realize it, didn’t he?

“Hey, I’m so sorry about that.” Joe took your hands in his, but you were numb. You weren’t there anymore.

Stop.

“Are you alright?” Joe asked, tilting his head at you. “I’m sorry I had to say that. You know how complicated it is.”

Stop.

He was losing you.

Stop.

You couldn’t find a pulse. Your heart had stopped beating.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You vomited the words.

Joe stood frozen in front of you, and you could see the hurt in his eyes. Joe loves you, but he didn’t love you enough for him to learn how to fight for you.

“I… I don’t understand.” Joe murmured.

“How long, Joe?” Your eyes welled up with tears. “How long are we going to be like this? Until there’s nothing left in me anymore?”

“What?” Joe was confused. “No, of course not.”

“I gave you everything. I gave you myself, my patience and every bit of empathy that I have. I gave everything to you.” You argued, tears rolling down your cheeks now. “Even when it gets hard sometimes. I understood you because you said you love me.”

“I love you. I mean that. Things are just complicated right now, and I never want to hurt you like this.” Joe explained, taking one step closer to you.

But every step forward he took, you took a step back. Every word he said, you felt yourself and your soul faded with it. You have been trying to stay strong about this. You have been trying to be so patient, but for how long?

“Then choose something!” You exclaimed, “Risk something for me for once!”

Silence.

You shook your head. You knew what that silence meant.

“I got nothing, Joe.” You murmured, wiping your tears away. “I can’t believe your words unless you also show it to me.”

You stood there and watched him sit at the edge of the bed. His head hung low, and he was shaking his head. No words slipped out of his lips and that made it even more painful because even with just the two of you, he couldn’t even fight for you. He couldn’t even lose something for you. He couldn’t choose you.

“Goodbye, Joe.” You shook your head and turned to walk out the door.

“Wait!” Joe immediately got up from the bed and stopped you.

He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you from behind so tight that he didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

“I’m sorry, please.” Joe murmured. “Please don’t go. Don’t give up on me just yet.”

You could feel his tears on your skin, but you already had faded away.

“Then choose something, Joe!” You cried out, pulling his arms away from you.

You knew damn well that this was going to break you, but you still risked it. But how far is enough? How long were you going to be an idiotic mess for him?

“I love you so much.” Joe turned you around to face him, cupping your face and wiping the tears that won’t stop rolling down your cheeks.

“How can you say that when I’m slowly dying over here?”

Joe shook his head, “You’re not. You’re not going to because I will risk everything or lose everything. Just not you, please.”

You stared into his chocolate button eyes. You saw the truth in his eyes. One year together, and you knew you could always see the genuine truth through his eyes, so you believed him.

“I will talk to Alex first thing in the morning. I will tell him everything.” He caressed your cheek softly with his thumb. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how much shit you have endured because of me. Most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner until you were slowly losing from me.”

You nodded your head, sniffing as you wrapped your arms around his neck and embraced him in a tight hug. “Thank you.” You whispered.

“I’ll lose everything before I could lose you.” He whispered, pulling away.

He kissed you softly and showed every bit of his love into that kiss, making sure that you knew how much he meant to you. Joe made sure that he showed every bit of his love for you in that kiss, and you knew. You knew he meant what he said.

And he knew that for him, you had ruined yourself a million little times, and he would never let you do that ever again.

The End.

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joseph Quinn rpf #Joe Quinn rpf #Joseph Quinn Fanfics #Joe Quinn Fanfics #clandestine meetings #one shot #sweetprfct

96 notes · View notes

shadowdaddies · 7 months

Text

Open Books

Nesta x Reader modern AU

A/N: just a little drabble about meeting Nesta in modern London, where you own a bookshop, on rainy day

warnings: none

A sigh left your lips, frustrated air leaving your lungs as you looked out the window - or tried to - at the rainy London streets. Heavy droplets of water pounded against the windows of your cozy bookstore, nearly drowning out the peaceful music from the record player in the corner.

Sliding a stack of books from the counter, you scooped them in your arms, humming quietly as you maneuvered through stacks of books, towards the back of the store. Searching the shelves, you carefully set up the display of romance books, laughing softly at the cheesy title when you heard the shop door’s bell ring.

Muffled curses sounded from the entry as you moved swiftly to greet whatever customer had braved the storm to come inside. Your breath caught in your throat seeing the striking woman at the door, her golden brown hair in braids as she shivered from the cold and gloomy weather.

Stormy blue eyes that matched the squall outside locked with yours, a slight smirk crossing her lips as she closed her umbrella, rising to her full height to reveal a tall, toned figure.

“Welcome in,” you greeted. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

A wry chuckle left her full lips, drawing you to stare at the smile that spread there as the woman spoke. “Sorry, I just popped in because of the rain. I teach self-defense down the road, but couldn’t even make it to the tube station with it beating down out there.”

She scanned the room, seemingly pleased with the dark, wooden walls and warm lighting as she looked at you once more. A light blush crossed her features, adding a youthful appearance as she flashed a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at the romance section while I’m here, though.”

You bit your lip to hold in the slight laugh that threatened to escape, a warmth flushing over your own cheeks as you motioned her towards the back where you’d been arranging the romance novels.

“We have this new Sellyn Drake, if that’s what you are interested in,” you murmured, voice fading on the last part as you knew how smutty those books could get. To your surprise, she nodded, braids loosening as she eagerly reached for the book on display, flipping it over as she scanned the back cover.

“I love this author,” she murmured, gaze focused on the writing as she grinned impishly. Those startling blue eyes flashed to yours as the smile spread. “Do you like her books?” she questioned, the breath stilling in your lungs at the sight of her. Her smirk turned knowing, feline amusement dancing across her sharp features as the woman watched you.

Clearing your throat, you felt the flush deepen across your cheeks, eyes flitting between her and the display. “I haven’t read much by her, to be honest,” you admitted, but the growing ache in your core as the beautiful stranger stared at you told you that you should.

She hummed, tapping a finger thoughtfully against full lips as her long lashes flicked down, and then up to you. “Well, I will take this book,” she whispered, voice hardly above the music and patter of rain as she held the book for you to take.

You held back a gasp as her fingers brushed yours, heart pounding as you silently took the book and led her towards the register. You looked towards the windows - seeing the storm clear into a light drizzle - finding yourself sad to see her go.

“This one is on me,” you nodded, urging the woman to put her card back into her wallet. She grinned gratefully at you, her own smile faltering slightly as she noticed the clear skies.

“Thank you,” she muttered, looking at your name tag before adding your name - your toes curling at how it sounded from her lips. She dug into her bag, pulling out a card that she handed to you.

“I’ll make you a deal. You read the Sellyn Drake novel, and I’ll give you a free private class.” Your breath caught as her silvery gaze tracked you up and down.

You held the card tight in your hand, as though it might disappear should you let go. “Thank you,” you glanced down at the paper, “Nesta.”

With that, Nesta gave you a wink, striding out the door into the rain, leaving you desperate to see her again.

66 notes · View notes

the-little-ewok · 1 year

Text

Tempest

Marc Spector x G/N Reader (small suggestion of Steven Grant X G/N Reader)

Rating : M (for mild spice)

Wordcount : 1400 (ish)

Warnings : Nightmares, lil bit angsty, fluffy, tiny bit of spice towards the end.

Prompt / Summary Lips barely touching, Kissing to shut them up , Kissing each other breathless / The rain always gives Marc nightmares. But luckily he has you to sit up with him.

A/N : To the anon who sent me the prompt, I hope you like it!

The rain always makes Marc's nightmares worse, so it comes as no surprise when he starts to stir in his sleep.

At first, he just tosses his head, then it's followed by mumbles and moans, before he thrashes, yelling names he refuses to talk about.

You wish you could stop it, you wish you could find a way to help him through, but you've found the best way to help him is just to be there for him when he wakes. Waking him up always seemed to shock him more, so all you can do is wait it out.

Thankfully, you tend to be awake before he startles you out of sleep, your subconscious now tuned into the slightest patter of rain against the window panes.

So when he bolts upright, eyes wide, sweat shining on his skin, you've already been awake for a while.

"Breathe Marc, it's okay, you're at home, in London." You press a hand against his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart under your fingers, as he takes shuddering breaths.

For a moment he looks at you as though he has no idea who you are, where he is, or what's happened. Before he finally blinks and your Marc stares at you, wide eyed.

"It's okay, it's okay," you repeat softly. "Just take a couple of deep breaths."

He does as you ask, taking a few slow, deep breaths as he gathers his thoughts. You sit quietly with him, giving him as much time as he needs, your hand resting lightly against his chest, silent and patient.

You don't tell him it's just a nightmare, because you honestly arn't sure that's all it is anymore.

"Sorry. Fuck, sorry," he grits out eventually, shaking his head, angry at himself for getting into this state again.

"Do you want to talk -"

"No." He cuts off your question before you have a chance to finish it. You aren't surprised by his reaction. You've long since learnt that Marc would rather forget what haunts him, put it to the back of his mind and pretend it doesn't exist.

You've tried, so many times, to explain to him that he shouldn't feel guilty, that there's nothing to be afraid of, that he's worthy of living a life he enjoys, that whatever happened in his past, didn't dictate his future. You know Steven and Jake have tried as well. But it's no good, Marc is stubborn, and you've learnt to accept that's just who he is. After all, his stubbornness was just one of many reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.

"I'm sorry I woke you up again," Marc sighs, interrupting your thoughts, taking your hand from his chest in order to wrap his fingers around yours.

"You didn't, I was already awake. The rain woke me up," you smile, brushing his sleep tousled hair back. It's not entirely a lie, and you are glad when Marc relaxes into your touch, turning his head to place a soft kiss on your palm as you cup his cheek, not arguing with you about whose fault it is that you are awake.

"Let me go get you a glass of water," you press a soft quick chaste kiss to his lips.

Marc frowns in response, hating being taken care of. "I can do that myself."

"I know, but I like doing things for you sometimes." You give him a small smile, squeeze his hand and get to your feet, and head to the kitchen.

Not to be deterred from giving you reasons not to take care of him, Marc follows you.

"Yeah, and I hate that you have to do things for me."

"I don't have to. I like to. I know you are perfectly capable of getting yourself water, Marc," you laugh, glancing over at him as he glowers sullenly.

Rolling your eyes at his reaction you take two glasses out of the cupboard and fill them with water.

Marc leans on the counter next to you, taking the glass when you offer it, but ignoring the contents.

"What I would like, is for you to have a full night's sleep, instead of having to deal with me every time there's the slightest storm. I mean, we live in England for fucks sake, it rains 12 months of the year-"

"That's not true and you know it," you interrupt but he's not listening, continuing as though he hasn't heard you.

"...and God forbid I bring up moving to Steven again. I mean, I know I was the one that brought us here, and that's on me. And I know-"

"Are we really having this discussion again?" You sigh softly, but he's still going, ignoring you as he continues to ramble, getting increasingly more animated as he does.

When his rant gets more and more self deprecating, you decide to stop him.

"Marc," you state firmly, stepping over to him and taking his face in your hands, "shut up."

You press your lips to his. For a split second, as he catches up with the situation, he continues to talk against your lips, but then finally he quietens, his shoulders dropping as he sinks into your kiss, unable to stop himself.

The kiss is sweet, tender and gentle. It isn't a lead to anything but Marc still makes it last as long as possible, kissing you until you're breathless, until you're dizzy from the lack of air, until all that remains of the world is the two of you.

When you finally pull apart, heavily breathing, cheeks warm and heart thumping, he lets out a long sigh.

"I really don't deserve you," he mumbles quietly, allowing his lips to barely brush against yours, as though he doesn't feel he deserves to kiss you again, but he can't fully stop himself. The worst is the knowledge that he really believes that.

You hold him a little tighter against you.

"Tough. You're stuck with me," you inform him, your tone leaving no space for argument, unwilling to get into a discussion about his worth to you, at this time of night.

Marc lifts his head and gives you a small smile. He looks tired in the dim lighting of the apartment, the bags under his eyes dark as bruises, caused by the continuing lack of sleep.

"Do you want to go back to bed yet?" You ask softly, as he continues to look at you, his eyes flickering over your face. You can almost hear the cogs in his brain turning. You only hope this time they are turning to good thoughts.

"Probably not a good idea right now." He jerks his head to the window, still rattling with the noise of rain lashing against the pane. You hum in agreement, noting his lips tilting up in a familiar smile, his gaze soft, but hungry.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Marc's arms wind around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest.

"Want to stay up with me?"

"I have work tomorrow," you warn, although you already know there's no way Marc is going to let you go back to bed either way.

"Call in sick,"

You laugh and shake your head, already running through the list of excuses you've used, in order to spend your time with them. There were only so many times you could say you had a stomach bug, or your goldfish was ill.

"What with this time?"

"Tell them," he pauses, holding your body close against him, his hot breath fanning across your skin, pressing a solitary kiss to your neck, "your legs are still trembling from tonight."

The butterflies turn into a full flock of birds.

He captures your lips in a hard kiss, his tongue lapping into your mouth, insistent, demanding, possessive. Marc needs to lose himself in you, and you are more than willing to oblige.

Without ever removing his mouth from yours, he backs you up, step by step, until the back of your legs hit something hard.

The edge of the desk digs almost painfully into your thighs, but you can't seem to find the will to care as Marc's tongue continues to snake between your teeth, devouring you.

Marc suddenly pulls away, giving a huff of breathless laughter.

"What is it?" You ask, slightly dazedly.

"Steven says 'not on his desk'." He barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

Normally you would suggest you move elsewhere, not wanting to upset any of them, but now you're here, there's a delicious excitement to the offence.

"And what do you say?" You subtly try to move some of Stevens's favourite books out of the way, nudging them to the side of the desk

Marc grins, his eyes flicking down to the movement of your hands before back up to meet your gaze, clearly seeing your blatant invitation.

"I say it's our desk, and I can do whatever, and whoever, I want on it."

You'll apologise to Steven later, help him pick up the books that fall to the floor, soothe any annoyance he has left one way or another, but for now, you allow Marc to drown out the noise of the rain, with the sounds he draws from you.

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Big thanks to @beldroxramscal for being my awesome beta!

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