#and this time she said it again but like emphasized it if that makes sense

[kashmirichaiwithmehr]

.

[txrii]

But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader

based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift

word count: 2,131

warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol

summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!

The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 

Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 

As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 

Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 

She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.

Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.

The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 

Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.

The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.

Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 

Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.

A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 

Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”

[eldragon-x]

Top three insane and concerning Odile dialogues to me. Like the obvious reading here is that her problems will be solved because the King is going to kill her. And I do wonder if, aside from being pessimistic/trying to be realistic, she was straight up prepared to sacrifice herself.

As soon as she joins the party she expresses that she doesn't like the idea of leaving the fate of the country up to Mirabelle and Isabeau because they're younger than her. She says she's willing to do horrible things to protect the party on a family quest route. She learns some kind of craft that stops Siffrin from looping in Act 5. I don't think it's straight up Time Craft, which - as a reminder - could kill the user, but I can imagine it's still dangerous seeing as it's powerful enough to interact with Time Craft. And in the tutorial event, she puts herself between Siffrin and the rest of the party.

I don't think her potentially expecting to die against the King is her just throwing the towel either. She keeps emphasizing how the party has to be prepared and in top condition for the battle. It's more of a "if someone has to die, I'll take the bullet" kinda scenario.

That being said there's still the "One way or another part." which makes me wonder. Assuming she lives, her problems still extend beyond just the party splitting up. But going throught her friend quest, I guess she kinda accepted that trying to find closure in Vaugarde isn't going to be as fulfilling as she hoped and trying to make sense of her ties to it and how it informs her sense of self is going to be more complex than she expected.

But then, maybe the reason she expected her problems to be solved "one way or another" soon is because she expected she'd finally have the courage to ask the party to keep traveling together without worrying about the King?

The game keeps bringing up how the party has only known each other for a short time but a few months is long enough to get attached, especially if you've been by yourself for a long time like Siffrin or never quite found your place in your usual life like Mirabelle.

Maybe Odile doesn't even have that much to go back to in Ka Bue. Before it's revealed that everyone would like to stay together, Mirabelle seems content to stay on Dormont despite feeling insecure about her percieved lack of progress living in the House. Odile says once everything's over maybe she'll go back to Ka Bue but she isn't neccessarily eager to. Isabeau is the only one who really expresses wanting a change in his life once the King's defeated but even then it's kinda assumed he goes back to his town.

Bonnie is a little bit of an outlier here because of course they'd want to go back to their sister, but they still prefer that she comes along with them once they party makes it to Bambouche.

Maybe all Odile really wants right now is to not be left behind again.

[thef1diary]

Baby Jr | Six

— Truth Unveiled

series masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

pairing: carlos x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

The morning after your heartfelt conversation with Ava dawned, bringing with it a new wave of anxiety. You had spent the night tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts of how to tell Carlos about the pregnancy. Ava's reassuring words played on a loop in your head, offering some comfort amidst the chaos.

As you entered the paddock on race day, the buzz of activity and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. The sun was shining brightly, casting long shadows over the bustling scene. You walked briskly, your heart pounding with each step, knowing that Carlos would be occupied with media duties, the actual race, and the post-race debriefing with the team. Usually, you weren’t part of the post-race debrief, but today was different. More team members had been asked to join, emphasizing that every sort of role counted, media included.

You immersed yourself in your tasks, trying to keep a low profile. The garage was a hive of activity, with engineers and mechanics making last-minute adjustments to the car. You focused on your work, the familiar routine helping to calm your nerves. However, the thought of facing Carlos again later loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You exchanged glances with Ava several times throughout the day. Even though neither of you had the chance to stop and chat, her eyes constantly sought yours, silently checking in on you. Each time you caught her gaze, she offered a small, reassuring smile or a slight nod, her way of silently asking if you were holding up okay. It was a subtle but comforting gesture, a reminder that she was there for you, ready to lend her support whenever you needed it. These moments of connection, though brief, helped ground you amid the chaos of the day, giving you a small sense of stability and reassurance.

As the clock ticked closer towards the start of the race, the tension in the paddock heightened. Murmurs were heard in passing as each team solely focused on their two race cars, ensuring that every single part was in place and running smoothly.

You took your usual spot in the garage, watching the race unfold with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The roar of the engines filled the air, mingling with the cheers of the crowd. The sun beat down on the track, casting shimmering heat waves that made everything appear slightly surreal. You kept a close eye on the monitors, tracking every lap, every turn, every pit stop with bated breath. Wearing a pair of headphones, you were able to switch between both driver’s radio chatter, listening in to everything that was being said.

“Box, box, box!” the race engineer's voice crackled through your headphones, signaling one of the drivers to pit.

Working in motorsports, every day was like a new adventure, but nothing could ever top the feeling of race day. You truly felt like a proper spectator of the sport with the added bonus of being able to work behind the scenes with the team, making the experience even more enjoyable.

Carlos drove brilliantly, his skill and determination evident in every maneuver. He fought his way through the pack after an unfortunate position set in qualifying the day before, his car dancing around the corners with precision. When he crossed the finish line in third place, the cheers from the Ferrari garage were deafening. Carlos had secured a podium finish, a testament to his talent and the team’s hard work.

Charles, too, had an impressive race. He finished fourth, just shy of the podium, but his performance was strong and consistent. It was a good day for Ferrari, overall. The atmosphere in the paddock was electric with celebration and relief. Team members exchanged high-fives and hugs, their faces alight with joy.

After the podium celebration and a team photo, you were heading toward the meeting room for the post-race debrief when Carlos approached you, flanked by a few other team members.

“Hey, we’re thinking of grabbing dinner tonight to celebrate. You in?”

You hesitated, searching for an excuse. “Oh, I already have plans with Ava tonight. Rain check?”

Carlos frowned but nodded. “Sure, maybe next time.”

Everyone gathered in the meeting room, a large space filled with monitors and charts displaying the race data. The room was filled with the hum of quiet conversations, the excitement from the day’s success still palpable. As you settled into the debrief, you noticed Carlos tapping away on his phone before holding it under the table. Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see his message.

‘You looked amazing today. My number really suited you, why’d you change?’

You frowned in confusion, not understanding what he meant. Another message came through almost immediately.

‘I saw you wearing a shirt with my number on it earlier, did you not notice?’

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You hadn’t even realized you had been wearing his number. The shirt was one Carlos had left in your hotel room after staying the night, and since he never asked for it back, you packed it and took it home. You ended up wearing it at home often because it was comfortable, but it was the first time you wore it in public, and that too without realizing it. Worst of all, Carlos had noticed.

‘Didn’t want to distract you’ you texted back, deciding against mentioning that you only changed because you spilled coffee on it, otherwise you would’ve worn it the entire day without realizing.

Carlos’ response was almost immediate. ‘Too late for that. You’re distracting me right now.’

You glanced up to see him smirking at you from across the table, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again.

Throughout the debrief, Carlos continued to text you, his messages a mix of playful banter and subtle compliments.

‘Focus on the debrief, Carlos.’ You texted, hoping to divert his attention towards the meeting.

That didn’t work because it wasn’t long before you received another text from him. ‘How can I, you got me picturing you in my shirt, and nothing but my shirt.’

You felt the blush deepen, grateful that the dim lighting in the room due to the projector hid your reddening cheeks. You tried to focus on the engineer’s analysis of the race, but Carlos’ messages kept pulling your attention.

‘Seriously, though. You make it hard to concentrate. I can’t stop thinking about you’

You shook your head slightly, finding it unbelievable that he was mentioning such topics during a meeting. ‘Stop it, Carlos. We’re supposed to be working’

He glanced up at you for a moment, finding it amusing that you couldn’t contain your smile despite the messages you sent opposing his words.

‘You know, I miss our late-night talks…and other things’

Your eyes wandered down to the phone in your palm, widening when you read his text. You typed out a message quickly, hoping to end the conversation without getting caught by your superiors. ‘Carlos, this isn’t the time or place.’

‘When then?’

You took a deep breath, deciding to leave that question unanswered, not knowing how to respond.

As the debrief continued, you placed your phone face down on the table, trying to focus on the discussion. Carlos’ gaze never left you, watching like a hawk as you picked up your pen and jotted down notes. The intensity of his stare made it difficult to concentrate, each glance in his direction only heightening your anxiety.

The room buzzed with the low murmur of voices as engineers and team members discussed the race’s finer points. Monitors displayed graphs and data from the day’s performance, adding a layer of visual complexity to the meeting. You found yourself scribbling notes almost mechanically, your mind half on the task and half on Carlos.

Every now and then, your phone would buzz with another message from him, but you forced yourself to ignore it. Each vibration felt like a small electric shock, jolting your concentration. You knew he was trying to get your attention, and it took every ounce of willpower to stay focused on the debrief.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, you picked up your phone and saw his latest message: ‘What are you doing tonight?’

You hesitated for a moment before typing back, ‘You already asked me that. I told you I’ll be with Ava.’

Almost immediately, his response came. ‘I mean after that’

Your heart skipped a beat, understanding the implication. You felt a rush of emotions, conflicted between your desire for him and the secret you were holding.

‘Come on,’ his next message read as he watched your facial expressions while you contemplated your choices. ‘It’s been too long since we’ve celebrated.’

You understood what he meant by celebrations, remembering how the night ended the last time he won a race. A part of you wondered if baby Sainz growing in your womb was the result of that night, or the ones that followed.

The thought of being with him intimately while actively hiding that secret from him almost made you sick to your stomach. You knew you couldn't do that to him, despite how much you clenched your thighs together at the thought of another night spent tangled in the sheets.

You glanced around the room, making sure no one was watching, then quickly typed back, ‘Carlos, it’s not that simple right now’

His reply was swift, ‘It can be. Just say yes.’

You thought back to the night he won, a hint of a smile growing on your face as you thought of another remark and quickly texted him. ‘Besides, you didn’t win today.’

Carlos looked up at you, catching your smile, and grinned. His fingers moved rapidly across his phone screen and you were fortunate that no one around him noticed his lack of attention on the debrief.

‘Podium is still a win. Third place means we can still celebrate, right?’

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. His persistence was both endearing and infuriating. ‘You’re relentless’ you typed back, feeling the flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Only because you’re worth it’ came his immediate response.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t give up easily and you didn’t want him to either. Your mind raced, trying to balance your feelings with the reality of the situation. But at that moment, all you could think about was how much you missed him, how much you missed the way he made you feel.

‘Okay’ you typed back finally. ‘But we need to talk first, Carlos. Seriously.’

He didn’t respond to the text, instead he sought out your gaze, waiting for you to look at him before nodding. Noticing the depth in his eyes, the honesty, you knew the truth had to be revealed tonight.

You placed your phone face down again, trying to focus on the remaining part of the debrief, but your thoughts were now consumed with the upcoming conversation with Carlos. The tension between you two was palpable, and you knew tonight could change everything.

The debrief ended, and you began to gather your things. You noticed Carlos heading your way, a small grin on his face. Just before he was about to reach you, Charles interrupted him, stopping him for a hushed conversation. Since you weren’t far away, you were able to overhear parts of their conversation.

“Is she coming? If she is, Ava will too,” Charles inquired, his voice cutting through the low murmur of conversations.

Carlos shook his head at first, then looked at Charles with a pointed glare. “Why do you want Ava there?”

Charles seemed puzzled, pausing before he shrugged. “Well, they’re both part of the team, so…?”

Carlos shook his head again. “She said she already has plans with Ava, so I guess neither of them are coming.”

“Really? I heard she didn’t have any plans tonight.”

Charles’ behaviour made Carlos roll his eyes before elbowing him in annoyance. “Why did you put me up to it then if you already knew?”

He shrugged again, his expression neutral. “Just wanted to make sure, plus she likes you better than me for some reason.”

Carlos glanced back at you, his confusion deepening. You could feel his eyes on you as you exited the room, knowing that the conversation you had been dreading was going to be unavoidable tonight.

You found a quieter corner in an office within the paddock to work on some last-minute media projects. The celebrations were in full swing elsewhere, but you stayed behind. The room was dimly lit, the only sound being the soft hum of your laptop since most of the team and other personnel were off enjoying the dinner celebration or heading back to their hotels.

You immersed yourself in your work, hoping to distract yourself from the thoughts swirling in your head. The tasks were routine—updating social media posts and editing photos from the race—but they kept your mind occupied. You sipped on a Red Bull, the caffeine helping to keep you focused.

Minutes turned into hours and you were completely immersed by the contents on the screen. Papers were strewn across your desk, and your fingers danced across the keyboard.

The can of Red Bull sat beside you, half-drunk. You had initially popped the tab, but after drinking half of it, you realized you needed to be cautious with your caffeine intake given your situation. It had been sitting on your desk for a while now, and you were hesitant to take another sip.

The door opened but you hadn’t noticed until Carlos gasped theatrically, causing you to look up in surprise. “You traitor!” he exclaimed, pointing at the can. “Siding with the enemy?”

You laughed, the sound a mixture of relief and amusement. “Well, Ferrari doesn’t make energy drinks, Carlos. What else am I supposed to do to stay awake?”

He chuckled, the tension between you two momentarily easing. He walked closer, pulling up a chair beside you. “Good point. But seriously, what are you doing here? I thought you had plans with Ava.”

You looked down, the weight of your lie pressing on you. “I needed to get some work done,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the rim of the Red Bull can. “There’s always something that needs to be finished.”

Carlos’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. “I saw Ava at the dinner. She said you were here working when she left. You seemed pretty adamant about those plans earlier.”

You sighed, feeling the pressure build up. “I didn’t have plans. I just… needed some time to myself, Carlos. To think and work through some things.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

You shrugged, your eyes avoiding him.

Carlos was silent for a moment, his gaze intense. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? You don’t have to hide.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat, realizing that the conversation you’ve been dreading was going to happen in the paddock of all places. “I know. It’s just… complicated.”

He reached out, placing a hand on yours. “I’m here now. Let’s talk. What’s really going on?”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… everything feels overwhelming right now. The race, work, us.”

Carlos’s eyes softened. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Every time I try to talk to you, you find an excuse to be somewhere else.”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” he insisted, cutting you off. “And you’ve never been the type to avoid confrontation. Did I do something that makes you run away every time you see me?”

Carlos noticed your attempts to avoid him, which he openly acknowledged, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Well, you did something..." you trailed off, since he was technically half of the reason you were in this predicament in the first place.

“Enlighten me,” he said, his tone challenging but not unkind.

“What would change if I tell you?” you asked, feeling your heart race.

“For one, I would have my friend back,” he replied softly.

“Are we friends or are we coworkers who fuck?” You shot back, your tone coming out a little harsher than you expected.

“We were friends first, were we not?” he questioned, his voice dropping to a whisper.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. “Okay, Carlos. Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his eyes locked onto yours.

“It could change your life,” you warned, feeling a mixture of fear and resolve.

“It’s that serious?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking away for a moment to blink away the tears pricking the corners of your eyes

“It only makes me want to know more,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent.

You took a deep breath, the words heavy on your tongue. “I’m pregnant, Carlos, and it’s yours.”

——

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[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, a gentle rumble, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[theoldsports]

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

[girlrotterr]

Ultraviolence.

farm!ellie x fem!reader TW!: references to alcohol and substance abuse, along with instances of emotional and verbal abuse. Summary: Years after returning from Seattle, you and Ellie chose to adopt a baby, hoping to rebuild your lives after the traumatic events. However, several months later, Ellie began struggling emotionally, haunted by her past, expressing her pain through cold and distant behavior. a/n: AHHH!! soo excited to finally share this!! lmk if you angels would like a pt 2!

read part 2! read part 3!

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The silence of the house was abruptly broken by a cry that echoed through every corner. It was a sound you recognized instantly, a heart-wrenching feeling that never failed to make your chest tighten. Those cries belonged to your child. 

As you stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away residues of dinner from the white porcelain plates – the very ones Ellie had lovingly chosen for you – memories flooded your mind. Each sponge stroke brought back moments shared with Ellie, her attention to detail in every aspect of your life together.

The kitchen, once a place of laughter and shared meals, now felt empty. The soft glow of the overhead light cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the solitude that enveloped you. How you longed for Ellie's presence, her warmth filling the space with love and comfort.

Yet, she wasn't physically absent.

She simply wasn't present.

"Go check on him," ellie muttered rudely, not even looking in your direction.

"Already on it," you replied, setting the plate down and drying your hands on a nearby cloth. 

Making your way upstairs, the cries of your child grew louder as you approached his door. Your heart ached as you recognized them all too well. Taking a deep breath, you knocked and opened the door.

Before you could utter a word, he began pouring out his troubles. He knew it was you even before the door opened, aware that you were the only one who came to check on him. His other mom…hadn't done so in a long time.

He was sobbing into his teddy bear, his red and puffy eyes avoiding your gaze.

"Why is my mommy like that?" he asked, tears staining his teddy bear. "Why is she not playing with me? Does she not love me anymore?"

Closing the door gently behind you, you settled on his bed. His voice choked with emotion, he questioned why his mother seemed distant.

"Oh honey, she loves you.” you tried soothing by rubbing his back, “she’s just… been busy, but soon enough, she'll play with you again, okay? I'll talk to her.." you assured, pulling him into your arms.

"Promise?" This time he raised his head to look at you with those wet eyes. You'd been playing the mother role for the past half a year now. How many times had you made that promise to him? 

"Pinky promise," you affirmed, feeling the weight of your words as you made yet another pledge to ease his worries.

"Thank you mama.."  He smiled weakly, clinging to you with a sense of reassurance. 

A voice in the background called your name – Ellie.

Abruptly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed up the stairs, her sharp voice vibrating through the silence of the hallway. 

"What are you doing?!" she snapped, her tone laced with irritation as she barged into the room, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" Ellie snarked,  her words cutting through the air. Her cold glare pierced through you. "Kid, go somewhere else."

As Ellie's coldness unfolded, you began to bite the inside of your cheek, a surge of anger towards her lack of empathy. The lack of interest she showed towards everyone's feelings aggravated you, you were growing exhausted. 

"Stop it.” you intervened, hoping to convey to Ellie the need for a gentler approach toward the child. As expected, Ellie brushed off your attempt, a complete disregard for how her words affected the child.

"I said fucking go!" Ellie yelled.

Your child, tears swelling, quickly left the room, the echoes of his sniffles fading behind him. Dammit, Ellie...

You shoot her a glare filled with frustration, immediately getting up to exit the room. However, Ellie quickly grabbed your arm, her grip tight and nails digging into your flesh, causing you to wince and forcefully move toward her.

"Where the fuck are you going?" she snarled.

"Argh- Ellie, I'm not.. dealing with you right now-" you remarked..

Ellie tugged your arm harshly, her stare growing more aggravated. The scent of cigarettes lingering, the scent so familiar that you had become numb to it. This was the only time Ellie would even attempt to touch you, always using it to assert her control. In all other instances, you existed as nothing, always unnoticed.

“You don’t get to decide that.” She released your arm, shutting the door firmly and positioning herself in front of it to ensure you couldn't leave. Taking another drag from her cigarette, she exhaled the smoke.

Maintaining your glare, you scoffed and went to open the window, refusing to let the smell of cigarettes fill your child's room. 

"What the fuckk are you doing?" Ellie asked, displaying no intention of stopping you, her annoyance being clear. She didn't bother pretending. 

“What does it fucking look like?” you snapped, not bothering to turn and face her. You hated it when she tried irritating you. 

Instead, your focus drifted toward the view outside the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of warm gold and soft pink, casting a gentle glow. The fields surrounding the farmhouse with lively flowers, their petals swaying in the evening breeze.

The farmhouse itself stood as a sturdy, its walls covered with trailing vines of ivy. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of cows softly in the fields. 

Ellie remained silent, simply taking another prolonged drag of her cigarette. She didn't spare the time to respond to your snarky remarks.

“..he wanted to play with you today,” you mentioned, leaning your head against the window, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt. “He thinks you don’t love him.”

It had become routine for Ellie to try and get any information about what your kid shared. His troubles and worries seemed to be a curiosity for her. You never questioned it, always holding onto the hope that, in some part of her, she still truly cared.

"So?" she replied nonchalantly, walking over to you and flicking her cigarette out the window. "What's one of his little feelings to me? He's too attached anyway. It'd be good for him if I ignored him for a while." 

Ellie's gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes captivated by the familiar view. The  golden glow over the farmstead, a sight she had always cherished. It was one of the main reasons she had chosen this farmhouse for her family to live in. 

You gazed at Ellie, taking in her features. Her heavy bags from the countless sleepless nights on the couch, her once-soft pink lips now only meeting the cold bottles of alcohol she consumed in the dead of night.

“He’s not the only one who feels that way..” You remarked, still staring at her, hoping that her emerald eyes would meet yours.

Ellie's heart sank, a flicker of emotion appearing on her face.

"Shut up," she muttered coldly. She didn't bother turning to look at you; your words had clearly affected her. 

"I don't want to hear you talk. I'll do whatever I want. If I don't feel like playing with him, then I fucking won't."

She stormed off, and the moment of silence shattered. Her heavy footsteps descended the stairs. 

Without a moment's hesitation, you rushed out of your son's room, your only focus being to find him. You swiftly walked down the hallway, your pace quickening. Leaving him alone, particularly when upset, was something you hated. As you walked down the hallway…

There he was. 

In the bathroom, seated on the black and white tiled floor, clutching his teddy bear, with his face buried into his knees and headphones covering his ears.

He didn't want to witness his mothers arguing. He understood that whenever Ellie interrupted your time together, it signaled something bad. 

You observed him from the doorway painfully knowing that he didn't deserve this, enduring the harsh environment that the house had become. It pained your heart to see that he had developed coping mechanisms for these moments.

He glanced up at you, his eyes red from crying.

You gave him a soft smile, walking over and lifting him into your arms, gently wiping away the tears from his face. “I’m sorry honey, mommy needed to tell me something-”

“I know,” he said softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. He already knew all your apologies.

You kissed the top of his head, tenderly stroking his hair and swaying side to side. Your mind raced, searching for ways to lift his spirits and make up for Ellie's behavior.

“Hey, why don’t we-”

"Mama... I’m tired," he interrupted, his gaze staring off as if he was drifting from this moment. It wasn’t just physical fatigue; he was tired of it all, exhausted from feeling this way.

You nodded gently. “Okay, let’s head to bed then…”

You walked over to the sink, sitting him on the nearby stool where you usually did to brush his little teeth. The tap gushed water as you applied toothpaste to his green toothbrush covered in tiny dinosaurs, a choice Ellie had insisted upon a while back. You remember her begs of "pleaseee!!" throughout the shopping trip.

With the toothbrush in hand, you gently brushed his teeth, being careful not to hurt his sensitive gums.

“Okay, now you can spit.”

Ptui!

“All clean, mama!” he exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together and flashing you his newly cleaned smile.

You leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Good job, honey!”

He carefully climbed down from the stool, making his way towards your bedroom. Sleeping with you always made him feel safe, and he eagerly headed for the bed, emitting little grunts of tiredness along the way.

Finally settling onto the bed, he lay down next to his teddy bear, giving it a small pat.

“Mama will join you after she’s done cleaning, okay?” you assured him, tucking him into his space-themed blanket. The blanket, a dark blue adorned with various planets and stars, was one of his favorites.

It was a gift from from grandpa Joel, who had been thrilled to learn about your and Ellie's news of starting a family. He couldn't contain his excitement, bombarding Ellie with endless parenting tips and even purchasing books on child development in preparation.

Joel never got to meet him. 

“Okay...” he said softly, turning away as you walked towards the door. You stared at his back, an ache overwhelming your thoughts, and all you could think about was saying, "I’m sorry." Though you knew you weren’t responsible for Ellie's behavior, you felt like you owed it to him.

You and Ellie were eagerly excited on the journey to adopt a child together, ready to try again. Jackson had many kids in need of a loving home. When you adopted your kid, you promised him a life filled with love and joy, but that promise crumbled far too quickly. 

You stepped out of the room and closed the door behind you.

Heading downstairs, you found Ellie sitting on the couch, smoking a joint and watching Breaking Bad, an episode she had already seen twice.

Resuming your routine, you began cleaning up the kitchen. Drying dishes, sweeping the floor, and wiping the countertops. All tasks you were now accustomed to doing alone.

 Ellie gradually stopped helping, a gradual drift. The same snarky excuses: “I’m too fucking tired” or “I have some work to finish up.” Eventually, she left you alone in the silent kitchen, where everything felt still.

“Goodnight,” you said, looking towards Ellie as you headed towards the stairs.

Silence.

Ellie remained motionless on the couch, smoking her joint and staring blankly at the TV. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, trying to detach herself from the world.

You took a deep breath, attempting to control your emotions and suppress the ache that surfaced every time she responded with silence. Placing your foot on the first step, you began to ascend the stairs.

"C'mere,” Ellie said, actually looking at you for once.

Your heart raced at her sudden attention, her piercing gaze catching you off guard. You walked over to her, standing in front of her. Up close, you couldn't ignore the mess she appeared to be. Her eyes were puffy and red, a foolish smirk plastered across her face.

“c’meree..” she said, motioning you to come closer. 

Ellie brought the joint to her lips, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke right into your face, giggling at how it was causing you to cough. 

She started laughing, “you look stupid.”

Irritated, you smacked the joint out of her hand. Causing ellie to jolt at the sudden movement. 

“Be fucking stupid and pick it up,” you snarled, glaring at her, your eyes piercing through her.

Ellie simply looked at you, no words, no movement, her gaze fixated on you. You couldn’t decipher the emotion behind her gaze there were thoughts behind those eyes, but you couldn’t recognize them.

Scoffing, you turned away, no longer wanting to be near her. Heading upstairs, you headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Tears welled up, but you refused to let them fall. I need to be strong..she can’t..can’t win…

You couldn't help but feel stupid. Stupid for thinking she would offer you even a shred of affection. Her undivided attention, a drop of care.

Turning on the faucet, you splashed water on your face, feeling its cool touch soothe your heated skin. It was as if the water washed away the tension, calming your mind. Each droplet felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, easing the ache you carried.

Taking a deep sigh, you began your nightly routine, another task you were accustomed to doing alone.

Slowly opening the door to your bedroom, you found your child fast asleep, clutching his teddy bear tightly in his arms and cocooned in his blanket. His gentle breaths filled the room with a sense of tranquility, a small smile gracing his lips as he slept peacefully.

In that moment, he appeared like a peaceful, angelic child, as if he were innocent and free from life's worries.

Closing the door behind you, you approached the bed, gently laying beside him, fingers caressing his soft hair, humming a melody –a melody Ellie used to sing to you back then. Never missing a chance to soothe you with her singing whenever you couldn’t sleep. 

He appeared so innocent, carrying that light within him. The idea of him being exposed to Ellie's behavior filled you with guilt. He was the reason you tolerated Ellie, not demanding for more.

You had an urge to fight for his safety and his right to happiness. All he deserved was love and affection, and ellie failed to provide it.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you closed your eyes, letting sleep envelop you as you tried to quiet the endless thoughts swirling in your mind.

Thud.

Sometime later in the night, you heard Ellie stumbling her way up the stairs. Her movements were unsteady, the effects of alcohol. It seemed like she hadn't slept at all. The only evidence of her rest was the blanket and pillow on the couch.

You heard the sound of ellie turning the doorknob and entering the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. The room filled with the sound of Ellie rummaging through drawers and opening closets. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she appeared determined to find it.

You tried to catch a glimpse of Ellie in the darkened room. Your eyes adjusted, and you could make out the outline of her figure as she searched. She stood there in a tank top and boxers, her arms revealing prominent veins, and her hair ruffled messily around her face.

“El’s?..” 

Startled, she jumped and stopped her search, clearly taken aback by the sudden sound of your voice. She turned around with a scowl, not bothering to whisper back.

“What?” she snapped, clearly annoyed.

"What're you… doing?" you asked sleepily, being awoken by her rummaging. 

"Nothing," Ellie replied with a heavy sigh "Go back to sleep."

You looked into her eyes, your eyes glistening in the gentle moonlight. 

Ellie was startled for a moment at the sight of the eyes that met her. But snapped herself back into reality.

"Don't… give me that look," she muttered before turning around and going back to rummaging through the drawers.

You gently extended your hand towards Ellie, wanting her to sleep with you. Your fingers moved slowly, reaching out for hers. 

She paused, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a sharp inhale of air. She sighed and then looked at you. She didn't pull away from your touch, her demeanor appearing softer as if she was trying to resist you.

"No," 

You stayed silent at her response, silently hoping for her to change her answer.

"I said No. Go… back to sleep." She tried to say firmly but her tone was softer now.

You turned away from Ellie, silently acknowledging her rejection. Each time your attempts were turned down, the familiar ache grew duller, as if numbed. You wrapped your arm around your child, closing your eyes in an attempt to drift back into sleep.

Your child's peaceful breathing filled the room, a comforting reminder of his presence. Though still awake, you could hear Ellie's silent breaths nearby. She lingered by the bed, her presence still even in the darkness. It felt as if she was trying to find a way to be near you without you knowing. 

You resembled an angel in the soft moonlight, your skin radiant. Ellie couldn't help but admire you, considering you the most beautiful sight she had ever seen—as if you were kissed by the moon. 

The night was warm, the gentle wind gentle and comforting. In this moment, you hoped to never wake up. 

Your soft hair laid on the pillow like soft and silky thread. Your gentle breathing was soothing. Your body looked like a painting created by heaven itself. You were its beautiful muse and the moon was the painter showing its admiration.

Ellie couldn't help but gaze at you, her eyes lingering on your lips for a moment longer than usual. She then looked down at your child, peacefully nestled with you For an instant, a longing for love stirred within her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very long time. It reminded her of the days when you both were deeply in love.

Your body was so peaceful, ellie found herself entranced, her eyes tracing every curve and line. Ellie felt an overwhelming desire to simply…admire you, to preserve your presence. 

Without a second thought, Ellie found herself slowly lying down beside you, her body acting with impulse. The comfort of the bed and the softness of the cotton sheets gave her a warmth that she had long forgotten.

She pressed her body as close as she could get it against yours. Her hands folded under her chin, as if she was too afraid to touch you. 

She found herself lost, aching for a connection she feared to ignite. 

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

EVEN MORE SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6

I figured since I already read it, I'd give my thoughts on the recent interview Astruc and Thibaudeau took part in.

Due to incompatibility with the new animation engine, SAMG will not be working on the next seasons of ‘Miraculous’. The series is now being developed entirely in France, with the integration of Dwarf Animation.

Okay, props for no more outsourcing, even if I'm not sure what this means for the other ZAG shows.

Season 6 is considered to be “a new beginning”, aside from being a new story arc. It is sometimes referred to by the writers as Season 1.

I'm sure that isn't confusing to the executives at all. Also, maybe don't imply you're starting from scratch when you're already reusing the plot of the main villain using the Butterfly Miraculous.

The writing team already has concrete ideas for how Seasons 7, 8 and 9 will begin and end. They also have ambitions to make it to a Season 12, only if the support of viewers and executives allows them to do so. With this, they emphasize the fact that they would not continue with the show if it were no longer needed or interesting.

So basically, they're planning to keep this up for as long as they can until someone pulls the plug.

The opening of the sixth season is still undecided. They are still discussing whether they will change the musical arrangement or not. Thomas also considers the possibility of making a brand-new theme song. A song has been confirmed for S6. They have the music, the arrangement and a female singer. The character remains unknown.

Imagine how funny it would be if they brought back the woman who sang for Marinette in the movie instead of having Cristina Vee sing again.

Despite leaving Paris at the end of ‘Revolution’ (5x23), Chloé Bourgeois will return in Season 6.

Putting aside all the things I've said about her "damnation arc", what is even the point of bringing her back at this point? She has no powers, no influence, no allies, and isn't a threat of any kind. This makes her not being the next Hawkmoth make even less sense, becuse she has more of a reason to hate Ladybug than Lila does.

Also, with the news that Chloe is coming back, this means that she essentially escaped punishment or at least found a way to rebound like Lila did. So that's a grand total of ZERO villains who actually got punished for their actions after five seasons. I'm starting to think Ladybug and Cat Noir really suck at their jobs.

Sebastien Thibadeau: “[Cerise] (IOTA: I'm still calling her Lila for simplicity's sake) is a villain without costume. She is a villain all the time. There is a reason why, but this reason, neither I nor Astruc will reveal to you yet.” Interviewer: “You mean you already intend to tell it?” Thomas Astruc: “Yes. And you know what, we have already told it, but you haven’t noticed.”

Translation: Ladies and gentlemen, LET'S GET READY FOR RETCOOOOOONNNNS!

Seriously, we are approaching the sixth season of this show. It has been eight years since Lila first appeared all the way back in "Volpina", and we still know nothing about her other than the fact that she has some three moms for some reason. You can't pull the whole "This is something you need to rewatch to understand!" excuse because the last two seasons hinged on breaking the rules about Sentimonsters.

Speaking of, I love how this comment about Lila accidentally implies that Gabriel never did anything evil when he wasn't Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch. All that emotional abuse and isolation Adrien suffered was all out of love!

Thomas Astruc on Chloe redemption arc: “We put the characters in situations, and then we say to ourselves: “what would be the logic?” How would the character logically react in “such and such” a situation? And we tried, we tried everything. But every time, we say to ourselves: “if we write this, it’ll be wrong”. There’ll be no reason, it’ll come out of nowhere, the fact that she’ll face something nice and say: “Oh, I’ve been horrible, Marinette what have I done! From now on, I’ll be...” No, nonsense. I understand people’s desire for Chloe to be nice. I’d like that too. But I’d like it if in real life, people with a lot of power suddenly started doing nice things. But Chloé has no interest in changing. She has no reason to change, unfortunately.”

Ah, yes because Gabriel (Global terrorist and abusive parent), Felix (Betrayed Ladybug and temporarily wiped out all of humanity on a whim), Nathalie (Willing accomplice to Gabriel) Andre (corrupt politician and Chloe's primary enabler), Sabrina (Willing accomplice to Chloe) all had compelling reasons to change their ways.

Also, "I've been horrible, what have I done?"

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST, THAT'S HOW VIRTUALLY EVERY REDEMPTION ON THIS SHOW IS EXECUTED.

The fact that he's seriously acting like he actually wanted to write a redemption arc is insulting. Not only does it ignore all the things he's said to fans who were upset at the turn of events, but it makes no sense for him to take this stance because he's a writer. If Chloe turning a new leaf is too strange of an idea, then write an actual character arc allowing her to progress to a state where she recognizes what she's done is wrong. You control the character for God's sake! It's not like you're training a dog to stop humping the couch. You can change things to make a redemption arc possible.

In other words, Astruc is either lying to save his ass, or THIS IS WHAT THOMAS ASTRUC ACTUALLY BELIEVES about writing characters.

Sebastien Thibadeau talks about Andre's character development: In contrast to Chloe, “Andre Bourgeois evolved as a character because we had already imagined a back story. He had the potential to change, and that’s where the beautiful scene comes from — I think it’s magnificent — between Gabriel and himself on the roof of the Grand Palace, where he says: “But Gabriel, what’s become of us? We’ve forgotten the kids we used to be”. But we [writers] know what kids they used to be, and we’d like to tell the story one day, to show what young kids they were, when they were struggling through Paris and weren’t yet what you’ve come to know in the series. He’s sad about what’s happening to his daughter [Chloe], and he’s trying to change it, but he can’t. He is proof that a character can change.”

This. This right here is what cinched it for me. I've tried for years not to say it because it's a word that has been flung around a lot over these last few years, but I feel like this little snippet is enough of a reason for me to say it.

These writers are sexist.

They may not believe it, but whether they intended for it or not, they wrote a story arc where a grown man was shown to have more sympathetic qualities than his daughter. How the hell can you defend it in a way that doesn't highlight the misogyny that this show runs on?

The fact that they gush over how much "potential" Andre had right after saying how that same kind of potential wasn't enough of a reason to attempt a redemption arc with Chloe really shows how confusing their priorities are. I'm sorry to keep saying this, but for a show that takes a heavy anti-capitalist philosophy, it seems like the members of the 1% are the characters who get the most depth and sympathy... unless you're under 18 and lack a Y chromosome, that is.

A meeting will be set up in the coming weeks to decide on whether or not to make a live-action for ‘Miraculous’, Thomas Astruc reveals.

As a former Arrowverse fan, I'm willing to see this out. Not only did the Netflix One Piece series prove you can make an animated property work in live-action, Ladybug & Cat Noir: The Movie managed to do really well even without the usual writers behind it.

Thomas when asked about Gabriel’s wish in ‘Re-Creation’ (5x26) and whether he brought Emilie back to life: “All the answers are in the episode.”

For the love of--STOP SAYING THAT!

You keep claiming that we just need to rewatch the episode to understand things, but between the continuity errors and abandoned subplots, it's hard to tell what's important and what isn't. Either say "No comment" or give us an honest answer.

If people are still confused about how the season ended after almost a year, and you keep giving answers like this:

Maybe you need to change the way you tell the story.

Astruc when asked about ‘The Supreme’: “Oh, if only you knew... Nothing we do is meaningless.”

Sebastien Thibadeau on Season 7: “Once you’ve seen the start of season 7, I can swear you’ll watch season 6 a second time. That’s all I can say.”

Because it'll make Season 6 look like a masterpiece by comparison?

Thomas Astruc on the worldbuilding: There are Kwamis and Renlings, what makes you think there aren’t others [creatures]?

I swear, by the time we get to Season 10, we're going to get stuff like aliens, demons and talking mushrooms, or at least something ludicrous like that.

Zoe had a love at first sight when she met Marinette in ‘Sole Crusher’ (4x07), they confirm.

Of course! That's why it wasn't framed any differently from something like the umbrella scene and Zoe showed absolutely no signs of attraction to Marinette! It's genius!

Executives had Thomas write several alternative concepts for ‘Miraculous’, very different from what we know today or even the early PV. Among them, “a concept where Ladybug is the head of a group of superheroines, like Sailor Moon. There was no love story.”

Can you imagine a world without the Love Square?

The script writers’ favorite episode is ‘Simpleman’ (4x19) as it represents a personal, work and family attachment. Marinette’s grandfather, Roland Dupain, is inspired by Thomas Astruc’s grandfather.

Okay, either Astruc had a complicated relationship with his grandpa or he's been dead for years. While I understand that older generations have outdated views (for example, my great-grandmother yelled at me for saying I wanted to learn Japanese because "They tried to kill us!"), the fact that a caricture of a grumpy old man was based on his grandpa is a little concerning.

Also, between this and Sabine being based off an old flame of his, this only makes the theory that Chloe is based off a real person Astruc knew more plausible.

Astruc: “This is why our work is so difficult. We have to manage to bring in this generation of younger ones, and at the same time, we have to satisfy the generation that was here before and that grows with the series.”

First, if you're trying to please older fans, maybe don't get into fights with them on Twitter.

Second, you made a thread after "Simpleman" aired where you insulted fans for not getting the "meta" element to the episode and compared them to the character you just said was based on your grandfather.

You've also been burning away a lot of the older fans' goodwill over the years. Trust me, I have a few examples.

Despite sharing a similar appearance, the symbol on Nino’s T-shirt is not related to Hack-San.

Okay, is this a fan theory I missed back when Season 4 was airing? Why would anyone draw that conclusion?

Thomas Astruc talks about Season 6: “I’ll say it sincerely, I was very doubtful at the end of Season 5. I said to myself: “if we were to continue, how would we exceed?” Well, we did. It’s been a great season. The new writers have brought us a lot of great stuff. All the episodes we’ve written in Season 6 are fabulous. Each episode is on point, there is no unnecessary lines. All the scenes are really interesting, really well-crafted.”

Translation: Tons of filler, bad comedy, reused Akumas, and more Love Square drama that we're trying to claim hasn't been done before.

Thomas when asked if Marinette will get akumatized: “We never give any information about what may or may not happen.”

JUST. SAY. NO. COMMENT.

There are many important details throughout the series that no one has noticed. Thomas says that when we see the next seasons, we’ll think, “Oh, the writers had it all planned.”

You know, like how Season 3 established that Sentimonsters can be sent out of control by Cataclysm a few episodes before Adrien, a Sentimonster, gets hit by a Cataclysm and is affected in a different way. It was all planned from the beginning.

The Ladybug PV was an animation test and was not intended to be public. Jeremy Zag decided to leak it himself.

Honestly? Dick move on Zag's part. You have to wonder how pissed off Astruc was.

According to Thomas Astruc, what the ‘Miraculous’ series is today represents only 5% of what he wrote in the original bible he presented to Jeremy Zag. “The universe has evolved a lot since. I don’t know if the ideas I put there will be reused someday. It was very extensive.”

Thomas Astruc and Sebastien Thibadeau discuss the parallels between Marinette and Gabriel: Astruc: “Gabriel’s personal back story is the cause of his misery, not his will. And above all, it creates a beautiful mirror with Marinette, which is what’s interesting. They both have a lot of love for Adrien, they’re both designers, they both have a Miraculous, but it’s other choices.” Thibadeau: “That’s what makes it a great hero-villain contrast. Even if they don’t know it from the start, they have a real point in common. As we see at the end of Season 5, they both love Adrien. Except there’s one who does it by doing the right thing, and then there’s another who does it by doing the wrong thing, hurting people, to get there.”

And the one who did the wrong thing by hurting people ended up winning. What does that say about the contrast?

------------------------------------------------------------------

And that's it for the interview. I have to say Season 6 does not look pretty so far.

[lowkeyremi]

Hi there!! I’ve read some of your works I they’re really good- you’re so talented and amazing 😭✋🏾

Bakugou x reader where he slips reader a letter telling her to proofread his letter to Santa and she’s like:??? but doesn’t judge bc she loves him, and it says that he’s asking Santa for a wife 😭🥰 and then when she looks down he’s on one knee 🥺

All I want for Christmas is You k. bakugo x fem!reader

a/n: THIS IS SO CUTE OMG IM GIGGLING STOPPPP i was about to say at his grown age he got a santa list but it made more sense after I read the rest :3

content: fluff, established relationship, bakugo is silly

The old grandfather clock that Katsuki insisted he needed chimes loudly to announce the arrival of the next hour. You were in the kitchen getting a little snack before winding down for bed.

As you continued preparing your snack your boyfriend made his presence know in the kitchen with his humming.

"What's that?" He asks looking over your shoulder.

"I'm trying something new." You explain, taking a look at it for yourself. Honestly, you don't know what to call it. His eyes travel down to your feet where he can see you aren't wearing socks or your house slippers.

"How many times do I have to tell ya to wear something on your feet? You'll get sick." He complains for the umpteenth time this week.

"Mhm I know. I need you to be quiet you're breaking my concentration." He finds it cute how your tongue is slightly poking out as you try to frost this.. interesting looking cupcake.

"Doesn't look like ya put much effort or thought into it but okay..." He clicks his tongue and you elbow him in the stomach. Of course it doesn't hurt though, because he's built like a marble statue.

"Anyways, I need you to read over this when your done. It's my wish list to Santa." You don't respond right away, waiting to see if he's going to say he's joking or something, but he doesn't. You put down the frosting bag and stare deep into his soul.

"Are you serious? I thought Santa wasn't real. At least that's what you told Denki and ruined his Christmas." You recall last year's Christmas party when Katsuki harshly broke the news to Denki. The blond had a mental break down.

"I've reconsidered what I'd said before. He's real 'n I've been real good this year so hopefully I'll get what I wished for." He emphasizes that for some odd reason.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Remember when you verbally assaulted that kid who said you look like a mean Pokémon character?" He grumbles something that you don't quite catch but you get what he means.

"Just read it." He says with a roll of his eyes. You stare at him once again.

"Ughhh be happy I love your ass. I have to stop my cupcakes to read a santa list??? How old are you five?" He knows you aren't mad which is why he holds out the red envelope for you to take.

He watches you intently as you gently tear open the envelope. You pull out a piece of paper, which reads:

Dear Santa,

It's me. Bakugo.

The only thing I want for Christmas is a pretty wife who will stay with me through thick and thin. Who's also annoying and banned from going to sleep after me because of her terrible pranks.

Thanks.

As you finish reading it you're in shock. You lower the letter from your view to see your boyfriend on one knee, a pretty ring being presented to you in a very exquisite box.

"So.. will you help Santa out? Make my wish come true?" He's shaking and he looks so vulnerable it touches your heart.

You already know your answer but who would you be if you didn't give the man a run for his money.

"Well I don't know, Santa still needs to receive the letter then he'll probably come to me and we'll talk." You say crossing your arms. Katsuki glares at you and you smile back.

"Of course I will!! I mean who else would do it if not for me?" He rolls his eyes so hard you feel it.

"I could get anyone to marry me in seconds." He scoffs while putting the ring on your finger.

"All this talk and it took you 7 years to finally pop the question." Before he even gets another word out you lean down to press a soft kiss onto his lips.

"Merry Christmas, hubby." You say with a snort.

"Way to ruin a romantic moment and hubby is not going to be a new nickname."

jokes on him hubby stuck around for a long time :3

[herejusttosufferalong]

I think L gave us a lot of hints/messages about what might be going on post-premiere in that Jimmy F appearance. Let’s note that this was after Papgate, after his and N’s social media posts in the fallout period, and after Milan if I am remember correctly? The more I think about it the more I think his team crafted the content we saw to reset his public image, explain some things, and encourage the audience to give him some grace. It was damage control/positive PR/but also some explanations for what we are seeing.

First off, he came off relaxed and confident, a big contrast from how stressed he looked when he had been papped. I think they were also trying to portray him as a friendly and relatable regular guy who had suddenly been thrust into fame as a heartthrob and romantic lead.

Him running from the carriage scene music/talking about how he is not used to the level of fame and exposure and recognition that has come with the success of the show (barber story, needing security in Brazil).

The reference to JB passing down the guide that was called “How to fall in love in front of 82 million people” - more messaging that it is difficult to have that level of scrutiny and specifically when playing a romantic lead when you have insane chemistry with your costar.

The romantic lines, read B-ton style (these are so L/N coded and reference things L or N have brought up in interviews, with the exception of “East Peasy Lemon Squeezy.) We’ve got:

Espresso lyrics - song with significance to the ship, also what L was listening to getting ready for the London premiere, Honeybee, come get that pollen lyrics

“Penelope, we were on a break!” -this is the biggest hint right here of why L was papped/appears in a relationship with another woman after we have seen his and N’s chemistry jump off the screen for 6 months and also in the show itself. THEY (N/L) WERE ON A BREAK. I don’t think he wanted to be on a break, but they were, and I think they’re now on another one while he tries to get his affairs in order. And note that he says “Penelope,” not Rachel, which would be the accurate pop culture quote. Which doesn’t really make sense because he and P are never on a break during the show unless you count the time she stops writing to him and he goes off the rails. Penelope is code for N. Also he is referencing the R/R relationship/timing issues again.

Then the Barbie quote. I think this somewhat addresses him being attached to a strong beautiful powerful woman (LWD or N, take your pick) and that dynamic of potentially being overshadowed and having to find your own self worth in order to handle it . I don’t think that last part about being her Ken was scripted (JF even gives him a wtf look and then it gets cut when it airs), but he made it clear he is happy being her Ken. He basically claims his ass as hers on National TV without meaning to.

I think the interview didn’t have purposeful mention of N for a reason, he was trying to emphasize his role as a B-bro and an actor and romantic lead in his own right, and connect him to the other male leads, and the clip they chose showed that.

He then follows up with a social media post confirming a late night/non-work/non PR beach walk with N and said security guards. I mean… that was a date, and for him to post that in the face of everyone saying he had hard-launched A and he and N were “all PR” is crazy. They also have to be aware of all of the Brazil reports and speculation.

I think the messaging was: This is level of fame and exposure is new, he’s figuring it out, give him a break. Also, everything is okay between N&L so don’t worry, there may be reasons for why what we are seeing doesn’t make sense but they are figuring it out between them.

Would the general audience pick up on all of that? No, but the hardcore fans would so they layered it all in there. Maybe his PR team isn’t that dumb afterall?

I know there’s speculation N was there- I don’t know if she was but her immediate like definitely showed support and that they are still a team. Wouldn’t surprise me if she had a hand in some of that strategy.

I think this is the first in depth analysis I have ever seen on the JF appearance that I mostly agree with.

Thanks for sharing 💜🥃

[xxyarsiaxx]

Imagine Elizabeth,Annie and ruby find out y/n has been sleeping with Rio

Beth,ruby, Annie and y/n were at a bar waiting with a duffel bag of full of cash. Annie began to notice something about y/n. She seems different.

"What?" Y/n asks as she notices Annie look at her with such a weird face. "What's up with your hair?" Annie says folding her arms in curiousness. Beth then looked at y/n and started to notice as well.

Y/n touched her hair defensively. "Nothing" she answered as she kept touching her hair. "Somethings going on" Beth said eyeing y/n. "Yeah it looks....fluffy" ruby trails off as she picks up her drink. "Bouncy even" Annie added as she picks up her drink.

"Uh I used shampoo. People use that ya know" y/n said with a sarcastic voice. "Okay" Annie said chuckling. "Shampoo" Ruby said looking at her friend amused. The girls then exchange a look as rio walks up to them.

"Yo" he greeted as they all looked up to see him pulling up a chair next to y/n. The girls look at the pair amused as y/n hands rio the duffel bag full of money. As it's happening they touch hands for a second longer than they would have to. The girls  suddenly watch nervously as rio starts going through the bag.

Y/n looks at the girls as they make eye contact with one another. Y/n sighed before talking again. "So what are you gonna do?" Y/n asked rio looking at him.

"Uh take care of it" rio says counting the money still before zipping up the duffel bag. "Buy off a cop or judge or something—" Ruby says but is cut off by rio. "You don't need to sweat the details".

"But how will we know if it worked?" Beth asked nervously. "If you don't get arrested, guess what it probably worked" he responded back making y/n roll her eyes.

"That's not a plan" y/n said making rio look at her. Rio then stood up, hoist the duffel bag on his shoulder and looks back at only y/n. There is a pregnant pause before rio speaks again.

"You trust me?" He asks making y/n look at him like he's crazy. "God no" y/n says while smiling. He grins at this and nods. "Good" he responded back. Suddenly they started staring at each-other for what felt like forever and suddenly y/n looked away. He gave the girls one last look and he left shocking the other girls.

Once he left the girls stares at y/n who is now drinking her wine. Y/n feels eyes on her so she looks up to find the the siblings still staring in shock.

"What?" Y/n asks. "Oh. My. God." Annie and Beth said in unison as ruby just looked confused. "What??" Y/n asks again looking at them confused.  "Uh I think you know" Annie says as y/n starts getting her stuff to leave.

Y/n starts rushing out while the siblings follow leaving ruby who is still confused. Going into the parking lot a curious Annie chases down a embarrassed y/n as she tries to run to her car. "Riddle me this y/n" Annie says as y/n is trying to get away from her.

"I don't know what your talking about" y/n says not even looking at the girls. "Picture if it was me. You would be so far up my ass right now about the responsible choice and keeping it in my pants—" Annie says but y/n cut her off. "Actually I would've told you to be careful. We all know the only person who would do that it your sister."

"She's your sister too y/n" Annie says making y/n stop infront of her car. "Look I'm not saying you don't deserve some but he's not just some dude. Why would you crap where you eat?!" Annie asks worried.

Ruby appears behind the siblings next to Beth. "What has gotten into you guys?"Ruby looks at the confused. "Oh I can tell you what's gotten into her" Beth says as she points at y/n. "Gang friend" Annie finishes making y/n roll her eyes for the hundredth time today.

Ruby's head explodes with this information. She just stared at y/n in shock. "Stop looking at me like that" y/n says opening her car door. "You know it actually makes perfect sense now" Beth says folding her arms. "Whaaat?" Ruby says still shocked.

"It's why he gave YOU the money" Annie said emphasizing the 'you'. "That was before" y/n said but Beth cut her off. "Why you have been big timing us for weeks—"

"That's not why. I just didn't want to deal with you and you." Y/n points at her sisters. "Why is that?" Beth asks clearly taking offense. "Are you serious?? You guys have problems of your own. Drama that I don't need. But I didn't ask for anymore jobs. That was Beth." Y/n says turning back to her car as she puts her stuff inside.

"You think you're the big boss now because your vagina got woke" Annie says making y/n look at her annoyed. "Excuse me? Who's idea was to rob a bank? Who's idea was it to take more jobs? Not me! I always supported you on what you wanted and finally thought about myself for once. FOR ONCE in my life I got to do something I wanted to do. Who are you to say I can't sleep with him. It's not like your situation is better so get off of my back". Y/n says as Annie gets quiet.

Ruby is still processing all of this. "I mean...how was it?" Ruby asks still in shock but Y/n didn't bother to look at ruby. Usually when y/n was in the talking stage with someone her and ruby would always talk about it. Ruby was like her sister to her "And now that I think about it. Did you screw someone who had a pregnant wife?" Y/n asked making Annie glare at her. "I ended that."

Y/n scoffed at this. "When, yesterday?" She says folding her arms. Annie looks at her hurt. "Bone whoever you want. But it's gonna end bad" Annie says as she shakes her head and walks to her car. Y/n shakes her head and starts chuckling. "I'm finally do something I wanna do and it's a problem. That's nice" she says as she gets in her car as the others sat in silence.

Before anybody can say anything y/n drove off upset.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Could you maybe write like obsessive gp Donna x Fem reader (they're dating btw)? Like Donna just absolutely going feral on the reader like losing all sense of control idk. No shy Donna chat, we die w feral donna going on abt how much she loves reader n all that, how reader is like a drug to her and she can't live without her bcs she's like hella hooked on reader. Waiter waiter! Smut pls! (U don't have to do it if ur not comfortable w it dw)

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :)))))

Trust me

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, slightly dark Donna, jealousy...

Word count: 6,763

Summary: You love that obsessive and jealous doll maker...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

The night covered that place with a sinister breeze. The sound of the waterfall seemed to bounce off the rock with more intensity. The cold was starting to be unbearable. Your walk was slow but determined, you were returning home.

After a fun night with friends, the way back was always relaxing, despite the shivers that crossing that forest alone caused you. Well, actually you could consider yourself almost lucky to have left the estate. It wasn’t something especially usual.

You sighed in relief as you approached the old mansion. The windows didn’t reflect light, only darkness, there seemed to be no one awake, good.

Slowly, you opened the doors, whose creaking echoed disturbingly in the old house. No light, no dolls in sight.

With extreme care not to disturb your girlfriend's rest, you closed them again, walking almost on tiptoe and adjusting your eyes to the darkness.

Everything seemed calm, it seemed like the house itself was comfortable with the silence, something that shouldn't surprise you. Step by step, you walked through the living room, with the same subtle step, not wanting to disturb that calm. It was a pity that it didn't last long.

“Shit!” you screamed when, unexpectedly, the light in the living room turned on, and in the middle of it there was someone waiting for you, Donna. “Ugh, hey, Donna, don't do that,” you protested with a hand on your chest, smiling embarrassingly

“What you don't want me to do?” she asked with a cold look, with a dark pose that startled you. “I was waiting for you.”

“I see, but... Did you have to scare me to death?” you said calmer, approaching the lady in black, trying to steal a kiss from her, something she prevented, studying your gaze.

“You've been drinking,” she stated, with her only eye fixed on yours, on the shine that was present in them. You laughed and shook your head, moving away from the lady.

“No...” you said without confidence, making a gesture with your hand to emphasize your lie. “Well, maybe.”

“Have you seen what time it is, (Y/N)?” the woman in black asked, with an accusatory look, allowing you to finally capture her lips with yours quickly.

You shrugged, glancing sideways at the clock hanging on the wall.

“Mm, two o'clock,” you whispered embarrassed, with a good girl face.

Donna sighed, crossing her arms.

“It's late, (Y/N), I was really worried about you,” the lady said, approaching slowly, placing a hand on your cheek, checking your condition more closely.

You shook your head with a tired smile, joining your hand to her caresses and sighing, controlling her breathing to calm her down, she seemed nervous.

“Oh, come on, Donna, you have nothing to worry about,” you whispered with a sweet voice, placing your lips on hers again.

She stepped back, shaking her head, frowning.

“Haven’t I? I'm your girlfriend, of course I was worried,” she said with a strange expression, as if you had denied an absolute truth for her.

“I know how to take care of myself, besides, I was with my friends,” you said with a passive tone, leaning on her desk.

The lady in black opened her eye wide, emitting something like an angry growl.

“That's what worries me,” she whispered, looking away, turning her back to you.

You rolled your eyes, resting both your hands on her shoulders, massaging them in a comforting way.

“Donna...” you murmured, continuing with that relaxing massage. “You have to calm down... I'm not a child. Besides, you already know that they are harmless. They would never dare to lay a finger on me. They know who you are.”

The doll maker turned around with a tired sigh, gently grabbing you by the waist, bringing you closer to her.

“If I lost you, I would go crazy, amore mio...” she whispered in your ear, placing her forehead against yours, closing her eye to relax from the contact of her skin with yours. “I love you so much…”

“Oh…” you sighed with a childish smile, moved by her constant declarations of love, wrapping your hands around her neck in a romantic way. “You're not going to lose me… see? I'm here.”

“You're here now, but… What about tomorrow? Will you still be with me?” she asked with a broken voice, caressing you, as if she didn't want to forget the touch of your skin, as if she wanted to remember it in case her fears came true.

You sighed tired of that pessimistic and distrustful attitude, one you had been living with for a long time.

“I'll never get tired of telling you, Donna, I'll never leave,” you whispered in her ear while she hugged you, holding you tightly against her body. “I always come back, and you know it.”

“You always leave again,” she murmured, pushing you away, with a sad look, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “You don't know how much I suffer when I see you walk out the door, when I think about where you are, if you're with someone else...”

“I've told you a thousand times, that's nonsense, I only love you,” you said seriously, cupping her face in your hands, trying, again, to fight against her jealousy, against that absurd fear of losing you.

“Words are something ephemeral, (Y/N),” she commented, letting herself be caressed with distrust. “If you loved me as much as you say, you would stay with me.”

“Okay...” you sighed, looking at her with sincere eyes, trying to convey with your gaze what your words affirmed. “Donna, trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said abruptly, looking at you darkly. “You're the love of my life, and I want you by my side, you told me you'd be by my side.”

“Oh, wow, I thought I was gone,” you joked, something that, of course, she didn't like at all, moving away from you with a growl.

“Are you laughing at me?” Donna asked offended, pressing her lips together, with fury beginning to run through her body.

“Not exactly,” you said, ignoring the danger of that posture, of that look. “I laugh at your stupid paranoia, Donna.”

“It’s not stupid, just look at you, you're so… Prefect…” she protested, blinking nervously, shaking her head, as if you had said something stupid. “Wanting you to be only mine is paranoia?”

“No…” you murmured, looking at your nails with disinterest. “But believing that everyone wants to flirt with me is.”

“Everyone wants to flirt with you, that's an irrefutable truth,” she said with a proud pose, looking away in a childish way. “Everyone wants to take you away from me.”

“That sounds like paranoia…” you said with irony, arching your eyebrows. “Stop… Worrying that much.”

“(Y/N)…” the lady in black sighed, controlling her agitated breathing. “You still don't understand, do you? You are the only thing that matters to me, the only thing I think about, the only person I love… You are… You are my addiction, my light, the only reason that makes me smile. I think you don't realize how much I suffer when I see that you are not with me, when I’m not able to hear your voice.”

“Wow…” you sighed with a shy smile, your cheeks flushed by those words. You would never get used to that melodic voice, to those words that repeated over and over again, how much she loved you. “Keep talking…”

“Being without you is like the air is missing, I can't breathe, I can't feel anything if you're not by my side, if my my hand is not caressing your skin,” the brunette continued with a smile, slowly approaching, attacking your waist again.

You laughed nervously, biting your lip at those seductive words.

“If you weren't so tender...” you sighed, letting her arms hug you, leaning so your head rested on her shoulder, to fill you with her lavender essence. She pulled away abruptly, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“What? What would happen?” she asked worriedly.

You repressed the impulse to roll your eyes again, silencing her absurd worries with a romantic, slow, soft kiss, noticing how her body relaxed a bit.

“Nothing, Donna,” you said with a tired voice, yawning. “Well… It’s been a long day and I’d like to go to bed, are you coming?”

You moved to walk towards the elevator, being stopped by a strong grip on your wrist, one that kept you in place.

“Let me go, Donna…” you sighed amused, letting the brunette pull you towards her body again, surrounding you with her arms.

“I would never let you go, tesoro,” she said, with a soft voice, approaching your lips to devour them wildly, to kiss you with passion, with eagerness, to let out her fears, her feelings…

You kissed her back, trying to keep up with her fierce rhythm, trying to say with that gesture how much you loved her, how absurd her worries were. You took a breath as those kisses deepened, as they went down your neck without wanting to stop.

“Hey, take it easy, darling,” you said amused, separating yourself from a Donna, who was about to lose control again, if she hadn't already.

“I can't calm down with you by my side... You make my heart beat so fast, (Y/N),” she whispered in your ear, giving you one last kiss before turning you around abruptly, pushing you against the desk.

“What are you doing?” you asked curiously, trying to stand up, without success.

Her hands tilted your head towards the wood again before traveling down your body, caressing your waist, resting on it while the lady in black leaned on you.

You knew what her intentions were. You knew that when something worried her, that the fear of losing you was too much for her, she acted that way, wanting to claim you as hers in a wild way, wanting to feel you in a unique way, reminding you over and over again that you would never belong to anyone else.

“Taci,” Donna said to you with a dark voice, slipping her hands into your dress, lifting it up and leaving you exposed, at her mercy. “You are mine…”

“Couldn't I be yours tomorrow?” you asked jokingly, unable to stop her fingers from pulling down your underwear, her caresses from ceasing to be innocent. “I'm a bit tired.”

“Tomorrow is too late, tesoro…” she murmured, playing with the erection that was already pressing against your body. “I need you now.”

“Wait… Donna!” you squealed when, without warning, she entered you with a silent moan, stretching your walls unexpectedly. Of course, your body didn't object to that intrusion, welcoming it warmly as always.

“Shut up,” she said, pulling your hair gently, tilting your head up as she moved so your body would better adapt to hers. “Così bagnata, mm? Il tuo corpo mi ama…”

“Of course it loves you…” you said, starting to pant from that improvised pleasure, with your hips moving involuntarily to keep up with her thrusts. “That's because I love you, Donna.”

She moaned with pleasure hearing the words that came out of your lips, feeling your body adapting to her, confirming the truth of your statements. You may not have planned to end the night like this, but you weren't going to complain, of course.

“You… You don’t know… What it's like… To love you that much…” she murmured, rambling among moans, grabbing your hips to move them as she pleased. The sound of the old desk moving added a few more degrees of temperature to that dark room. “…Thinking about you all the time…”

“Mm…” you moaned, closing your eyes and letting yourself be carried away by her movements, by her desire to love you, to show you that unconditional and irrational love Donna felt for you. You would never blame her for that, her paranoia didn't matter. You didn't care about anything but her, even if you didn't tell her as much as she did to you.

“Don’t, don't leave me again, (Y/N),” the lady in black moaned, increasing her speed, the roughness of those intense thrusts, resting her hand on your back so you wouldn't move, so you wouldn't stop being hers. “I can't live without you…”

“Donna,” you moaned, repressing the pleasure you felt with a closed fist on the wooden table, sweating, feeling loved, full of her. “The things you say… They just drive me crazy…”

She laughed tenderly, relaxing her movements, leaning over you, grabbing your chin to turn it slowly, kissing you tenderly, almost as if time had stopped.

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered, positioning your head again against the table, resuming her increasingly erratic movements. She was close, and so were you.

“Wait, don't do...” you said when her panting turned furious, when your walls played with her shaft inside them, when her hips danced almost uncontrollably.

It was too late for warnings, her release caressed your wetness, her heat ran through your insides without warning, causing you to have an embarrassing orgasm due to the sensation.

 “… That…” you sighed, relaxing your body after a shy moan, after scratching the wood of the desk.

“Ti amo, (Y/N),” the lady sighed, slowly moving away, approaching your lips as you caught your breath.

You kissed her back and stood up, turning around with your arms crossed.

“Again, Donna?” you asked with your voice cracked by pleasure. Her gaze remained fixed on you, trying to interpret its words. “Honey… You know I don't like it when you do it inside… We could… We could… Have problems.”

“You liked it,” she said, with a sinister smile, one that made you blush. You nodded defeated, with a tender look. “You can lie to me, but your body can't.”

“You know me too well,” you whispered amused, moving from the wet discomfort between your legs. “But, but be more careful next time.”

“Would a child of mine be a problem for you?” she asked shaking her head, with that accusatory look.

You rolled your eyes too many times a day.

“I'm not ready for that, Donna,” you sighed, hugging her waist, kissing her to dispel her paranoia again. “But well, it doesn't matter, darling... Hey, I need a bath, will you join me?”

She looked at you with a radiant face, devoid of fear and jealousy, that tender look that you fell in love with, that you could never stop being addicted to. With a quick kiss, she nodded, letting your hand guide her to walk with you.

Loving Donna Beneviento wasn't a difficult thing. You were a simple villager, one who wasn't special, who was like any other. To think that someone like you, a normal, ordinary girl, could attract the attention of one of the Lords was something you never even considered.

But, of course, once you started talking to her, having tea in her old mansion, wondering over and over again what was behind that black veil, you knew you couldn't, and didn't want to stop doing it.

A sick mind, a deformity on her face, a different body... None of that stopped your heart from beating faster in her presence, letting yourself be carried away by her timid flattery, by those smiles you could see when that black cloth disappeared.

Living with her was the closest thing to the Gods that you had ever experienced. It was a circle of constant love, of kisses, of hugs, of improvised lustful acts. But nobody said that the Black Paradise of the Gods was perfect.

Donna was a lonely woman, who spent most of her life surrounded by absolute darkness. She had no family, no friends; she only had Angie, who was nothing but a part of her own conscience.

Those experiences, that terrible childhood took their toll on her. Even though she was an immortal Lord, she couldn’t be oblivious to the suffering of a human being, to that fear, to that constant Sword of Damocles that hung over her head, threatening to plunge her back into the darkness.

You knew those reasons, the root of her fears, of her obsessive and possessive behavior. You understood and tolerated it, as well as her nervous breakdowns. None of that was a reason enough to stop loving her, to stop feeling the protection of her arms around your body, her healing caresses...

You loved her more than anything, you enjoyed her company, even if you had to deal with her problems, something that was becoming easier and easier for you. Time could be the best remedy for her fears, knowing that in more than a year you were still sleeping next to her should be enough reason for her demons to surrender to the truth. It didn't seem to be, but you were already used to it.

“Mmmm,” you moaned the next day while you were eating. Of course, nothing could compare to her way of cooking, to her eagerness to please you with the simplest things. “You've added spice.”

She smiled, taking a sip of her glass of wine, pleased by your liking, even embarrassed by it.

“Do you like it?” the lady whispered in a tender voice, with a look that could only convey love, that love you adored so much, so far from her obsessions.

“Yes, it's... Delicious,” you joked.

Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

“I'll do whatever it takes to please you, you should know that,” she murmured, keeping that intense look, the one that seemed to adore every part of you. “I know how much you like spicy food.”

“Do you? Well, I don't think I've ever told you,” you said with a frown, trying to remember a conversation that seemed to have never happened.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, looking away with disinterest. “Of course you haven’t, I've read it in your diary,” she said, without any problem, making the cutlery fall from your hands.

“What?” you asked incredulously, laughing nervously, open-mouthed. “Can you repeat that for me?”

“I've read it in your diary,” the lady repeated, offering you a basket. “Do you want a piece of bread?”

“Bread?” you said confused, picking up a piece and shaking your head. “Wait, wait, wait… I don’t think you said that… It’s a joke, right?”

Donna looked up. There was no smile on her face, she was serious.

“No,” she said simply, without giving it any importance.

You searched for the right words to react to that confession. You couldn’t find them. A mix of dangerous emotions began to run through your body.

“Really? Have you, have you read my diary?” you asked confused, incredulous at her words. “But, but if it is, it’s hidden… You shouldn’t even know I have a diary.”

“If you wanted to hide it, there are better places than the laundry room to do it,” the doll maker commented, with disinterest, as if she didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation.

“Oh, I… Um, but…” you stammered, red with embarrassment and unable to react rationally and maturely to that intrusion. “But Donna, why the hell did you do that?”

The lady in black wiped herself with a napkin, sighing in annoyance and looking at you darkly.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” she whispered with a cocky pose, proud of her action.

“There aren't,” you protested nervously, passing a hand over your forehead. “Don't you know that a diary is something intimate?”

“Didn't you hear me?” she asked, visibly annoyed by your attitude, something that made you even angrier. “There are no secrets between us, (Y/N).”

“Donna… I've been writing that diary since I was a little girl… You can't read it,” you said, unsure of how to act, nervous and embarrassed. “They’re my, my private thoughts.”

“Do you need your thoughts to be private? What are you hiding from me?” she asked, with an increasingly dangerous tone.

“Gods… Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms, opening your eyes wide. “But I like to have some privacy, you know?”

“It's not necessary with me,” Donna commented, with a serenity that made you even more nervous. “You can tell me whatever you want.”

“Oh, yes, of course, why would I tell you if you've already read it? Donna, listen to me, you can't do that. It's my diary, you understand? Mine.”

“Certo…” she murmured, taking another sip of wine, with a much more dangerous look. “I'm convinced that you would have told me when you made up with Ionescu's daughter in the back of the church.”

“Hey, you're so…” you hissed, huffing angrily. “Why do you want to know? Are you interested in my private life?”

“If your private life is full of stupid women who could come back one day to make you fall in love again, yes, I'm interested,” Donna murmured, crossing her arms, with the same posture as you.

“That happened 10 years ago,” you said nervously, shaking your head. “I was 15, Donna. Seriously, I can't believe your jealousy goes that far.”

“I can't believe you don't understand that I need to know everything about you,” she answered. “I can't understand why instead of telling me your worries, you write them in that book.”

“Because I don't want to worry you, Donna,” you said, more confidently. “I know what you're like, I know what you think, and I know how much it hurts you to think that before you there were…”

“Silenzio! Don't go on…” she said, screaming nervously, her jealousy consuming her again.

“See?” you said satisfied, causing him to growl nervously. “I wouldn't have to hide anything from you if you weren't so… Jealous.”

“I'm jealous because I like to keep what's mine, because I'm afraid of losing you,” Donna said, looking away from you. “You don't know how much I suffer when I imagine… Those things.”

“This would be solved if you trusted me, don't you think?” you asked ironically, earning a fiery look. “Gosh, Donna, you’re capable to piss on me just to mark your territory.”

“I would do it if I had to,” she commented in a low voice.

You laughed defeated, shaking your head and letting your shoulders fall, unable to continue with this absurd conversation.

“Do you want some more wine?” Donna asked in a different voice, as if she had never said those things, as if she hadn't delved into your most private intimacy.

You thought about it, but put on a fake smile, extending your glass towards her, which she filled immediately. Before you could bring that wine closer to you, you threw it abruptly at the brunette's face, soaking it unpleasantly.

“That's for reading my diary,” you said satisfied, leaving the now empty glass on the table.

Donna shook her head in confusion, mouth agape, her face covered in that red liquid, trying to clean it with her hand. You got up from the chair, taking your plate of food to enjoy it away from Donna, who did the same, tightly grabbing your wrist with an angry murmur.

“Why don't you go down to play with your dolls? I don't feel like being with you,” you said, moving away from her grip. “And wipe your face.”

Her eye was shining with fury and her breathing was uncontrolled. You weren't afraid, she would never hurt you. You were completely safe. She was probably furious, wanting to scream and break things, but she didn't, she just cursed your name in Italian and turned around, walking away to the elevator hallway.

“Oh, Donna, what happened to you? Have you forgotten how to drink?” Angie mocked, passing by the angry lady, who gave her a look that could scare the bravest.

“Vaffanculo!” the brunette shrieked, with all her rage contained, walking faster and faster.

“Hey! Don't say those ugly things to me! Bad Donna, silly Donna!” Angie shouted, causing you to grimace in disgust at that squeaky voice.

“Arghh!” Lady Beneviento growled, disappearing from your sight.

“Enjoy the wine, darling,” you muttered mockingly, sitting down on a sofa and continuing with your meal.

“Hey, you! Donna said mean things to me because of you!” the doll accused, climbing onto the sofa and pointing at you with her finger.

“Because of me? No,” you said in a passive voice. “It was her fault.”

“Her fault? Stupid lying villager…” the doll hissed, not letting you eat in peace. “Donna would never do anything bad to you. It was your fault, silly.”

“No? Ask her why she read my diary,” you said with a sigh, shaking your head. “That's not right, you know?”

“You're very mean to her, silly…” Angie whispered, dropping down beside you. “Poor Donna loves you very much.”

“Well, let her not love me that much,” you snapped furiously, looking at the hallway where the lady disappeared.

“Donna just wanted to know things about you,” Angie said, in a calmer tone.

“Well, she could ask me instead of gossiping, right?” you said, finishing your food, leaving it on the table. “Angie, I… I don't know how to tell her that she has nothing to fear, that she's not going to lose me…”

“What you say doesn't matter, silly, Donna would never listen to you,” the puppet explained, surprisingly understanding. “She's madly in love with you.”

“She’s madly obsessed,” you corrected with irony, calming your nerves.

“Isn't it the same?”

“Well, in part…” you rambled, leaning your back against the furniture. “You know I love her, right?”

“You say that,” Angie said, laughing amusedly. “You also say it in your diary.”

“What? You too? Oh, Gods…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, even more embarrassed.

“You are very hard on my Donna, she just wants you to be happy by her side,” the doll said after a moment of reflection.

“Hey, I have a hard time too. You don't know what it's like that no matter what I do, she never trusts me,” you murmured, shaking your head.

“And you, stupid villager, don't know what it's like for Donna to have someone by her side after so much time alone. She's stupid, and clumsy, but that's because someone like you had never appeared in her life.”

“Wow, Angie, that's very… Deep for you,” you said jokingly, with a soft smile.

“You're wrong about me, silly,” the puppet said, with a cocky pose. “I want the best for Donna. And if that's you... Well, I have to accept it

“She should learn to control herself,” you sighed, more relaxed, with the resentment disappearing from your thoughts. “She can't lose her mind every time I’m not with her.”

“You know my Donna has never had her mind on straight,” the doll mocked, whispering in your ear so as not to be heard. “But she's good, I promise.”

“You don't have to tell me, I know,” you said with a smile, remembering the thousands of good times with the lady in black, infinitely superior to the absurd arguments. “Besides, it's not like I dislike her wild side that much...” you murmured amused, winking at the doll, who moved away in horror.

“Disgusting,” she protested.

“Okay... I think I should go to the workshop and talk to her,” you said tiredly, getting up from the sofa.

“Don't be mad at her... She really loves you,” Angie murmured, in a strange, unusual, sad way.

“I'm not mad,” you said smiling, moving away from the doll and walking towards the elevator.

You were right. You didn't hold that much resentment. Yes, she had read your diary, but there was nothing you had to hide from her, besides that old book was full of compliments towards the lady in black, of words of love.

“Are you here to apologize?” the brunette whispered when you entered the workshop. You rolled your eyes, but continued walking, hanging on her shoulders.

“No,” you said amused, kissing her cheek affectionately. “The color red suits your skin very well, you know?”

“If you've come to make fun of me, I'd rather you leave, I'm busy,” she hissed, focused on one of her dolls, but without moving away from your grip.

“Oh, now you want me to leave, huh? I thought you liked being with me,” you said in her ear mockingly, making her stop with a sigh.

“There's nothing in the world I like more than being with you, (Y/N),” she replied, running a hand over yours, caressing it gently while manipulating a small dress.

“Mm, okay,” you said amused, kissing her quickly and settling yourself affectionately on her lap.

She looked at you, sketching a relaxed smile, kissing your lips slowly, holding you so you wouldn't move away from her body while she continued working.

“Your breathing is very funny,” you commented with a sweet voice, attracting her attention again. “When you're focused you breathe very deeply, I love it.”

“I do it without meaning to,” Donna said, with a wider smile. “Do you like my breathing? What kind of compliment is that?” she asked amused, accommodating you more on her lap.

You shrugged sighing relaxed, watching how that delicate hand gave life to another of those dolls.

“Well, the one I thought of,” you joked, hanging on her shoulders to be more comfortable. “I'm sure you've read some better ones in my diary.”

Donna stopped, sighing deeply, closing her eye, but pretending to ignore your words.

Being next to her in the workshop, in silence, was one of your favorite hobbies. Seeing her calm, working on her dolls, only stopping to kiss or caress you, bordered on perfection.

“I'm sorry about your diary,” the lady murmured, with an inaudible whisper. “I didn't know it annoyed you that much.”

“Well…” you murmured surprised by that apology. No, she never apologized. Donna always believed she was doing the best for you, for your love. “People don't like it when you pry into their secrets, you know…”

“No, I don't know,” she answered, with a slightly darker tone.

“Mm…” you sighed, studying the movements of her hand, which was beginning to tremble. “Donna, I'm not angry about that, it's just that… Hey, I don't feel comfortable with you knowing how I threw up in front of my family on Gods’ Coming day.”

“You drank too much,” she commented, with a calmer tone, with a slight smile decorating the beauty of her face.

“Yes…” you said, nodding amused.

“You don't understand, (Y/N),” she said, putting her dolls aside to look directly at you, with a sad expression, gently caressing your cheek. “Everything that has to do with you is fascinating to me.”

“Even a teenage binge?” you joked, with a good girl face that made her laugh. It made her emit that tender laugh that drove you crazy.

“Even that,” she said, kissing you on the lips quickly. “Knowing that you have lived the life you deserved comforts my heart. I’m so in love with you…”

“I know,” you said with a serious voice, with a sincere smile.

“Your life is addictive to me, you are addictive to me, do you understand?” the lady whispered in your ear, brushing your hair away from your face, a habit she had and that you loved. “You have come into my life to change it completely. You have illuminated my darkness… How can I not be interested in you? How do you expect me to not try to get to know you? To know what you think, what your fears are?”

“I only have one fear, Donna…” you whispered calmly, enjoying the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. “You don't trust me.”

“It's complicated, you know?” she said, pulling away abruptly, frowning. “I, I would like to be able to please you, to free you from that fear but… My fear of losing you overcomes it, the thought that you are not here, with me, imagining of you in another person’s arms…”

Her words were fading with anger, with that incipient rage, with the trembling of her body, the hardening of her expression.

“Shhh, stop it, my love…” you said in a soothing voice, comforting her with your caresses, trying to erase the darkness from her face. “I don't want you to get nervous…”

“Of course I get nervous,” she protested, in a harsher tone, clenching her fists tightly despite your affectionate gestures. “No one, no one can touch you, not even look at you. You are mine, and only mine.”

“You haven't said anything I don't agree with, darling,” you commented in a soft voice, kissing the back of her clenched fist. “Only yours, you should know that.”

“I know that but… every, every time…I think that… I'm not the first one who…” Donna stammered nervously, starting to lose control again. You got off her lap, keeping her erratic gaze on yours, holding her head.

“You may not be the first, but you are the last, Donna,” you said seriously, confidently, sure of yourself, sure that what you were saying was an immovable truth. She shook her head, pulling away from your hold with a sigh.

“I love you,” she whispered, not looking at you, slowly standing up and grabbing your waist. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Donna… Me too,” you whispered back, letting her body dance with yours, her hands gently rocking it, playing with yours. “Come here,” you said amused, making a gesture with your finger, kissing her deeply, melting into her in a comforting, almost balsamic warmth.

“(Y/N)… Sei la mia vita, il mio amore, il mio sogno…” the lady whispered lovingly in your ear, making your whole body tremble.

“You know I melt when you talk to me like that,” you purred, earning a radiant smile, proud of what her words continued to provoke in you.

“Good,” she said with a murmur, cupping your face in her hands. “I want you to melt…”

The kisses became disordered, your hands began to wander over her dress. The panting interrupted the eternal rest of those porcelain dolls, filling that sinister workshop with passion.

“I love you so much…” she sighed, taking you in her arms, sitting you on one of the work tables, refusing to let her lips leave your mouth, to let her hands stop caressing your skin.

You laughed in response, adapting to the ferocity of her kisses, to the rhythm of her increasingly intense caresses. The desire that was always latent in you took control of your hands, which impatiently unbuttoned her dress, sneaking inside it, brushing the skin of her covered breasts, her body warm due to the friction with yours.

Her kisses went down your neck, her hands imitated yours, claiming your breasts, squeezing them intensely, engraving the mark of her nails on your skin, her teeth on your neck, engraving herself in you.

“Donna…” you moaned from the pleasure of that unbridled passion, from the hunger and desire she always had to possess you, to claim you, to tell you and herself, that you were hers, to show it in a passionate way.

Your legs danced until they were around her waist, pulling her towards you, not leaving an inch between her body and yours. The gasps, the moans accompanied that lustful touch, those caresses of the brunette on your legs, the soft dance of her hips desperately longing for contact with yours.

It didn't matter what you said anymore, Donna had already lost control again, scratching your skin, running her hands through every corner free of her caresses, wanting to dominate your entire body, wanting to be its owner, its only owner.

“I can't wait any longer...” she sighed, playing with her dress, releasing her more than evident arousal, brushing it with the wetness of your underwear. “Let me take you.”

You bit your lip, closing your eyes at that lustful contact, at the touch of her erection against your wet entrance, at the barrier that seemed to bother her so much, at your clothes preventing Donna from making her wishes come true.

“Wait a bit, darling…” you joked, biting her earlobe. Donna, already out of control, growled, shaking her head.

“If you don't take it off, (Y/N), I'm going to tear it,” she threatened with a dark look, increasing the rhythm of her hips, moaning desperately at the lack of authentic moisture in her body.

You opened your eyes, pleasantly surprised by that furious, anxious attitude, by that lust that only you could endure.

“Oh, you don't dare…” you mocked, lowering your hand to her trembling shaft, stimulating it to increase her suffering, her uncontrollable desire. “Let me give you a hand…”

She moaned in pleasure at your gentle touch, shaking her head. You didn't know it was that easy to control her instincts with your gentle stimulation, but you didn't want that, not at all.

“Mm, you don't follow through on your threats, huh?” you teased, intensifying your movements, playing with her so she felt unable to possess you, something that obviously bothered Donna, removing your hand from her erection and pulling hard at your underwear, inevitably tearing it. “Hey, they were new!”

“You wanted it…” she hissed, not waiting a second to fulfill her wish, to enter you abruptly with a scandalous moan. “Don't play with me, tesoro.”

“I… I like to play with you…” you moaned, moving to her rhythm, with your body receiving her with the same desire, hugging her, squeezing her with your walls. “Hey, slow down… You're big, Donna.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” she growled, lifting your legs, which desperately clung to her waist, holding your ankles, digging her nails into your skin, forcing you to moan louder. “You're mine…”

“Yes, yes, I am, I'm yours,” you repeated, blinded by the pleasure of her roughness, by that intense way of showing you her love, her desire, her irremediable addiction to you.

“You're not going to abandon me,” the doll maker murmured, moaning angrily, moving inside you tirelessly, deforming your body broken by the sensation, weak with its undisputed owner. “You're not going to abandon me!”

“Of course not, my love…” you said as best you could, with your voice breaking from the movements, from the pleasure, from the shivers that were beginning to threaten your body with tensing, with releasing due to that overwhelming pleasure.

“I trust you, I trust you, amore mio…” she stammered, controlling her effusiveness, not wanting to end that passionate act, not wanting to miss your face when you exploded with pleasure. “But I don't plan on moving away, do you hear me?”

 “No?” you said amused, playing with your hips so your insides would play with her erection, so they would caress it in every possible way, to make her lose even more control, something that you achieved, since her hand stopped on your chest while she held your legs.

“I’m going to cum inside of you so... So you can, you can be mine forever... You will carry my child in your womb... No one will dare to argue that you are mine, no one!” Donna said, rambling, losing control of her thoughts, of her intentions.

You didn't take it seriously, but you knew that deep down it was what she wanted. She wanted an indisputable proof that you were hers, that you would always be. But, luckily, things weren't that simple. Probably nothing would happen, like so many other times, right?

“I'm so close, Donna,” you moaned, stretching your body, fighting your own release, which was not long in manifesting, shaking your body, receiving thousands of electric shocks all over your skin. “Go, Gods!”

The spasms of your body, the involuntary movements of your walls caused the lady in black to stop, with her legs trembling, releasing herself inside you, at the same time as you, surrendered to the burning stimulation of your body.

“(Y/N)… I, I love you… I love you…” she whispered, letting your legs go and throwing herself at your lips, kissing you deeply, not wanting to move, wanting to stay inside of you as long as possible.

You smiled, exhausted, with your breathing slowly returning to normal.

“You know? Nobody had loved me as much as you…” you sighed, caressing her sweaty face, one that returned a tender, almost shy, smile. “I love you, Donna.”

“I know…” she murmured, calmer, slowly regaining the sanity that lust had taken from her. You laughed amused, kissing her quickly, covering her with kisses.

“Have you read it in my diary?” you asked jokingly, with your eyebrows raised.

Donna relaxed, bringing a hand to your cheek, shaking her head.

“No, tesoro… I see it in your eyes…”

[devilstruly]

TRUE BEAUTY

pairing - kuroo tetsuro x gn. reader

includes - mutual pining, not really confessing but also not being very subtle about it either, late night talking, commenting on the plot of a kdrama. y/n mentioned once but i promise i had a good reason

a/n - this is mostly inspired by my internal monologue while watching the show, ergo the reader is rooting for seo-jun (i'm biased sorry). also reader is ticklish. i know it's another kuroo one i'm sorry but this man is so ugh

1.14 am

‘That's fucking adorable! Fuckkkk, why is he so cute! Oh my god!’ 

You found yourself snuggled into Kuroo's side comfortably, with his arm draped over the back of the couch and a blanket shared between the two of you. 

‘What the fuck is cute about that?!’ He rolled his eyes at your reaction, his arm flailing around to emphasize his words.

‘He's making up rumors about them dating!’

‘Yeah because he likes her! He just doesn't know how to express his feelings, okay? He's traumatized.’ 

‘Everyone is traumatized, that's not an excuse. Plus, don't you always say it's best to be upfront about things?’

‘He is being upfront about it! She's just oblivious!’ 

'Like you would know.'

Kuroo turned his head to the side slightly so he could mumble a response, quietly enough so that you couldn't pick up on it.

‘What was that?’ 

‘Nothing. I just can't believe you're making excuses for that asshole.’ 

Hadn't it been for you being very deeply invested into the drama as well, you would definitely giggle at Kuroo's persistence.

But alas, that wasn't the case. 

‘That's because he has a bike and good fashion sense.’ 

Kuroo huffed. ‘What's with you and bikes?’

While stating your answer, you shifted your position slightly so you'd be more comfortable, and in addition, almost naturally, Kuroo's arm wrapped around your shoulder to pull you closer.

‘They're cool.’ You replied with a grin, to which Kuroo huffed again. ‘Oh and, I like his eyes too. They're similar to yours.’

Not thinking much of your words, you continued to watch the show unfold, head resting on Kuroo's chest. You had almost forgotten about what you said, but Kuroo finally broke the silence after a while.

‘You like my eyes?’  

Barely paying attention to the television, he now faced you fully, thankful to the darkness of the room for hiding his blush. 

‘Hm? Oh yeah.’ As you finally acknowledged the proximity when you lifted your head, you could feel a blush of your own starting to creep up on your neck.

‘They're really pretty.’ You added after not being able to look away from the golden hues for god knows which time.

With a small smile you went back to your initial position, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself whilst Kuroo tried his best to process the newly received information. 

2.01 am

‘No! No, you dumb fuck! Ugh!’ 

A loud groan echoed in the room before you covered your face with your hands in agony. Kuroo's hand was patting your back gently, though not very sincerely since he was wearing a satisfied expression as he watched the screen. 

‘There there.’ 

‘Fuck off, you like this!’ 

With a huff you untangled yourself from Kuroo's limbs, scooting all the way to the other end of the couch. 

‘I just think it works better!’ Kuroo himself raised his hands in defense, but his smile remained. 

‘Bullshit! He is clearly the better option! He treats her so much better!’ 

‘But they're already dating and she loves her boyfriend. Besides, nothing's wrong with him either.’

‘No it's not, but Seo-jun is simply better.’ 

‘You're just biased because he has a bike.’

‘I'm not! I mean yeah that's a plus, but not that important! He even gave her the keys, come on!’ 

‘Oh so if it were you, you'd dump Soo-ho?’

You immediately recognized the sly undertone in Kuroo's voice and huffed whilst you turned to face him.

‘That's not what I'm saying. And she shouldn't dump him. She shouldn't be with him in the first place. Ugh, this is why relationships are dumb.’

This seemed to get the man's attention, and he readjusted his position on the couch, now barely looking at the TV. 

‘You don't want a relationship?’ His tone became much softer than the previous question, which to you was a clear indicator that the conversation had suddenly become serious. 

You chose to write the change off as the late hour delirium. 

‘I mean…it's not that I don't want it, it's just like- not right now. I don't know. I mean if the person I like is - um - will be someone I can't imagine my life without, then I'd drop this…way of thinking.’

‘Oh.’ 

The one syllable Kuroo managed to get out had you turning your head towards him in confusion, only to be met with the sight of him mumbling something under his breath. 

Opting not to point it out at the moment, you tried to distract him instead. 

‘And you?’ His head shot up in an instant. ‘What's your take on relationships?’ 

Suddenly looking anywhere but you, Kuroo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, making you raise your eyebrows as a silent way of urging him to reply. 

‘Uh…I don't- well- that's a lot of work that I don't have time for. But I think they're…great.’ 

He mentally cursed himself for his choice of words. 

‘So…’ You began, a dangerously serious expression on your face. ‘...If you were to like someone that liked you back…what would you do?’ 

Patiently waiting for an answer, you hugged your knees to your chest and rested your cheek on top of them. Unable to formulate a reply, Kuroo blinked a couple of times before taking a deep breath and slowly letting the words leave his mouth. 

‘I suppose…I would ask them out.’ 

‘Oh? Good to know.’ Your eyes widened in surprise, and a teasing smile graced your features before you turned your attention back towards the television. 

On the contrary, Kuroo still sat frozen in place, eyes glued to your side profile. 

‘Wh- what do you mean good to know?! For what?!’ 

‘Shhhh, I'm watching my husband.’ 

‘Nuh uh. Explain.’

Your attempts to distract your friend proved futile and with a frustrated sigh you defended yourself.

‘There's nothing to explain!’

‘Yes there is.’

‘Not.’ 

‘y/n.’ 

‘Tetsuro.’ 

‘Oh so we're on Tetsuro now?’ 

The sudden change in Kuroo's tone was drastic enough to cause you to tense, not turning to face him for the sake of saving youtself from a heart attack. 

‘I- forget I said that.’ You blurted out once you finally mustered up the courage to look at him. As quickly as you said that you turned your head back around, failing to notice an idea flash across Kuroo's face. 

Shuffling sounds reached your ears but you paid them no mind, until you felt a pair of hands tickling your sides. On instinct you squealed and flinched away, but with the man's quick reflexes it made no difference. 

‘Wait wait- stop! Kuroo!’ You managed to get out between tears of laughter and uncontrollable shaking, much to Kuroo's entertainment. 

‘I'll stop when you explain yourself.’ The smile on his face kept growing by each passing moment whilst your cries became louder. 

‘I will! Just- stop- please!’ Your words were barely audible by this point, but Kuroo decided to be generous and simply flopped on top of you. 

With his ear right above your heart, he could feel the rapid thumps and the heavy breathing whilst you tried to calm down. 

It was once you finally managed to get your senses back that you became aware of your position, and so your heart rate remained quick as it was. 

‘Kuroo?’ 

‘Hm?’ 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Me? Nothing ~’ 

Even though it was hard to see, you could practically feel the smile on his face growing. However, not minding the situation much, your hands threaded through his hair curiously and in return Kuroo became more at ease. 

3.46 am

‘Kuroo.’ 

‘I'm sleeping.’ 

‘Then go to bed.’ 

‘Just one more episode.’ 

The drowsiness started enveloping him progressively, yet he made no effort to acknowledge it - and neither did you. 

‘Fine.’ 

[ugh-yoongi]

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter.  Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?���

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

[xxresi-rotxx]

Harsher ending- pt 2

I did not get a chance to proof read this as I realized the weekend is ending in one hour 😭 I wanted to write the whole thing in one go but had a rough day and this was all I could muster posting ❤️

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Ever since Leon's little outburst, you were barely keeping it together. There were so many emotions swirling around your head it was hard to make sense of them. However, the most recent emotion was anger and it lingered with you longer than the rest.

Who the fuck made Leon Kennedy so high and mighty?

You were sure you were giving Leon the ugliest of looks everytime we glanced back at you & Luis.

Him and Ashley were walking about 10 feet ahead of you and Luis, and he kept glancing back at you every five minutes.

Was he truly that convinced you couldn't handle yourself?

It wasn't until Luis said your name for a second time that you realized you had zoned out again.

"He really got under your skin, eh Señorita?"

You finally tore your eyes away from Leon long enough to glance at the man next you, who was grinning like the Chesire cat.

"I just don't understand-"

"What gives him the right. I know, I know mi amor we've been over this." Luis finished for you.

You felt kind of bad, realizing you had been bothering Luis with it for the past hour. You turned your attention on your feet now; watching them as they trudged through the mud.

"I think he's just concerned for you mi amor." Luis nudged his shoulder into yours, easing the tension.

"Yeah, well he has a funny way of showing it if that's the case."

Luis had been calling you 'Mi Amor' ever since you saved his life, and honestly? You didn't mind it.

"The way I see it," Luis began, "he's kind of like a calabaza."

You just stared at Luis, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't remember my high school Spanish Luis." You teased when you realized he wasn't going to elaborate.

"A calabaza is a pumpkin mi amor."

A pumpkin?

"You lost me Luis."

Luis rolled his eyes at you, scoffing a little to emphasize what a hassle it was for to him to explain it to you.

"Hard skin, soft inside."

You let out a harsh laugh but quickly covered your mouth. You were sure Luis was trying to make a point, but it sounded ridiculous to you.

"Kind of nasty Luis." You nudged him with your shoulder this time.

"You get the point Señorita."

Was Leon genuinely concerned for you? Ever the optimist, you wanted so badly to believe Luis, but you just...didn't.

You'd been gripping the pistol Leon shoved at you so hard your knuckles were turning white. Almost as if you were trying to take your anger out on the gun.

Meanwhile, Leon hadn't stopped dwelling on the interaction ever since it happened. Replaying it over and over in his mind. He couldn't help but keep glancing back at you.

You hadn't said a single word to him in almost a day, avoiding him at all costs; and that bothered him.

The sooner he was out of his hellscape, the sooner he could actually speak to you without fear of your impending death, the better.

Every now and then he would hear Luis call you his love and it irritated the hell out of him. It irritated him just as much that you went along with it.

"MI AMOR," Luis's shouts had Leon turning on a dime, "WAIT!"

He turned just in time to see Luis run off the muddy path and straight towards your sprinting figure.

"Ashley." Leon said locking eyes with the blonde.

She understood immediately, moving to hide out of sight as Leon took off.

Why the fuck would you run away?

Leon caught up to Luis in a matter of minutes. You, however, were no where in sight.

"What the fuck happened Luis?!" Leon bit out, unstrapping his knife from its sheath.

"Are you infected?" Luis asked you, panic in his voice.

"No." Leon answered, the gears already turning in his head. "Y/n?" he asked.

"I saw the veins." Luis responded, out of breath. "My old lab could remove the parasite from her though, she didn't have to run."

"Go back and watch over Ashley, I'll find Y/n."

The tone of Leon's voice told Luis there would be no arguing this, so he did as he was told.

Leon wasn't sure whether he was more concerned for your health right now or pissed that you thought running was the best option.

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Smut in part 3😘

[wosowrites]

For Her Safety (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

warnings: swearing

prompt: in which you get tackled horrifically during a dirty game by an irish player and jessie is furious.

a/n: by the way I LOVE Katie so much she just does these things for the sake of the story.

Bev had given you all a talk days before the Ireland game. It went something along the lines of "Katie McCabe plays dirty. She's brilliant, she's tough, she's dangerous, she will do anything to win, including taking your ankles out." The gaffer warned you all to be careful but not back down, to fight but not let her have any reason to hold a grudge against you. But mostly she emphasized that you had no control over the irishwoman, and that the only thing to do was hold her off.

When the Irish scored in the fourth minute you knew you had time, you knew you had the skill, but you also had a new found sense of worry. That goal was lucky. You cant mark someone taking a corner. She scored a good goal by accident, but a good goal nonetheless. And then it was Julias turn. It was Canadas turn to get lucky.

Right before half, Julia crossed the ball in from the left side and into the far right corner. An Irish defender tried to deflect it, but it went into her own net. You screamed your lungs out, running to Julia and hugging her and Jordyn closely. The Canadians formed a mob of joy before the half time whistle blew, but you all knew that you couldn't perform like the first half in the second.

And you didn't.

The real Canada came into the light in the second half, you were pressuring the Irish box, making passes, tackles, smart plays and taking shots, but the next goal came in the 53' minute. You were desperate to get on the score sheet as the striker, and when you saw a cross coming into the left corner just out of your reach and just a little too low, you knew what you had to do.

Throwing yourself in the direction of the ball head first, you made contact and sent the ball slamming into the back of the net along with yourself. You slid into the Irish net and quickly got up, running towards the only person you wanted to celebrate this goal with. Jessie Fleming. Her arms were outstretched as your body connected with hers in a hug at the top of the box. You wrapped your arms around her waist and laughed as Sophie, Jordyn, Sincy, and the entire of your team crashed into the hug as well. But the only person who mattered to you in that moment was Jess. Jess, your beautiful, perfect girlfriend and her shining, proud brown eyes.

The first foul on you came only minutes later, you were running down the wing, having switched momentarily with Jordyn. You got to the left edge of the box when Katie started marking you, jockeying and holding you off until support came. You moved up to her slowly, keeping the ball controlled and then faked going left before taking a small touch to the right past the irishwoman. But before you could get the ball again, Katie's leg stuck out and wiped your feet from under you. You barely had any time to react, already having been low due to the position you were in to change sides quickly, the fall made it that your head smashed into the turf without your arms to support them. You sat up quickly, your arms wide and the slight feeling of blood going down your face from your nose. You didnt care though, choosing instead to stand up and demand that the referee give Katie a yellow... which she didn't.

"You're kidding me, right?" another voice said. Jessie had closed in on you, Katie and the referee. "She stuck her foot out and made her fall on her face shes getting a card," Jessie said, her eyes cold and fixated upon McCabe. "You're not the referee, Fleming," the woman said. "Jessie just leave it," you said softly, putting your hand on her stomach to try and get her to back away. She probably would have if Katie hadn't sassed her.

"Yeah, you're not the ref," she taunted. This made the midfielder have other ideas. She pushed forwards and into Katie so that their faces were barely apart from each other. "Say that again, huh? I swear I see you touch her one more time and you'll be off this pitch in a stretcher," Jessie threatened.

Somehow, throughout the commotion between both teams, no medics had come for your nose. A big clump of players had formed, the green behind Katie, pulling their captain away and the white trying to put themselves between the two captains. Due to the big group of people and the loudness, the referee ended up not hearing anything that was being said, so a free kick was awarded and that was that.

However your nose was still bleeding like crazy and your jersey was soiled. Your head felt light and Jessies head snapped towards you as she saw you sit down on the grass again. The Canadian waved over medics and kneeled next to you, pushing back your baby hairs swiftly. "You're hot when you're mad," you winked at her. "You're hot when your nose is bleeding," she winked. "Dont lie," you rolled your eyes at her. "I'm not," she said almost hungrily. It made your heart skip a beat.

But then the medics were there with some towels and ushered you off the field just for the time it took to change your jersey and stop the bleeding. And then you were back on, but Katie was still angry.

The second foul on you came due to a slide tackle you had done to her. You had honestly tried to get the ball but ended up clipping her ankles. Not enough to injure her but enough to piss her off.

You were quick to stand up yourself, apologize and offer her your hand but she refused it, jumping up on her own and pushing you to the ground with a loud cuss word. You sat there, slightly stunned with your hands up in submission, but what made you stand back up was Jessie rushing towards you both, followed by a worried looking Vanessa Gilles and Quinny. You were quick to place yourself between Jessie and Katie. You grabbed onto Jessies waist with one arm and turned to Denise O'Sullivan. "Get her away from us O'Sullivan, she's not big but she stings," you yelled at the woman, referring to Jessie. Denise led her captain away and you watched as you got booked.

Before Jessie could argue with the ref, you gave her a stern look and took the yellow card. The game ended 2-1 which you were thankful for, but somehow McCabe still had it in her to argue.

As you shook hands with the opponent, Katie was closing the line and so were you. She stopped you by putting her hand on your stomach and pushing you in the slightest. "You play just as dirty as me you're just better at hiding it," she whispered in your ear. You rolled your eyes at her before moving away. "Whatever, I'm gonna go talk to my girlfriend now because I still have one," you scowled, knowing immediately you should not have said that. You walked away from her and towards Jessie who was looking more calm and concerned now instead of angry and on edge. "What did she say?" your girlfriend asked. "Nothing, just banter," you answered.

The next time you saw Katie, she was being booked. You had no clue for what because the game had been over for about five minutes now. You exchanged a look with Jessie and burst out laughing, clapping your hands together as the Irish ignored you.

The locker room was happy but full of knowledge that you all collectively needed to perform better versus Australia.

Once you got into the bus it was late and dark outside. Your hair was wet from shower water instead of rain and you cuddled up beside your girlfriend in the bus. "It's cute when you get all protective," you said to her, nuzzling into her shoulder. "It's cute when you put your arms out to stop yourself from almost breaking your nose," Jessie answered, making you let out a short, loud laugh. "Okay Fleming," you rolled your eyes.

Jessie looked down at you and you shifted to look up at her so that she could place a small, sweet kiss on your lips. She closed her eyes and so did you, knowing that you had a couple hours of sleep before taking a plane back to Melbourne.