#but in the end she stayed!! she stayed!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ari-ana-bel-la · 3 days ago

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you could write something about Charles Little daughter being the flower girl at Charlotte's and Lorenzo's wedding (happy for the newly weds). Just something cute.

Wedding

The air in the countryside estate shimmered with the golden touch of the afternoon sun, casting gentle rays over the white and blush roses wrapped around the wedding arch. Rows of white chairs were lined up on either side of a silk-lined aisle, soft string music filling the air as guests whispered, their eyes darting toward the grand French doors of the house where the bridal party would soon emerge.

Charles adjusted the tiny bow sitting delicately on his daughter’s curls. "You ready, ma chérie?"

"Mhm," Yn replied with a serious nod, clutching her small basket of petals like it was the most important mission in the world. Her pale white dress, carefully chosen by Charlotte, fluttered gently with the breeze. "Uncle Lolo said to walk slow and sprinkle nice. Like this!" She demonstrated with an exaggerated swirl of her hand, petals floating to the gravel beneath their feet.

Charles laughed softly, smoothing down the puff of tulle on her skirt. "Perfect. You’re going to be the best flower girl ever."

Behind them, Arthur was already snapping pictures, kneeling to get the perfect angle of Yn's proud, glowing face. "She looks like a little princess," he said, adjusting his lens. "Charlotte is going to cry."

"I might cry," Charles joked, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. Yn giggled, beaming up at him.

From the house, a call rang out. "We're starting in five!"

Pascale made her way over, elegant in a navy blue dress, her hair swept back in soft curls. She crouched down to kiss Yn's cheek. "Go show them how it’s done, mon ange. And smile for Uncle Lolo, okay?"

"Okay, Grandma!" Yn chirped, bouncing slightly on her heels.

As the music shifted, the guests turned their heads, murmuring in appreciation. Lorenzo stood tall at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in front of him, a nervous but excited smile on his face. When the first bridesmaid began her walk, Charles leaned down.

"That’s your cue. Go ahead. Slow and graceful, just like we practiced."

Yn took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward, one tiny foot in her white ballet flats after the other, petals falling with each measured step. Her face was serious with concentration, eyes flicking to where Lorenzo waited, then to the guests, then back to her basket.

"Awwww," rippled through the audience.

Charlotte's sister, standing off to the side with her own bouquet, wiped a tear away. Arthur took rapid shots, whispering, "Too cute. This is going on my wall."

Lorenzo's eyes softened. As Yn reached him, she held up the empty basket proudly.

"You did amazing, sweetheart," he whispered, crouching down to kiss her cheek.

Yn giggled, covering her face with her free hand before scampering off down the side aisle, where Pascale opened her arms. She climbed into her grandmother's lap and wiggled happily, showing her empty basket to Charles, who sat next to them.

"Did you see me, Papa? I didn’t drop it all at once!"

"I saw," Charles said, giving her a proud kiss on the head. "You were perfect. Charlotte and Uncle Lolo are going to talk about it forever."

As the music swelled again, every head turned toward the bride. Charlotte stepped out, radiant in a shoulder-free gown, her golden hair twisted elegantly, soft makeup catching the light. Lorenzo's breath visibly hitched, and even Yn paused her chatter to gasp.

"She looks like a princess!" Yn whispered.

Pascale laughed softly, hugging her. "She does, doesn’t she?"

Yn leaned into her grandma's shoulder, mesmerised. "I want to be that pretty when I get married."

Charles smirked. "Not until you're fifty."

The ceremony began, and Yn stayed incredibly well-behaved, whispering only occasionally to Charles or climbing gently into Arthur's lap for a better view. Arthur didn’t mind one bit, holding her steady as she twisted to watch Charlotte and Lorenzo exchange vows.

"Why is Uncle Lolo crying?" she asked.

"Because he loves her," Charles answered softly. "And sometimes love makes you feel so full, it comes out your eyes."

Yn nodded sagely. "I think I love Auntie Lottie too."

"We all do, sweetheart."

The vows were beautiful. Lorenzo spoke of the quiet mornings they spent in their kitchen, the way Charlotte always read the last page of a book before starting, the way she made him feel at home even on his worst days. Charlotte talked about the patience Lorenzo had, his devotion to his family, the way he looked at her like she was the center of the world.

When they kissed, everyone stood to clap, and Yn squealed, clapping wildly along with them. "Yayyyyy!"

After the ceremony, guests mingled under the soft shade of white tents, sipping champagne and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres. Yn became the darling of the afternoon, rotating from arm to arm like a tiny guest of honor.

She twirled with Charlotte’s sister on the dance floor, hugged Arthur as he showed her the pictures he’d taken of her, and giggled when Pascale shared a biscuit from the dessert table.

Eventually, Charlotte made her way to them, her veil gently taken off, her smile bright and relaxed.

"There’s my favorite flower girl," she cooed, crouching down in her dress.

Yn reached out, carefully touching the lace skirt. "You’re soooo pretty. Like a fairy."

"Oh, mon ange," Charlotte laughed, tears returning to her eyes. "You’re the sweetest. Come here."

Yn wrapped her arms around her new aunt, snuggling into the layers of silk. Charles came over just as the two hugged.

"She’s already planning her own wedding," he teased.

Charlotte grinned. "Don’t let her pick me as her flower girl. I’d never do it as well as she did."

Yn blinked up at them. "You could do it, Aunt Lottie. But you'd have to wear pink."

Lorenzo appeared beside them, arm sliding around Charlotte's waist. He crouched next to Yn again. "You were so amazing today, sweetheart. Can I keep a picture of you in my wallet forever?"

"Only if you give me one of you and Aunt Lottie too," she said solemnly.

He chuckled. "Deal."

Later, during dinner, Yn sat on Charles’ lap, carefully eating her pasta with the same concentration she'd given the flower petals earlier. Occasionally, she'd glance at the sweetheart table where Charlotte and Lorenzo sat, heads close, hands entwined.

"Papa," she said softly, tugging on his collar.

"Oui, baby?"

"Will Uncle Lolo and Aunt Lottie be together forever?"

Charles kissed her temple. "I think so, mon amour. They love each other very much."

"Okay," she whispered, satisfied. "Then I want to come to their house every day."

He laughed, holding her closer. "They’ll never say no to you."

As the night carried on, the sky fading to dusky rose and then indigo, fairy lights twinkled across the estate. The first dance drew cheers, and though Yn began to fade, yawning into Charlotte's sister's shoulder, she perked up long enough to slow dance with Charles when he swayed with her on the side of the dance floor.

"Best wedding ever," she murmured sleepily.

"I think so too, sweet girl," he whispered, resting his cheek against her curls.

By the time the cake was cut and the music turned livelier, Yn had fallen asleep on Pascale’s lap, her bow a little askew.

Charlotte came over, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for being our little fairy today."

Charles smiled, brushing a curl from Yn's face. "She’ll dream of this for weeks."

"I will too," Charlotte whispered.

The stars blinked above them, and the laughter of friends and family drifted into the night.

Love had been celebrated in the most magical way—with a little girl in white tulle at the heart of it all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you! I know I'm a bit late, but better now than never.

-♡○♡

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buckysleftbicep · 2 days ago

Text

what home feels like 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (5 + 1 trope)

warnings: loads, like mountains of fluff, soft!bucky, some angst, bucky in an apron, team shenanigans

summary: the 5 times bucky thinks of proposing to you and the 1 time he does

word count: 6.1k (i couldn't help myself 🥹)

author's note: hi loves! i am in the middle of my vacation and i had this written during my layover, and i just couldn't wait to let you guys read it, so here it is! i hope you'll love it as much as i do! love ya and stay safe out there! 💌

The first time Bucky thought of proposing to you, you were asleep on his chest, and the world was still.

The sun filtered softly through gauzy curtains, turning the room to gold, that liminal hush between dawn and morning, when the world had yet to stir.

The compound was silent. Peaceful. A rare luxury. And in the center of it all was you, curled in the tangle of Bucky’s arms, your face pressed to his chest, your breath warm and even against the fabric of his shirt.

One of your hands was fisted there, right over his heart, like you’d been afraid he might drift away in the night and needed something to anchor you. As if your body, even in sleep, refused to let him go.

He didn’t mind. He never minded. In fact, if he had it his way, he’d never move from this moment at all. He could stay like this forever. And maybe, for once, he actually believed he deserved to.

Alpine lay nestled between your legs, a puddle of white fur with her chin resting lazily on your calf. She let out a soft mewl, stretching languidly, paws reaching toward the warm patch of sunlight spilling across the bed before curling tighter into the cradle you made for her.

Bucky watched her for a beat, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then looked back down at you, the way your lashes flickered in dreams, the way your lips parted with each slow breath, your features soft and at peace in the golden quiet.

There was a kind of stillness in the air that made everything feel sacred. Like nothing bad could touch the room you shared. Like the outside world, the violence, the ghosts, the endless fight didn’t exist here.

Just you. Just him. Just this.

And his heart ached a little with the weight of it, of how far he’d come, of how long it had taken to get here. To something this gentle. This good.

Because this life had once seemed impossible.

Germany, 2016.

The first time Bucky saw you, he had been standing at the far end of the airport carpark in Berlin, still learning how to breathe in spaces that weren’t cages.

Still unsure of who he was supposed to be outside the Soldier. Still half-listening, half-drifting.

Steve had brought you in, voice warm, saying you’d be helping with strategy and tech coordination for the joint ops.

There had been a familiarity in how he spoke to you, like you were someone he already trusted. That alone had caught Bucky’s attention.

And then… then you walked in beside him.

Wearing jeans and a simple button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in some easy style like you hadn’t even put much thought into it.

You had a notebook in one hand, and your eyes were wide, bright. Like you hadn’t yet learned to keep your guard up in this line of work. Like the job hadn’t bled the softness out of you.

And Bucky… Bucky had stared.

Not out of rudeness—not really. But because you’d laughed. Full-bodied and unfiltered.

Scott had said something dumb—some half-witted quip about old men and bluetooth—and you had tipped your head back, laughing like it was the best thing you’d heard all week.

The sound of it went straight through him.

It didn’t just catch his attention. It wrecked him, a little. That laugh landed somewhere behind his ribs, somewhere he hadn’t even realised was still raw. And for the first time in a long time, something in him stirred. Something slow and silent and stupidly hopeful.

Then you turned to him. Your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Held out your hand.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you’d said, your voice warm, effortless and kind. The kind of voice that made people feel safe. The kind of voice that felt like a hand resting lightly on a wound.

“You must be Bucky.”

He hadn’t said a word at first. Couldn’t. His brain had short-circuited under the weight of your gaze and the gentle curl of your mouth. His pulse roared in his ears like it did in combat zones—sharp, hot, all-consuming.

But then, somehow, he managed a smile. A real one. Small. Tentative. But genuine. And when he took your hand in his, shaking it carefully, cautiously, something in his chest locked into place.

He remembered how soft your skin had felt against his calloused fingers. How you hadn’t flinched at the sight of the metal. How your touch had lingered just long enough.

You didn’t seem put off by his silence. You’d just nodded, eyes full of something unspoken, and walked off with Wanda, the two of you giggling about something he couldn’t hear. Just like that, you were gone. But the space you left behind stayed.

That’s when Sam had sidled up beside him, elbowing him just hard enough to knock him out of his daze.

“You know if you keep staring, it’s gonna get reak creepy,” he said, smirking.

Bucky had scowled at him. Sam had just grinned wider, all smug and knowing, before turning back.

But even then—Bucky knew.

Knew he was already in trouble.

Because something had shifted. A compass needle inside him, snapping north.

And from that moment on, he’d been tilting toward you.

Now, as he looked down at you all these years later—your lashes fluttering in dreams, your nose scrunching as Alpine adjusted herself—the same flutter stirred in his chest. The same ache, the same quiet kind of awe.

The kind of wonder a man feels when he realises he’s been given the one thing he never dared to ask for.

You shifted in your sleep, barely a breath of movement, but your hand remained curled tight in his shirt, right over his heart.

A reflex, even now. And Bucky let his vibranium fingers trace along your spine, the weight of them light, slow, gentle. Careful not to wake you. He wanted to hold onto this moment just a little longer.

That’s when he thought about the ring.

The one you’d pretended not to look at in the window of that little shop in town last week, red velvet box, delicate curve of diamonds catching the light.

You’d been with Yelena and Bob, arms full of coffee cups and teasing each other about something John had said.

But as you passed the display, you slowed.

He’d noticed it. The way your gaze had lingered. The way your fingers shifted slightly on the cup, like you were reaching for something you wouldn’t admit to wanting. The way your smile curved at the corners, quiet and wistful, like a secret you didn’t plan on sharing.

He saw it and tucked it away.

And now, with you asleep in his arms, your heartbeat matching his, the sun painting gold into your skin, Alpine’s fur warming your legs and that familiar weight of your hand pressed into his chest—he made the decision he’d been dancing around for weeks.

He was going to buy it.

Because this—this lazy Sunday morning with your body draped over his, your love stitched into the silence—this was it.

This was forever.

The second time Bucky thought of proposing, the kitchen had smelled like toast and sunlight.

It was late morning when he found you in the kitchen, barefoot on cool tile, hips swaying to the distant echo of Taylor Swift playing from a speaker;

The track was barely audible—warbled through the walls, a little staticky at the edges, but you didn’t seem to care.

You moved with it anyway, letting the music carry you from one counter to the next like it had been written for this exact moment—lazy, sun-warmed, still wrapped in the quiet of sleep.

You were wearing his shirt—that old red henley he loved and you’d stolen without apology—sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the hem brushing mid-thigh and clinging in places where the steam from the kettle had warmed the air.

Your hair was still mussed from sleep, strands curling at your temples, and one sock was scrunched halfway down your ankle like you’d forgotten to pull it all the way on.

You held a wooden spoon in one hand like a microphone, lips parted, eyes closed, your voice rising with the chorus as you spun in a loose, lazy circle in front of the stove.

You were completely at ease. Utterly unbothered. Just lost in the song and the morning and the rhythm of your own joy.

Sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor and lighting you up like something out of a dream.

You looked like every warm Sunday morning he’d ever wanted, the kind of morning he didn’t believe he’d ever actually get.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching the way your feet padded across the tile, how your hips swayed, how you bobbed your head to the beat like no one was watching—because you didn’t think anyone was.

And maybe he should’ve said something—greeted you, teased you, but the words stayed lodged in his throat, caught somewhere behind the knot that had formed in his chest. Because there was something about you like this that undid him.

Completely.

You were radiant in a way he didn’t think you realised. The kind of radiant that came from joy—unfiltered, unguarded. The kind that wasn’t curated or calculated or polished for the world.

The kind of beauty that only existed in the in-between spaces—in the stretch of a yawn, in a wooden spoon masquerading as a microphone, in the way your laugh cracked when you hit the high notes wrong.

And god, he thought, watching the sway of your hips, the grin playing at your lips, this is home.

You.

You were home.

He thought about the way you’d slowly, gently introduced him to pop culture like it was your personal mission to drag him into the 21st century.

The curated playlists you made, some with real titles and others labeled “Bucky’s Soft Bitch Era” just to get a rise out of him. The back-to-back movie nights where you made him swear, hand over heart, that he wouldn’t fall asleep during The Notebook.

He remembered the first time he said TokTok by accident and you’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing, giggling so hard you landed half in his lap.

He’d rolled his eyes and muttered something about the whole app being made by “brain rot,” a term you taught him. but you’d refused to correct him, smirking every time he repeated it wrong.

You’d made it all so effortless. The joy.

He hadn’t known it was happening—not at first. Not until it was already too late to stop. Until you were part of everything. His mornings, his evenings, the space between missions, the quiet between nightmares. The laughter between breaths.

You hadn’t forced him to change.

You’d just given him something worth changing for.

He smiled to himself, one hand curling loosely around the coffee mug, now half-cold in his grip.

You were singing now, his shirt shifted with every movement, slipping just slightly off one shoulder. The sight of it—your bare skin against his worn cotton, the easy claim of it—made his stomach twist.

And maybe it was stupid.

Maybe it was too soon.

But the thought still rooted deep in his chest and bloomed like something inevitable.

I want to come home to this for the rest of my life.

He could see it, so vividly it ached. This kitchen, your voice, that damn wooden spoon. The rest of your lives written in sunlight and bad karaoke, laughter and bare feet on tile. He wanted to memorise this, frame it. Carve it into stone so it would never change, never fade.

Because at that moment, it wasn’t just love.

It belonged.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Because the moment felt too perfect, too suspended in its own little pocket of magic, like one wrong word might startle it, might shatter the stillness and send it fleeing out the window with the breeze.

So he let it be.

Let it unfold in golden quiet, you twirling in his shirt, bathed in sunlight, the world narrowed down to the music and the soft clatter of silverware in the drying rack, the steam rising from your forgotten tea on the counter.

And Bucky stood there, still and quiet and entirely undone, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and the sharp, aching certainty that one day, maybe soon, maybe not, he was going to ask you.

The third time Bucky thought about proposing to you, you were laughing in the golden light, beer in hand, surrounded by people who loved you almost as much as he did.

The sky had started to turn.

That soft stretch between afternoon and evening where the sun melted into everything it touched, bathing the world in a low, amber haze. The backyard was warm with the glow of it—fairy lights strung lazily along the rails of the compound’s rooftop.

Smoke curled up from the grill, rich and familiar, while laughter rippled across the patio like music. Somewhere in the corner, Bob’s speaker hummed with old rock music and the occasional burst of static.

It didn’t matter. Nobody seemed to mind.

You were laughing again.

That soft, breathless kind of laughter that tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth every damn time he heard it. Like some part of him lit up in response—quiet and instinctive, like your joy flipped a switch inside him that nothing else could.

He stood just outside the patio doors, a paper plate in hand—barely touched—but his eyes were on you.

Only you.

You were perched on the arm of John’s chair, elbow resting on his shoulder like it was second nature, beer bottle tilted carelessly in your hand. John was mid-sentence, half-defending himself from whatever teasing you were throwing at him, and you were clearly winning.

Your smile was crooked, mischievous. Familiar. The same one you always wore when you knew you were about to land a joke that would ruin someone’s ego for the rest of the week.

“You’re just mad because I’m funnier than you,” you said, clinking your bottle against his in mock sympathy, your tone soaked in smug satisfaction.

John groaned dramatically. “Please. I’m hilarious.”

Yelena snorted from the grill without even looking up. “You are a tragedy.”

Bob raised his hand like he was in a courtroom. “She’s not wrong.”

“You people have no taste,” John muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

“You overcooked the burgers,” Bob added casually.

“Exactly,” Yelena chimed in, jabbing a fork in his direction with finality. “He’s lost all credibility.”

Over by the cooler, Alexei was deep in what could only be described as a passionate retelling of something that definitely hadn’t happened—this time about his red guardian days and a hand-to-paw brawl with some Siberian bear.

He waved his arms dramatically, chest puffed out, his voice rising with each sentence like a man delivering a one-man play.

Ava had tuned him out completely, scrolling through her phone with surgical focus and only humming in vague acknowledgment whenever he shouted the word “bear” a little too loud.

It was chaotic, the kind of mess Bucky never would’ve imagined himself a part of—let alone something he could belong to.

But he wasn’t listening to any of it.

His eyes were on you.

The way you leaned into the warmth of the moment, head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges like sun lines. The way you had this unspoken ease with the people around you—even the ones who hadn’t always been easy to love.

You fit into the team not like glue, but gravity—like you kept everyone tethered without even meaning to.

He shifted, let his free hand drift toward the pocket of his jeans. His fingers brushed the small velvet box tucked there.

He remembered the aftermath of what happened in New York, it had been brutal.

For everyone. But especially for John.

No one really knew what to say to him. No one quite knew how to reach him, not after it came out that Olivia had left. That the wife and baby he said was waiting back home had already left months before.

He was splintered.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated.

You’d found John on the compound steps the night he returned, still bloodied and shaking, the seams of his restraint barely holding—and sat beside him.

No grand entrance. No fuss. Just a quiet presence. You didn’t offer him pity or force conversation. You didn’t tell him it would be okay, you didn’t lie.

You had reached over and took his hand.

Held it, steady and solid—while the others kept their distance. It was simply, completely unremarkable on the surface.

But it worked. Somehow. Quietly. Without demand.

And Bucky had watched it unfold, breath lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Because that was the thing about you. You never tried to fix anyone, but somehow, you still managed to help them heal.

You were everyone’s lighthouse in the dark, even the ones who pretended they didn’t need one.

Especially them.

It was only a week later when the compound had gone still when Bucky had found himself at the dining table, elbows braced, shoulders tight, knuckles white around the edge of a ceramic mug he wasn’t drinking from.

He sat there for a long time, unmoving, eyes fixed on nothing, haunted by something he couldn’t name. The image of what he saw in the void still crawled under his skin—loud in the quiet, vivid behind his eyes.

He hadn’t noticed you until you spoke.

You padded in barefoot, still warm from sleep, wrapped in his shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your hair was tangled, voice soft and low like you hadn’t used it yet that day.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You didn’t need to.

You just pulled out the chair beside him, sat down, and reached for his hand. No preamble. No questions. Just your fingers curling gently around his.

“I’m here, James,” you whispered, voice so quiet he barely caught it. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

And that—that was all it took.

He hadn’t said anything. Just nodded once, jaw tight as the tears came fast and quiet and unexpected.

Your grip never loosened.

And then Bucky blinked, too, like waking from a dream.

The memory dissolved around the edges, softening into the golden blur of now.

You were still laughing with John, chin resting on your hand, your bottle now empty and forgotten.

The sky behind you had turned a dusky pink, streaked with orange and fading blue. The fairy lights blinked overhead like slow, lazy fireflies.

Bucky swallowed hard, throat thick, heart heavy with something he didn’t quite know how to hold. Something fragile and infinite.

The ring burned in his pocket.

Yelena sidled up beside him, two plates balanced in one hand, her eyes trailing the line of his gaze before she leaned in just enough to bump her shoulder against his.

“She’s good for you,” she said simply, like it was fact, like it had always been obvious.

He blinked, pulled his eyes from you long enough to glance at her. She was right.

“I know,” he said softly, mostly to himself, his fingers brushing the velvet box again, like the shape of it grounded him.

Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just stood there in the glow of fairy lights and fading sunlight, and let himself love you in silence.

The fourth time Bucky thought of proposing to you was during that one particular movie night.

The rec room buzzed, the lights were dimmed, shadows stretched across the walls in flickering shapes, and someone had dragged in extra bean bags and pillows from the training room—turning the entire floor into a makeshift nest of mismatched blankets and old couch cushions.

The screen glowed in the dark, casting soft blues and golds onto lazy limbs and half-finished bowls of popcorn.

You were curled beside Bucky on the couch, shoulder pressed into his side, legs tangled loosely beneath a shared blanket.

One of your socks had slipped off sometime during the first act. He didn’t even know when. He just knew your toes were cold when they nudged against his shin—and he hadn’t moved away.

He didn’t think he ever could.

The room smelled like buttered popcorn and worn fabric, like sleep and safety and leftover takeout from the kitchen.

Ava was stretched out across two bean bags with Alpine curled on her stomach. Bob had his head tipped back, already snoring softly, while Yelena and Alexei were still arguing in hushed voices about who cried harder during The Lion King.

It was quiet in a way that only felt possible when you were all together. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—just easy.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand beneath the blanket. And then, without thinking, you began to trace the ridges of his knuckles. Absentminded. Familiar. Like muscle memory.

Like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had.

It was your comfort habit. Your way of grounding yourself when the day had been too long or your eyes were growing heavy.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

Your breathing slowed and your head dropped against his chest.

Bucky watched you as your eyelids fluttered, your face softening in sleep, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. Your lashes twitched like you were dreaming already—and god, you looked peaceful. Completely undone by comfort and warmth.

You drooled a little. Right there on his chest.

And he chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head like it didn’t knock the breath out of him. Like it didn’t make his heart twist with something so fierce and tender he couldn’t look away.

Because this—this stupid little moment, your drool soaking into his shirt and your body heavy against his side—this was it.

This was love.

This was the kind of night that carved itself into your bones without even asking.

The movie ended in the background—soft fade-to-black and swelling music—but Bucky didn’t move. People started shifting. Groaning. Standing.

Bob staggered to his feet, mumbling something about a sugar crash. Alexei wandered off in search of leftovers.

Even Yelena, who usually never missed a chance to call Bucky a “domestic menace,” didn’t say anything this time. She just shot him a look, eyes soft for once, and tugged Bob toward the hallway by the sleeve.

Eventually, the room emptied.

But he stayed right where he was.

Blanket pooled over both your legs. Your body curled into his. One of your hands still loosely wrapped around his.

And Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I want every night like this,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t even a thought—just something that slipped out, something too true to hold in.

He looked down at you again, the words still blooming on his tongue, soft and certain.

He nearly asked.

Right then.

Nearly reached into his pocket for the ring that had never left his side since he’d bought it. Nearly tilted your chin up, brushed your hair out of your face, and told you he never wanted to do this life without you.

But then—

You snored.

Not loud. Not obnoxious.

Just enough to break the spell.

And Bucky laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that cracked his chest open a little. He dipped his head, pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, and breathed in the soft scent of your shampoo, your skin, the safety of you asleep against him.

“Soon, baby,” he whispered, lips against your temple. “I’ll ask you soon.”

And in that quiet, golden stillness, as the credits rolled and your breathing evened out again, Bucky knew he could wait.

Just a little longer.

The fifth time Bucky thought of proposing to you, it was in a hospital ward.

Sokovia had been burning.

The sky was thick with smoke and dust, buildings gutted by fire and shrapnel, streets vibrating beneath their feet as another explosion rocked the earth in the distance.

The air was chaos—civilians screaming, radios crackling, the stench of blood sharp against the tang of ash and diesel.

And through it all, Bucky could still hear your voice in his ear—calm, clear, steady, a tether in the madness as you moved beside him.

“There’s two trapped in the north alley,” you’d said, breathless from the sprint, dirt streaked across your cheek. “I’ve got them Buck, go cover the evac point.”

He should’ve listened.

God, he should’ve listened.

But you were always the brave one. The reckless one when it counted. The one who would throw yourself into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out. And before he could stop you, before he could argue, it was already happening.

The shot came out of nowhere—a single, clean crack that split the world in half.

Then motion.

You.

Slamming into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs — all instinct and desperation. The bullet was meant for him, but it found you instead.

The sound it made when it hit you would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Not a scream. Not even a gasp.

Just a sickening, solid thud, and the look in your eyes, just for a second, before your legs buckled and you collapsed into him like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground.

He hit his knees with you, arms tightening, hands already pressing hard against your chest, where blood was blooming fast. Too fast.

The warmth of it soaked his fingers, thick and terrifying, spilling between them like time slipping away.

His breath stuttered. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking—both of them slick and red—no line anymore between man and machine, just one desperate body trying to hold another together.

“Nonononono—baby, stay with me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Look at me. Come on, just look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered.

Barely.

You were gasping, breath catching on every inhale, body struggling against gravity and pain—but still, somehow, you found his hand. Still curled your blood-slicked fingers into his like it mattered. Like he mattered.

And then—the whisper.

Barely a breath.

“It’s okay, James.”

You tried to smile. You tried. Even as your chest heaved, even as your face paled. You were still trying to make him feel better. Even then.

And then your eyes slipped closed.

Your hand went slack in his.

“No—” His voice broke. “No, baby, please. Please—stay with me. Stay.”

He screamed for help, hell he shouted it until his throat tore open.

It wasn’t words anymore. It was a sound. Something raw and helpless, a sound he hadn’t made in years—maybe ever. The comms burst to life in his ear, voices overlapping—Alexei calling coordinates, Ava yelling his name, John barking into his comm and Yelena screaming at Bob to send a medic to your position.

But Bucky heard none of it.

Just the ringing. Just the static in his head. Just the crushing silence of your body going still in his arms.

Blood on his hands, blood on his knees, blood on your lips.

And you weren’t moving.

The hallway outside the operating room was too clean. Too bright and way too quiet.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and Bucky sat slouched against the wall, the chill of the tile seeping through his suit as he clutched a cup of coffee gone long cold. It had stopped steaming ages ago, untouched, forgotten. He didn’t even remember someone giving it to him.

His front was still damp. His knees stained, his fingers raw from scrubbing your blood off in the sink—not all of it had come out.

Yelena sat nearby, arms folded, her head bowed in a silence she never wore. Bob paced. John stood against the far wall with his arms crossed tight over his chest, unmoving. Nobody had spoken in what felt like hours.

Then the door opened.

And Bucky was on his feet before the surgeon even stepped fully into the hallway.

“She made it.”

Three words.

Three impossible, world-shifting words.

Bucky didn’t remember moving, he didn’t remember dropping the cup or pushing past the doctor or the sound of someone calling after him.

He only remembered one thing:

Your name. In his mouth, in his heart. Like prayer.

You had looked so small in the bed.

The hospital sheets were too white against your skin, the steady beep of the monitors barely loud enough to be real.

Your chest rose and fell beneath the thin blanket, each breath shallow but steady. Your face was pale, lashes resting against your cheeks, an IV threaded into the back of your hand.

But you were breathing. Alive.

Bucky stood at your bedside, his hands hovering before he let himself reach—let his fingers wrap gently around yours, careful not to jostle the wires and tubes. He brought your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles like you were made of glass.

Only then did he let himself breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. “God, I thought—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t shape the rest of the words around the tremble in his throat. His eyes stung, vision blurring.

He sat down slowly, legs folding under him, and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

And there, in the soft hum of hospital machines and the scent of antiseptic and blood and you, he whispered:

“I can’t lose you.”

And in that moment, Bucky knew with more certainty than he’d ever known anything that he didn’t want a life unless it was with you in it. That love wasn’t a question anymore.

It was you. It had always been you.

The day Bucky proposed to you, it didn’t go as he had hoped.

The plan had been simple.

Well… sort of.

Bucky had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with Alpine circling his feet and panic setting in somewhere between how hard can it be? and why is this bread still doughy on the inside?

He had bribed Bob and Yelena with a full month of coffee runs to get you out of the compound—bought himself a few uninterrupted hours. Just enough time to pull together something romantic.

A quiet night with a dinner he made just for the both of you. Something that felt normal—something that felt like home.

You deserved that.

You deserved wine, and music, and a man who tried.

And god, was he trying.

He’d even worn the apron you got him last Christmas—Kiss the Cook (or Else)—tied it on with absolutely no protest, even though he had grumbled when he found it.

The fabric was too pink, the font was too aggressive. You had giggled when you gave it to him and well, he had never actually worn it.

Until today.

It was stupid. It was stupidly perfect.

And then everything went sideways.

The sauce burned—thick and bitter and clingy, turning the pan black and smoky before he could scrape it off."The bread didn’t rise right—not the first, second, or even the third time. Each loaf slumped in the center like it had given up halfway through baking.

Bucky had followed the recipe twice. Nothing worked. The wine bottle tipped when he reached too fast for a spoon. It spilled across the counter, down the cabinet, pooled under the fruit bowl. Then he dropped a fork into the pan of sauce, tried to fish it out and burned his hand. Swore loudly enough that Alpine hissed and darted under the kitchen table like he had somehow betrayed her on a spiritual level.

The smoke alarm nearly went off.

He hit it with a dish towel and muttered threats at it.

It was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

And that was before he heard the front door creak open.

His whole body froze.

He turned slowly, eyes wide, just as your footsteps reached the edge of the hall—too light to be Bob, too quiet to be Yelena. He knew your walk by now. The soft padding of your soles. The way you always slowed down when your hands were full. The way the silence always shifted when you entered a room.

And his stomach sank.

You were home. Too early.

The clock on the oven blinked at him uselessly, and he barely had time to wipe his hands on the apron when you walked into the kitchen.

You stopped short.

Still holding your coat, still glowing faintly from the wind outside and the laughter that hadn’t quite left your face.

And then you saw it.

The smoke, the scorched pan, the puddle of wine dripping a slow trail toward the floor. The half-risen bread like a sad little crater on the counter.

And in the middle of it all—Bucky. In the pink apron. Covered in flour and tomato splatter, clutching a wooden spoon like it might just attack him.

You blinked.

“Was this all for me?”

Bucky looked like a deer caught in a trap.

Or maybe more like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar—big and awkward and helpless, covered in guilt and powdered sugar.

“I—” He swallowed. “I realised I haven’t taken you out on a real date.”

He shifted, the wooden spoon still in his hand like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I just… I wanted to make tonight special.”

Your lips twitched.

The kitchen smelled like defeat and oregano. The oven was beeping at nothing. Smoke hung faintly in the air like an accusation. And still, your heart cracked wide open.

You stepped toward him—slowly, gently—and rose onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Buck,” you murmured, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “I’ve got leftover cereal.”

Your tone was teasing, warm, affectionate in the way only you could be. Forgiving. Soft. Home.

You turned, half-laughing, reaching for the cupboard above the microwave, the one that always held your comfort stash. Granola and that one sugar cereal you swore was for cheat days and ate every Sunday anyway.

You reached for the handle.

And Bucky’s heart stuttered.

He watched your hand move in slow motion, watched as your fingers curl around the cupboard door, the hinge creaking faintly.

His stomach dropped.

“Baby, wait—no—”

But it was too late.

You opened the door. Your fingers paused.

And there it was.

Tucked behind a half-finished bag of granola and an emergency box of toaster waffles sat a small red velvet box. Not fancy or flashy, but unmistakable. The kind that didn’t belong next to cereal.

The kind that meant something. The kind that meant everything.

You didn’t move.

Just stared.

And across the room, Bucky stood frozen, apron crooked, hair still damp from the steam, sauce on his cheek, and absolutely no words left in his mouth.

“I was gonna ask later,” he muttered, voice low, thick with something heavy. “There was a whole thing. Music. Dessert. A ring not hidden behind cereal.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I ruined it.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. At the mess behind him. At the pink apron barely clinging to its dignity. At the way he stood there like he still expected the floor to swallow him whole.

And your eyes welled up.

Your smile tugged softly at the corners of your mouth, cracking you wide open like a sunrise.

“Yes,” you said.

Bucky blinked. “But… you didn’t even open it.”

You closed the cupboard gently and turned to face him. A breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you stepped forward.

“I don’t have to.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in three slow steps, reached for your face with both hands like you were made of something precious—fragile and entirely his.

He kissed you like he was carving the moment into memory. Like nothing else existed but the space between your lips and his heart.

Then, wordlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs, hands braced on your thighs like they were the only anchor he needed.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking. “You have no idea.”

You laughed, watery and real, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

“I do,” you whispered. “Me too.”

The kitchen was still a disaster.

The bread was half-baked. The wine was staining the grout. The sauce had scorched itself into the pan so deeply it might never come out.

But none of it mattered.

Because this—this—was perfect.

And it always would be.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it!! if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog! thank you my love 💖

865 notes · View notes

papayainsectorone · 19 hours ago

Text

Is It Casual Now?

summary: i have nothing to summarize other then .... spiraling

content: unrequited feelings, emotional neglect, jealousy, emotional intimacy withdrawal, romantic displacement, passive heartbreak, "i’m fine" when they’re clearly not, The Couch™ as emotional purgatory

word count: 4,3k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: thank you endlessly for all the love on the last part, your comments truly mean the world to me and i’m so so grateful 🫶

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

The afternoon sun slants across the apartment like it’s trying too hard to be gentle. You’re curled up on the couch, blanket still draped around your shoulders even though you aren’t cold anymore, just… thin. Like your skin’s been worn down by too many hours of pretending.

You don’t remember what’s playing on the TV. You’ve been staring at it hours without really seeing it.

Your stomach is mostly settled now. The sickness has faded, leaving just the ghost of it behind, hovering low and sour. But the ache in your chest—the one that started when her laugh had filtered through your bedroom wall—is louder now in the quiet.

You end up on the ocuch all day, curtains drawn just enough to keep the light soft. You lie on your stomach, scrolling. Meaningless stuff, nothing worth remembering.

And then you type her name into the search bar.

Charlotte.

You don’t even know her last name. But somehow you land on someone who might be her. Blonde. Tall. An unmistakable glint of Lando’s jacket in the background of one photo on her story.

Your stomach clenches, betrayal and shame tangled up like wet wires.

You wonder if he kissed her the same way he kissed you. If he tucked her hair behind her ear the way he used to. If he whispered stupid, soft things to her while his hand was on her waist, if she got the good parts of him too.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

You don’t want him. That was the whole deal. Casual. Friendly. Disposable.

Except maybe you do. And maybe it isn’t.

You let your phone slip from your fingers to the cushions, the weight of it suddenly too much again.

The door clicks open late that afternoon.

You don’t move. Just stare blankly at the paused Netflix screen, the lingering image of a scene you didn’t absorb.

Lando walks into view, dropping his keys in the dish by the door, holding a bag of groceries in one hand. He looks freshly showered again, cheeks flushed from the wind outside.

“Hey,” he says, voice light. “How you feeling?”

You turn your head, smile a little too tightly. “Better.”

“Color’s back in your face,” he offers, walking into the kitchen. “Figured I’d make you something. You kept anything down?”

You nod. Lie. “Some toast.”

He pokes his head out from behind the fridge door. “Okay, toast and… crisps it is.”

You huff out a dry laugh as he tosses you a bag.

He drops onto the couch beside you, a little too close, thigh brushing yours. Your body tenses before you can hide it.

Lando glances over at you, the crease between his brows twitching just slightly. “Still nauseous?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. That’s probably it.”

But it isn’t.

He seems like he knows that too, his eyes linger a second too long, like he’s trying to read between your words. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t say anything. He just nods, barely, and turns his attention back to the muted TV screen.

You don’t curl up against him like you usually do. Don’t toss your legs over his lap or lean into his side the way your body aches to do now. You stay where you are, arms crossed, folded in on yourself like that could protect you from whatever it is you’re not saying out loud.

And Lando… Lando doesn’t push for that either.

That’s what makes it worse, somehow.

He’s being kind. Attentive. Gentle.

And it’s unbearable.

Because now, with all that sudden distance stretched between you, you remember how soft he talked to her in that hallway, how his eyes propably crinkled when she whispered something close to his ear. How his laugh rumbled warm and easy with her body pressed against his. Like it wasn’t just fun. Like she meant something.

He’s being careful with you now. But he was tender with her, too.

And that… that hurts in a way you weren’t ready for.

THREE DAYS LATER

You’re both in the kitchen.

Technically.

In practice, it feels like you’re on separate orbits—same space, different gravity. There’s nothing overtly wrong. No shouting, no slammed doors. Just a stillness that hums under everything. A quiet unfamiliarity in a room that used to be full of rhythm.

Lando’s leaned back against the counter, his phone in one hand, thumb dragging absently across the screen. He’s talking in that fast, half-distracted way he does when he’s running on autopilot. Something about the next race—weather forecasts, new car tweaks, a funny thing one of the engineers texted him.

His voice fills the space, light and easy, like it always does. You smile at the right moments. Nod when he pauses long enough to pretend he’s expecting a response.

You’re at the stove, watching the water in the kettle start to tremble. Your arms are crossed, knotted across your chest like they’re holding something in. The steam curls up in slow spirals. You focus on that. It’s easier than watching him.

This used to be your favorite version of him. Excited, moving from topic to topic without breath, like everything that mattered was right there in his head and he wanted to share it all with you. You used to love how chaotic he got before a trip, how he’d try to pack the morning of and forget half his chargers. You’d steal his hoodie just to slow him down. He’d roll his eyes, pretend to be mad, and then chase you around the living room until you were laughing too hard to breathe.

Now he’s wearing that same hoodie.

The one you used to sleep in.

You think about how you used to wake up in it. How it smelled like him even after the wash. You think, vaguely, that maybe you hate it now.

You pour hot water over a waiting tea bag. Let it steep. But you don’t drink it. Just hold the mug close, letting the heat pool in your palms, like maybe that’s enough to keep you grounded.

Lando’s still talking. You hear the sound of his voice, but not the words. They don’t quite land.

He doesn’t notice you’ve gone quiet.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t ask.

The thing is, you’re not angry. Not really. You just don’t have the energy to reach for something that feels like it’s already slipping away. Something that maybe was never yours to begin with.

He finally checks the time, stretches like he always does before leaving, and grabs his keys from the bowl by the door.

“I’m meeting Charlotte for lunch,” he says casually, like it’s just another item on the to-do list. Like it’s nothing.

You nod. “Have fun.”

He hesitates, just for a beat. Like maybe he senses it, the shift between you. But whatever he might’ve said gets swallowed down. He flashes a brief, familiar smile, and then he’s walking down the hall.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And the quiet rushes in like a wave, swallowing everything whole.

You’re on the couch together.

The room is dim, cast in soft flickers from the TV, some action comedy Lando picked. Something loud and ridiculous. He said it’d be a good distraction. You didn’t argue.

You sit curled into the far corner, legs tucked beneath you, blanket wrapped tight across your lap like it’s shielding you from something neither of you have named. Your side of the couch is colder than it used to be. That space in the middle, the one you used to fill without thinking, now stretches longer than it should.

Lando’s sprawled comfortably on the other end, socked feet propped on the coffee table, fingers resting loosely on a half-finished bottle of water. He laughs—short and easy—at a dumb joke on screen. You try to echo it with a breathy sound. It doesn’t land.

“You’re not even watching,” he says, without looking away from the movie.

You hum. “I am.”

He glances over, catches your profile in the low light. “What’s the main guy’s name then?”

You pause. “Guy McYells?”

Lando snorts. “Okay, maybe you are watching.”

You smile. It's weak, but it's real enough to fool the room.

Then his phone buzzes between you.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He reaches for it without missing a beat, fingers moving fast. The screen lights up and out of the corner of your eye, you catch the name.

Charlotte.

No emojis. No nickname. Just her name. Clean. Definitive.

Still, the smile that breaks across Lando’s face is soft and wide and utterly effortless. It hits like a punch to the chest.

“What’s she saying?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He doesn’t look up, still typing. “Just something about her trip. She might come up next week.”

You nod slowly. “Cool.”

“Yeah.” He glances at you now, expression unreadable. “You two should hang out. Properly, I mean.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Right, because I’m dying to have girl talk.”

He laughs again, but it’s more of a breath. “Come on, it’s not like that, she´s not like that, I reckon you´d like her just as much as I do”

You turn back to the screen. “Sure.”

A beat.

“Okay, maybe a little less,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost sheepish.

You force a chuckle. “Wow. Big revelation.”

Lando nudges your leg with his foot. “You used to be less mean.”

You glance down at where he touched you, like it matters. “You used to be less predictable.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers hover over the keyboard, then drop.

It hangs in the air—something between you that neither of you dares to name. The familiar rhythm of banter, still there, but thinner. Fragile. Like one wrong word might snap it in half.

He shifts again, settling deeper into the cushions, eyes back on his phone.

The silence between you swells.

“Hey,” Lando says suddenly, voice softer now. “We’re still good, right?”

You look at him. Really look.

His expression is open, brows tilted just enough to show he’s not as sure as he wants to sound. The question hits harder than it should. Not because it’s wrong, but because it’s not even close to the one you’ve been asking yourself.

You nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”

But something in your chest doesn’t believe it. And maybe he doesn’t either, because he just nods back, like that’s enough to close the subject.

And then he’s gone again, into his phone, into whatever Charlotte’s saying, into a world that no longer includes you in quite the same way.

You stare at the television. Still pretending.

THREE WEEKS LATER

You come home later than usual. Not on purpose, but you didn’t rush either.

The apartment’s quiet when you step inside. Not empty, just quiet in that specific way that tells you someone else is already here. Lights are low. A jacket slung over the arm of the couch. A faint scent of perfume you don’t recognize hangs in the air, something floral and expensive, the kind that comes from a department store tester bottle or a date that went well.

Then you see them.

Her shoes.

They sit just inside the door, neatly side by side like she plans to slip them back on any minute, but you know better.

You freeze for half a second, keys still in hand, breath caught mid-inhale. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag before you force yourself to move again, softer now. Calmer. Like if you go still enough, quiet enough, the ache won’t rise up and drown you again.

You don’t go to your room.

You don’t even look down the hallway.

Because you know.

You know her laughter by now, how it sounds too close to his. You know the creak of his bed when someone rolls too far to the edge. You know the muffled shape of a kiss through drywall, even when it’s gentle. Even when it’s real.

You’re not strong enough for that tonight.

You set your keys on the coffee table as quietly as you can, afraid even the sound of metal might crack the illusion you’re building for yourself.

Then you lie down on the couch.

Curled up small, spine pressing into the cushions, one arm wedged between your cheek and the fabric like that might hold your head still. The blanket’s out of reach, but you don’t grab it. Too far. Too much.

You stare at the ceiling.

You close your eyes.

And you pretend.

Pretend sleep comes easy. Pretend you’re just tired. Pretend your chest doesn’t feel like it’s been hollowed out and left to echo with every laugh, every whisper from the next room. Pretend you don’t feel displaced in your own home. Like you’re the ghost now. The quiet in someone else’s love story.

You tell yourself she’ll leave soon.

But her shoes stay by the door.

And you don’t move.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

You didn’t even want to come.

But staying home felt worse. Like admitting something final.

The bar is too loud, too dark, too full of people you used to feel tethered to. Friends you still technically have, but who feel more like polite acquaintances now. You sit at the edge of the booth, shoulders brushing the wall, knees knocking gently into someone else’s under the table, maybe Grace, maybe Will. You haven’t looked up in a while.

Charlotte is across from you. Right beside Lando, close enough that it matters. She’s laughing at something he said, head tilted just enough to show she’s listening. Really listening. Her smile is soft and bright and infuriatingly genuine.

You want to hate her.

God, you want to hate her so badly.

But she’s… nice.

Too nice.

She’s clever and warm and thoughtful in all the right ways. She compliments your necklace. Orders your favorite food before you even finish glancing at the menu when she stays over. Laughs at your jokes, actually laughs, not the strained kind people give when they’re pretending to like someone for someone else’s sake.

She’s the kind of woman you would’ve wanted your best friend to fall for. If it weren’t your best friend.

If it weren’t him.

Now, she’s just another reminder of how things used to be. How easily you’ve been replaced by someone who never even tried to replace you. Charlotte isn’t taking your place maliciously, she’s just stepping into it naturally, without needing to push. Like the door was always half-open.

And maybe it was. Maybe it was never even near to being closed.

Lando is halfway through another story. Something about last weekend, a dinner you weren’t invited to—of course. You already know who was there. He hasn’t said her name, but she’s in every sentence, tucked into the “we,” ghosting through his memories like she belongs there now.

“She thought it was chicken,” he says, his grin lopsided and familiar. “But it was actually—”

You miss the punchline. You sip your drink, too sweet, too sticky, too something. Vodka cranberry. A drink from a different version of you. One who didn’t feel like a bystander in her own story.

You laugh when everyone else does. Not too late, not too soon. You’ve mastered the timing. Enough to pass.

Someone turns to you and says your name.

You blink. “Hm?”

He repeats the question. Travel plans. Work. Something light.

You nod. Offer a thin smile. “Busy, but good.”

That’s your answer for everything lately.

Busy. But good.

You let the conversation move on without you, words passing over your head like wind through a cracked window. You nod when it seems right, smile faintly when someone laughs, all muscle memory. But your eyes keep drifting. Back to him. Back to Lando.

He’s laughing, head thrown back, eyes crinkling in that way that used to make your chest feel full. That laugh used to be yours, a sound you could pull from him like it belonged to you.

Now, he doesn’t look at you once. Not even by accident.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts.

You remember when he used to. All the time. Across rooms. Mid-conversation. Little glances like secrets. The corner of his mouth twitching when you rolled your eyes. That smirk when someone said something dumb and he knew you were thinking it too. The soft look when he caught you looking at him and didn’t look away.

It used to feel like the two of you spoke a language only you knew. A shared, unspoken thread pulled taut between glances.

Now? Now you couldn’t feel further from him if there were an ocean between you.

You press your thumb into the side of your glass, watching the condensation pool around it, gather into droplets that slide down like they’re trying to escape.

There’s a lump rising in your throat, slow and sharp, pressing against your windpipe like it wants out. You swallow hard. Once. Twice. It doesn’t move.

You’re here. In the same room. At the same table. Breathing the same air.

And you’ve never felt more alone. Not even when you were cities apart. Not even when he left you unread. Not even onve in the many years you knew him.

You wonder if he even notices. That you're slipping. That you already have.

And somehow, he still feels miles away.

You smile again when someone cracks another joke. You don’t remember the setup. You don’t care about the punchline.

You're getting really good at pretending.

You excuse yourself with a smile that doesn’t quite stick.

Something about needing another drink. Even though your glass is still half full. Even though no one really noticed you slipping away, not even Lando. Especially not Lando.

You weave through the crowd, past a cluster of people singing along to something too loud, past two girls laughing at the edge of the bar, already flushed with wine. The room is warmer here. Closer. Easier to breathe in, even if only for a moment.

You lean against the bar, shoulder grazing the cold brass rail, and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath all night.

"Long night?"

The voice is low. Familiar. Smooth in that signature way that always seems half on the edge of teasing.

You glance to your right and find Charles.

His hair is messy, button-down half undone, sleeves rolled, drink in hand. He looks... at ease. In a way most people don’t at these kinds of things. In a way you definitely aren’t.

You offer a tired smile. “Something like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Something involving Lando?”

Your expression doesn’t change, but your grip on your glass does. He notices. Of course he does.

“You looked uncomfortable back there,” he says gently. Not pushing, just observing. “Not like you.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

Charles huffs out a quiet laugh. “Or maybe you're just stuck sitting across from a guy who doesn’t know what he wants.”

That makes you pause.

You glance sideways.

He’s smirking now, the corner of his mouth tugged upward with a quiet kind of mischief. But it’s the look in his eyes that stills you. Calm. Observant. Too knowing for comfort. Like he’s already unraveled everything you’ve tried so carefully to keep wrapped up.

You blink once, sharply, trying to push back the sudden burn behind your eyes.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you for a breath, then sips his drink.

“I mean,” he starts, voice casual but not careless, “I didn’t want to assume... but it kind of seems like whatever this is”, he gestures loosely back toward the crowded booth, where laughter rises again, louder now, “has been going on for a while.”

You look at him. Don’t answer. Just meet his gaze, even though it feels like something in your chest is pulling tight.

Charles leans back slightly, resting his elbow on the bar. “And I haven’t seen you at races,” he adds, quieter now. “Not really. Not the way you used to be there.”

Still, you don’t say anything. But you don’t look away either.

He watches you a moment longer, then shrugs lightly and takes another sip. And then, because he’s Charles, he smirks even more, a different kind this time, nudging your shoulder with his.

“I kinda missed your moans from his driver room,” he says, tone full of teasing, mouth curving around it like he knows exactly how to pull you back from the edge of whatever you were about to feel.

It works.

You huff out a laugh. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “Maybe. But I’m right.”

It shouldn’t be comforting. But somehow, it is. That someone knows. That someone sees you, what you were, what you are now, and doesn’t make it more dramatic than it already feels in your chest. He just lets it sit there, in the space between drinks and half-smiles.

You exhale, leaning a little heavier against the bar.

“Can we not talk about him right now?”

Charles tilts his head. “Sure. No Lando talk.”

There’s a pause. The good kind. The easy kind.

Then, like a peace offering, he flags the bartender with two fingers. “Let me get you something better than that sugar-water,” he says, nodding at your half-drunk cranberry vodka. “You always drink that when you’re pretending you’re fine.”

You glance at him, surprised. “God, do I have any secrets left?”

He gives you a look, amused and soft all at once. “Not from me.”

And when the new drink arrives, you take it in your hands and let the sharpness of citrus chase away the ache. Even if just for a moment.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, it’s real. Loose and stupid and full of that fizzy kind of joy that only hits after too many drinks and just enough distraction. The music’s thumping, spilling out over the crowd, all bass and beat and sweat-slicked bodies. And you—pressed up against Charles on the dancefloor—are floating somewhere between tipsy and gone, but it feels good. Easy.

His hands rest light on your hips. You’re not even sure who started the dancing. One second you were at the bar still trading lazy banter, the next—this. Heat. Movement. His smile low and crooked as he leaned in to say something you didn’t quite hear but smiled at anyway.

And that’s when you see him.

Lando. Back at the booth. Standing slightly apart now, Charlotte beside him. His hand wrapped loosely in hers. His eyes, though, locked on you.

You freeze for half a second. Just enough to feel the pulse of something cold run beneath your skin.

He’s staring. Face unreadable, but his jaw tight. Eyebrows drawn the way they get when he’s confused. Or pissed. Or both.

Charles just leans in again, mouth near your ear, breath warm as he says, “Keep dancing.”

And you do.

You move again, slower now, but still with that reckless, weightless ease. You let yourself laugh again. Let Charles spin you slightly, his fingers brushing yours. Lando’s still there. Still watching. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you.

So you dance.

And when the music gets too loud, and your head starts to spin in that pleasant, end-of-the-night kind of way, the crowd starts to thin.

The booth, you’re no longer part of it, starts breaking apart. Hugs, handshakes, half-shouted goodbyes.

Charlotte finds you just as you’re tipping your head back to finish what’s left in your glass.

“Hey,” she says, her voice warm. “We’re heading out. You coming?”

Her smile is kind. Sincere. Damn her. She’s funny and beautiful and smart and never once made you feel small. And that’s the worst part. Because you want to blame her. You want it to be her fault. But it’s not. It never was.

You open your mouth. Pause.

You are tired. Your feet ache. The room’s spinning just a little.

But you also know exactly what it would feel like to follow them out of this bar. To walk three steps behind as they hold hands to the car. To sit silently beside them on the ride home, pretending not to notice Lando’s arm thrown across the back of her seat, pretending not to feel like a third wheel in your own friendship.

You hesitate.

And then, like he heard the entire conversation in your head, Charles appears beside you.

“Oh, actually—I think we’re fine,” he says casually, slipping an arm lightly around your waist. Not possessive. Just sure.

You glance up at him.

Then, instinctively, you look at Lando.

He’s right there. Just a few feet away. Still holding Charlotte’s hand, but his brow furrowed, like he hasn’t quite figured out what this feeling in his chest is supposed to be called. Like maybe he doesn’t like it.

Your eyes meet. You wait for him to say something.

He doesn’t.

He just stands there.

Charles turns his head slightly toward you, voice quieter now. “You’re coming home with me, right?”

His eyes are steady. No pressure. Just an offer. A way out.

You glance once more between them—Charled, Charlotte, then Lando the night closing in like a held breath.

Then you nod still looking into his eyes.

“Uhm, yeah. I’m actually good,” you say lightly, tugging your phone out of your pocket, pretending to check something. “Don’t wait for me.”

Charlotte smiles, maybe a little surprised, but not unkind. “Okay. Get home safe, yeah?”

And Lando? He doesn’t say anything at all.

He just watches as you turn away.

As Charles takes your hand.

As the music swells and the night swallows you whole.

SURPRISE Charles revivial hehe

tag list:

@lifesass @mara1999 @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @pluviophile142 @itstaliascorner @graceln4 @leclercsluvs @isar8tsyyy @wetrainclouds @seonaw @msimpala--67 @isar8tsyyy @gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv9 @sparklepiastri @sailorinthesie @bell1a @spikershoyo @fer23022003 @vinylphwoar @wherethezoes-at @mbioooo0000 @v3nd3ttal3on @4-ln4

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 smut #𓊆papayainone𓊇 #ln4 smut #f1 series

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percycantspell · 2 days ago

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the “teehee we should make my 6’3 pretty elf lady and your 5’2 when she’s not 6” tall fairy be friends :3” to “these women are the most married ocs ever and if you separate them the world will end” pipeline was so important for autumn and seila. also i’m pretty sure the only thing that’s stayed the same about seila since i comandeered her has been that she’s baseline grumpy LMAO

Finding that friend you can go "our sickos should fuck or kill each other" with in a ttrpg is more important then any government official

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rafeandonlyrafe · 3 days ago

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tiny heels and future plans

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, soft!rafe, dad!rafe, toddler daughter, p in v sex, unprotected sex, talk of pregnancy, wedding (not readers)

words: 1.5k

“you always look gorgeous.” rafe says, a slight grin on his face giving away that he's not fully conveying his true feelings.

“but…”

“but that dress is ridiculous.” rafe lets his laughter out, watching you frown at first before joining him in chuckling as you look in the mirror.

“it really is horrible, huh.”

“well, it's your aunt's taste so…” rafe shrugs. you twirl back towards rafe.

“tacky.” you both say at the same time.

“i hope her idea for the flower girl dress is better than this.” rafe looks to the door, knowing jada will be getting up from her nap soon.

“actually, i told her that we would take care of it.” you watch as rafe smile grows, realizing your daughter wouldn’t be stuck in a neon yellow dress covered in ruffles like her mama is.

“thank god.” rafe sighs. “and about you changing after the ceremony?”

“i was not able to convince her of that… yet.” you tsk. when your aunt invited you to be a part of her wedding, you didn’t even assume for a second it would be understated simply because its her fourth. she’s never been one to shy away from a big event, but being the richest woman in the outer banks means she gets away with her taste being pastels and colorful patterns.

“maybe you could tell her you still breastfeed jada sometimes and need a dress with a better top for it.” rafe shrugs. he doesn’t care what you wear, but he knows you would prefer not to be stuck in that so called dress for the entire evening.

“that’s actually not a terrible idea.” you admit before turning around, rafes hands coming to unlace the corset back as you let the dress fall to the floor. no point in trying to avoid wrinkles when there’s a million layers of ruffles.

“mmm, now that’s much better.” rafe smirks, eyes moving up and down your body, now only covered in your undergarments

you both move with a measured quickness, predicting each others next movements with fluidity until you both end up on the bed, lips attached together.

rafe is just about to reach behind your back to unclip your bra when you hear little footsteps coming down the hallway.

“the one time i need her to stay napping for longer…” rafe groans, rolling off the bed to intercept your toddler so you can get dressed in peace.

“this is what you get for always wanting her to get up earlier because you miss her.” you laugh as rafe sends a look to you before closing the door.

“i saw you shed a tear.” you say, causing rafe to whip around.

“jesus, how could i not.” he shakes his head, taking jada from your arms now that pictures with the wedding party were finished.

“are you hungry baby girl?” rafe asks.

“yes!” jada’s eyes light up. “wedding cake!”

you made the mistake of telling jada there would be cake at the wedding when going over what the day would look like, but you have been able to use it to your advantage, like promising her a whole slice if she walks straight down the aisle without stopping or crying.

“we have to wait for auntie tilly to cut the cake first, then we can eat.” you explain. jada looks to rafe with big eyes, her bottom lip pouting out.

“jada, don’t look at me like that.” rafe groans. jada has learned that she can get her way anytime she pouts to her dad.

“i think theres french fries inside, why don’t we have those first, hm?” you offer jada, who is happy enough to accept the compromise for now.

“so, yellow bridesmaid dress all night?” rafe asks as you head into the venue, your aunt continuing to take pictures with her new husband, only 30 some odd years her junior.

“yes, rafe.” you sigh. “i have not been able to convince her since you last asked me half an hour ago.” “well, you look pretty either way.” rafe turns jada in his arms so he can look at her, holding her close to his chest as a group of people walk by. “doesn’t mommy look pretty?”

you both know you should let her walk more, but she’s just so little you’re afraid of her getting trampled by wedding guests, and the fact that she’s not stable in her little heels doesn’t help your anxiety. “yes!” jada squeals her answer before cuddling into rafes neck.

“poor sleepy girl.” you laugh, one hand rubbing up and down rafes back while the other strokes jadas.

“i told her this was the last song we were dancing to.” rafe doesn’t bother to whisper, no amount of noise could keep jadas droopy eyes from closing. the party would still be going on for a few more hours, but as the final note of the song plays, you make your way quickly out of the venue.

“im gonna sit in back with her.” you tell rafe as you load jada into the carseat, knowing that if she happens to wake up on the ride home she won’t be happy about leaving the wedding.

“sounds like a plan.” rafe agrees, rounding the car to go to the drivers seat, wanting to get both of you home as quickly as possible.

after you’ve gotten back and unloaded the car (or at least most of it, some can always wait for morning), rafe takes jada to change her into her pajamas while you manage to get yourself out of the mess of ruffles.

“ah, my timing is perfect yet again.” rafe smirks as he walks into the room, just having taken off your bra.

“and definitely no baby to interrupt us this time.” you smile as you flop back onto the bed. with as big of a day as jada had, it’s even likely that she sleeps in tomorrow.

rafe sets the baby monitor down on the night table anyways, always a little more cautious than you.

“can i say something corny?” you ask as rafe lays down next to you, his eyes moving from your exposed breasts up to your eyes.

“of course.”

“im so glad that when we got married i knew it would just be us. like- i just mean watching my aunt marry and divorce, marry and divorce. knowing that we would just be together.”

“i completely know what you mean.” rafe agrees. when he first told you he loved you, he also admitted you were the first person he's ever loved, that he had to do years of work on himself to get to the point where he even could.

you know about his past only through what he's told you and the little bit of gossip you've heard around the island, having not lived in the outer banks before moving in with your aunt in your early 20s.

“and now look at us.” you smile. “we have jada, this house, and a beautiful family.”

“a beautiful family that…” rafe bats his eyelashes at you, and that's how you know this is something he really wants. “i would love to expand.”

“i-” you can't help but laugh, a big smile stretching over your cheeks. “i already stopped taking my birth control. i was going to talk to you about it tonight.”

rafe can't help but surge forward and kiss you. he should have known that you were already feeling the same, already together in your future plans.

you pull rafe so he's hovering over top of you, your arms moving up and down his toned shoulders and biceps.

“let's get started right now.” you smile up at him.

“please.” you whine out, back arching off the bed. “please, rafe, i need it.”

his thumb circles teasingly around your clit again, never hitting it quite right to send you over the edge.

“mmm, i guess you should cum first.” rafe pumps his hips again, knowing he's not too far from spilling into you himself.

“considering you work so hard growing out little ones.” its funny that rafe has already started to refer to your multiple children, despite jadas sibling being just a thought for now.

“yeah.” you nod. “let me cum.”

rafe finally relents, thumb not just touching your clit but rubbing into you, pulling and pushing on your flesh as your nerves light up, feeling the sensation throughout your whole body as your back aches and you let out a cry, wishing you could keep your eyes open to watch as rafe jaw falls open as he cums into you, but they squeeze shut, stars showing on your eyelids.

“fuck, fuck- y/n.” rafe grunts before whimpering your name, collapsing onto the bed but not before taking you with him, keeping your hips flushed together so you're now laying on top of his, softening cock still inside of you.

“can't pull out yet.” rafe just says, squeezing your ass as you nuzzle into his chest, knowing his mission from now until you're showing is to make sure there's another addition to your family soon.

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dontrllycaretbh · 3 days ago

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Title: In the Paint, On Her Knees

Pairing: Paige bueckers x Azzi fudd

Warnings: Explicit sapphic content (18+), spit kink, fingering, semi-public setting (locker room), teasing, dom!Azzi, sub!Paige, excessive flirting, public embarrassment (loving), mild praise/degradation, filthy locker room smut, banter, dirty talk, confessions, years of pining, Azzi snapping (finally), james and lily potter type of love 🙂‍↔️

Summary:

For three years, Paige has been the campus gay disaster — loudly and publicly asking Azzi out mid-basketball practice, in group chats, and once via megaphone. Azzi’s always brushed her off… until one day, in the middle of a sweaty one-on-one match, Azzi snaps. Turns out, she’s been waiting just as long — and she takes control

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Three Years of Chaos

Paige had never been subtle. Not about anything, really, but especially not about Azzi.

It started freshman year — Paige, standing center court during basketball practice, waving a bright pink poster that read “Azzi, go on a date with me!” in marker so thick it bled through the posterboard. The whole team stared, some snickering, others just blinking in disbelief. Azzi rolled her eyes, but Paige caught the barest hint of a smile.

Next came the group chats — constant, relentless. “Hey Azzi, I bet you’d lose a game against me if we played for a date,” Paige typed, followed by a slew of emojis ranging from basketballs to winks to hearts. Azzi ignored the message but always read them, lurking silently as Paige’s notifications kept pinging like clockwork every afternoon.

Then, there was the infamous megaphone incident. Right before the final four game , Paige had smuggled a megaphone into the gym and shouted, “Azzi, date me or I’ll never pass your locker again!” Geno nearly had a stroke, and Azzi’s glare could have stopped a freight train. But again, Paige saw that flash of something—amusement? Fondness? She wasn’t sure, but it fueled her fire.

Despite the public embarrassment and the endless teasing, Azzi never outright said no. She brushed Paige off with quick retorts, sarcasm, and a wall of cool detachment. But Paige had noticed the way Azzi’s eyes lingered a little too long, or how her smirk softened when Paige caught her watching.

Years of flirting, of daring and denying, led to countless locker room exchanges filled with sharp wit and sharper glances.

“Still pining for me, bueckers?” Azzi teased once after practice, tossing Paige a towel.

“Maybe,” Paige grinned back. “But you make it so hard to give up.”

Azzi’s smile faded just for a moment—enough for Paige to catch the secret behind the teasing. Azzi wasn’t indifferent. She was just waiting. Waiting for Paige to push harder, to finally break through.

And now, standing face to face in the sweaty heat of a one-on-one match, Paige could see it in Azzi’s eyes—something different. Something ready to snap.

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2 weeks later, Practice, 3:42 PM

“Hey Az!” Paige yelled from across the court, breathless and already a little pink from their scrimmage. “Will you go out with me yet?”

Azzi didn’t even look up as she pivoted, dribbled, and sank a clean shot. “Still no.”

“Okay, cool, cool.” Paige pretended to write something down on her arm with her finger. “Just crossing off Thursday’s rejection. Only two more to fill out this week before I hit my quota.”

From the bleachers, one of their teammates yelled, “Paige, take the L!”

“Never!” Paige called back. “I never lose”

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One-on-One, 4:10 PM

It was just them now. Practice had ended, the others long gone. Paige had stayed behind to “get extra shots in,” which really meant “get extra Azzi time.”

Azzi was sweaty. Sharp. Deadly focused. And unfairly hot.

Paige was already halfway to combusting and trying not to let it show.

They played in silence for a few minutes — until Azzi faked left, spun around her, and sank a three-pointer like it was nothing.

Paige collapsed onto the court in melodramatic agony. “I’d let you break my ankles and my heart.”

Azzi, catching the ball on the rebound, raised a brow. “Are you ever not flirting?”

“Only when I’m unconscious.”

She stood, winded but grinning. “Be honest. You like it.”

Azzi hesitated. Just for a second.

And then: “Locker room. Five minutes.”

Paige blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait, seriously? No trick? No fake-out?”

Azzi stepped closer, dropped the ball with a heavy thud. “You’ve been running your mouth for three years, Paige. Time to see if you can do something useful with it.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

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Locker Room, 4:18 PM

It smelled like floor cleaner, deodorant, and victory. Paige was still catching up — mentally and physically — when Azzi pressed her back against the lockers and kissed her like she was trying to erase all those years of denial in one go.

It was hot. Messy. Urgent. Azzi’s thigh pressed between Paige’s legs, and Paige moaned before she could even think.

“Wow,” Paige gasped. “You kiss like you’ve been mad at me this whole time.”

“I have been,” Azzi growled. “You’ve been infuriating. You and your stupid jokes. Your ridiculous posters.”

“The megaphone was iconic,” Paige wheezed. “People still talk about it—”

Azzi shut her up with another kiss. This time, her hand slid under Paige’s jersey, cupping a breast, thumb flicking over her nipple.

Paige whimpered. “I swear to God if I’m dreaming, I’m gonna die in my sleep and it’ll be worth it.”

Azzi grinned against her mouth. “You want to be useful?”

Paige nodded frantically.

“Then open your mouth.”

Paige obeyed instantly.

Azzi leaned in and spit into it — warm, slow, filthy.

Paige groaned, swallowing it without breaking eye contact.

Azzi’s voice was low and smug. “Knew it.”

“You—what?”

Azzi shoved a hand down the front of Paige’s shorts. “You think I haven’t seen how you look at me every time I spit on the court?”

“I’m normal—” Paige gasped as Azzi’s fingers slid through her soaked folds. “I’m very normal—oh fuck—”

Azzi curled her fingers and Paige saw god.

“Been teasing me for years. But now I get to ruin you.”

“God, please ruin me—”

Azzi pushed two fingers in, deep and slow, then rubbed her thumb over Paige’s clit with precision that made her knees buckle.

“You’ve been dripping for me since sophomore year,” she whispered. “So wet for me now. Like you’ve been waiting.”

Paige sobbed out a moan. “I have—Azzi—please—”

“Beg better.”

“Please let me cum, I’ll shut up forever, I’ll stop asking you out in the quad, I’ll burn the megaphone—”

Azzi kissed her again, biting her lip. “Come for me baby, make me happy.”

And Paige did. Loud. Shaking. Practically collapsing into Azzi’s arms as pleasure rolled through her in waves.

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4:34 PM

They were sitting on the bench now, Paige in Azzi’s lap, both half-dressed and still breathing hard.

Paige nuzzled into her neck. “So… does this mean you’re finally my girlfriend?”

Azzi chuckled. “One orgasm and you’re already claiming me?”

“Please, I’ve been claiming you since I wore the number 5 on me.”

Azzi snorted. “Fine. But if you so much as touch that megaphone again—”

“I swear it’s retired. I’ll replace it with whispering sweet nothings directly into your mouth.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and kissed her again, this time soft and slow.

“Let’s get out of here before someone walks in and sees you drooling on me.”

“Too late,” Paige said dreamily. “Been doing that since day one.”

Azzi groaned. “God, I should’ve ruined you sooner.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige bueckers uconn #pazzi #kk arnold #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x reader #paige x azzi #azzi x reader #wlw yearning #james potter #lily potter

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ptergwen · 1 day ago

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imagining a blurb where peter sleeps over at readers dorm for the first time and they haven’t done anything yet but he wakes up with morning wood and he’s trying to make it go down but she wakes up and helps get rid of it 🤭

the situation

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: 1,271

warnings: 18+ content! oral sex (m receiving), language

a/n: oh absolutely! i liked this one so much it became a full oneshot, happy reading friends (also i was so tempted to use a gif from That scene in far from home iykyk)

you wake up to peter shifting around behind you. he was here late last night, so he ended up staying over. you'd naturally been squished together in your small dorm bed, but neither of you minded. you took the opportunity to cuddle throughout the night.

at some point, you ended up with your back to peter, causing you to be pressed up against him. it was no surprise when he woke up hard. he doesn't want you to wake up to it, though. you've only been dating for a few weeks and haven't done much beyond make out. this isn't the most ideal way to introduce more into your relationship.

peter tries to wiggle out from behind you so he can go to the bathroom and deal with his situation. of course, he'd slept closest to the wall, which makes things a little difficult. he feels you start to stir.

"hey, go back to sleep," peter whispers, squeezing your waist. "where are you going?" you mumble. you look at him over your shoulder. "just the bathroom. i’ll be right back," he kisses your shoulder. "mhm. i know what you're gonna do in there," you give peter a lazy smirk. he scrunches up his nose.

"you, uh... felt that?"

"kind of hard not to."

"sorry," peter chuckles. "don't be. it's just, like, morning wood," you reassure, rolling over to face him. "i could help you take care of it, though," you search peter's eyes. his brows raise, a small smile playing on his lips. "are you sure? don't feel like you have to." his hand settles on your hip, his touch light.

"i don't feel like i have to," you echo. "i want to. do you want me to?"

peter nods, vigorously.

you grin and push at peter's chest, prompting him to lie on his back. he helps you on top of him. he tilts his head up and captures your lips in a slow kiss. you let your lips slot with his, your legs coming to rest at either of peter's sides. his bulge presses into your center. a noise of relief falls from his lips, making you giggle. you break the kiss and move further up his body so you're positioned over his torso instead.

"not that. i have another idea."

"what is it?"

"i'm getting to it."

you take peter's face in your hands and kiss him again. he eagerly kisses you back. he bunches up your top so he can wrap his fingers around your waist. his tongue slips into your mouth, thumbs running up and down your sides. you're starting to get a bit needy yourself, but right now you're focusing on peter.

"one sec," you breathe. you grab your water bottle from your desk and take a few sips in preparation. peter leans in for another kiss when you're done, but you start to make your way down his body, fingers trailing along his abs as you go. you feel them flex underneath your touch, his breathing becoming faster. your pinkie dips inside his boxers and brushes over his lower abs.

"what are you- oh."

you stroke peter's cock in your hand, sitting on your knees and smiling up at him. he takes off his boxers to make things easier. you look into his eyes as you lower your head, hand still wrapped around his cock. peter bites his lip and holds your gaze.

his eyes flutter closed when you swirl your tongue around his tip. you do this a few times, then bring your hand to the head of his cock and stroke downwards, using your spit to coat his length. peter moves a hand down to support the back of your head and encourage you to do what you both know he's waiting for. you let your lips wrap around peter's cock, taking him into your mouth.

"fuck," peter pants, his head falling back against the pillows. you fit as much of him in your mouth as you can, your hand staying at the base of his cock to stroke what doesn't. you begin to bob your head up and down, almost instantly earning a moan from peter. he carefully pulls your hair out of your face and holds it back for you.

you glide your tongue against peter's length every time you move your head. the sensation of it, combined with being in your mouth, drives him absolutely crazy. you can tell by the way his cock twitches and the little noises he makes. your mouth and hand continue to work him, and his eyes are screwed shut in pure bliss when you peek up at him.

"baby..." peter breathes out. you hum in response. "i’m close, really close. where do you want me to finish?" he asks. you stop sucking him off briefly to answer, and for a bit of air.

"in my mouth."

"you wanna swallow?"

you hum again. you continue to stroke him and lick along his length so you don't lose momentum. peter looks down at you with hooded eyes. he lets go of his makeshift ponytail for you, instead stroking your hair gently.

"that's hot. i didn't know you were into that."

"with the right person."

peter smiles, a genuine smile even in the lust filled moment. you return it before taking his cock into your mouth again. you challenge yourself to go a little further this time, until he's just hitting the back of your throat. peter groans at the feeling.

you find your same rhythm from before, repeat your same movements, and it isn't long until peter is reaching his high. his hips buck up and he holds your head in place, instinctively pushing into your throat, but he stills his hips before he pushes too far.

"fuck, y/n/n. is this okay?"

you respond by opening your mouth wider, letting more of him in. with your permission, peter spills down your throat, a series of short, breathy moans leaving his lips. he waits until he's finished to pull his hips back. you swallow the rest of the cum that fills your mouth. peter holds your face in his hands, looking down at you in awe. his thumb brushes over your lower lip, which curves into a smile.

"better?" you ask. "way better. let me just..." peter puts his boxers back on with rosy cheeks, as if he wasn't just in your mouth. "c'mere."

you crawl towards the top of the bed. peter grabs your hips and sits you in his lap, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. you smile into it. one hand is on the back of his neck, the other in his hair. this morning is the first time you've seen it curly, since it's usually gelled back. you like the way peter looks when he's just woken up.

"it wasn't too soon for us to do that, right?" peter asks quietly. "because i don't wanna rush anything." he sets a hand on your thigh, eyes finding yours. "i don't think so. we both wanted to, and it was my idea anyway," you remind him, playing with his soft curls. "okay, just wanted to make sure," peter grins.

"i appreciate the help, by the way," he says lowly. his fingers trail along your thigh. "yeah," you murmur, looking down at his hand.

you really like the way peter's touch feels, too.

his hand is traveling higher, and his smile has been replaced by a smirk. you press your forehead to his, lips ghosting over his and breath fanning across his face. his nose nudges yours.

"how about i return the favor?"

tags

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety @girlinlovewithlove @marvelgurl @superlegend216 @angelinabelovedballerina @moniffazictress11 @superlegend216 @doubledizzy22 @mystic-writings @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lnmp89 @starlight-starks @hollandsangel @ellebutnotwoods @tayyx @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @winchestersgirl222 @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @thismessymasterpiece @alina02 @itsjanedeluca @idkeverythingistakennn @prancerrparkerr @urfayevorite @getwellsoontana @deanswifeyy @marvelita86 @uhhhj13iguess

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker writing #peter parker oneshot #peter parker #mcu peter x reader #mcu peter parker #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland writing

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irisluvsabby · 2 days ago

Text

cam girl reader x perv abby

tw: this is terrible but oh well

cw: lesbian sex, strap on sex, abby is older than reader, oral sex, use of a vibrator, some aftercare? sex in front of a camera (livestream), and probably other stuff

you were a college student, studying art in 2025 and of course you were broke, the scholarship you got was nearly not enough for your daily expenses and an idea crossed your mind after a few videos popped on your fyp, why not start a cam girl career?

it's now been 3 months as a cam girl and honestly? best decision you ever made, you got at least 200$ for every stream and as an openly lesbian cam girl your followers were mostly girls, and older woman who were in an unhappy marriage. but of course you had a few favorites viewers who interacted with you the most and sent the most money of course.

amongst those, one of them stood up, a girl who's name you learned as soon as she hopped into your stream..

"fuck.. thank you guys for the donations.." you were fucking yourself with a vibrating wand on your clit, and your rule was, with each donations you would put the settings of the toy even higher. it was all fun and games until a certain 'muscle mommy abs' donated 100$.

"oh shit.." you moan as you turn the settings of your wand higher. "thanks 'muscle mommy abs', what's your real name?.. so i can moan it properly.." you tease with a smirk, trying to stay composed as the wand kept its assault on your clit, and as you were getting close to orgasm. then you see it pop up in the chat: "abby :)"

"fuck, please abby i'm gonna cum please can i?" you moaned, completely fucked out from the vibrations on your sensitive clit, then you saw it, abby saying something along the lines of "cum for me please." it felt so needy and desperate that it immediately threw you over the edge, cumming so hard for all of your viewers, almost squirting as you could feel the gaming chair you were on wet under you.

"shit- well thanks everyone, i guess i'm gonna end this live now and go and try to clean up, bye bye" you say before ending the live.

since that day abby has been attending every single live stream of yours, and always sending you some donations during it, hence to why she was one of your favorite, but aside from that she was just really cute

abby was a 27 years old mechanic who worked in an old crusty garage kinda lost in the middle of nowhere, but hey at least the pay was good. she's always been rather lonely true high school, and college. never had a proper girlfriend aside from some flings she's had in the past. but now that she had found her new obsession, you, a new cam girl she found online as she was just trying to get off, well there's no way that she's getting a girlfriend any soon now. abby attended your streams religiously, it was like the highlight of her day but knew that nothing else than that would happen.

until one day you made an announcement after one of your many hectic live stream; "oh my god guys by the way- wait let me get dressed-" you said before quickly putting on an oversized attack on titan shirt. "okay so, i was thinking, why not finding a way to reward my most loyal viewers right? well i though that one of you guys could maybe win a moment with me so we could live stream together?" you waited for approval of the viewers in the chat only to be met with most of them showing you their excitement in the chat.

ynsleftboob: god please make it be me i NEED to fuck you

minecrftellieee: this is the best day of my life

musclemommyabs: holy shit

behind her screen abby couldn't believe her own eyes , she actually had a chance to be with you for real. so she waited, mouth open, for you to give more details on the upcoming event. abby watched as you explained that there will be a poll and all the boring logistics before sending a link into the chat for your viewers to participate. and with little hope abby went in, filled the forms and agreed to a few terms she didn't have the patience to read before accepting.

the next few days, abby kept imagining what she would do if she actually won that event, how she would fuck you so good you'd only wanna come back to her, how she would appear on your stream and make all of the viewers jealous and how she was gonna be the one fucking you. she also took more hours at work to get more cash and buy a brand new strap on (just in case you know) and went to the gym in the little free time she had, just to get off to your videos when she got home, moaning your name and waiting for the day she would finally have you.

then saturday night came, the day of your weekly stream, but this stream was different, you wouldn't do anything really, just annonce the winner to your event, and that was more than okay to abby and probably all of your other viewers.

"oh my god hey guys!!" you said happily as you watched all of your viewers join the stream excitedly, and amongst them of course was abby, waiting for you to announce the winner. "okay i know what you're all waiting forrr" you teased with a wink, making the viewers act up in the chat. "okay okay- i'm not gonna drag this out but i just wanna say, i would've loved to make everyone happy buttt there is only one winner tonight" you smile.

abby was intently watching you, waiting for you to say the username that would get to film with you, she was hoping for it to be her but there was a little voice in her head telling her that was not possible. that was until, pulling her out of her thoughts, she heard your sweet voice, calling out her username.

"'musclemommyabs, im really glad to tell you that you're the one that's getting to spend a moment with me and will do a stream with me on here.. i also can't wait to see if your username is actually true"

abby felt her heart beat in her chest, that could not be happening. while she was trying to take in the fact that she was going to have you in real life, you were talking about how you're gonna send her a private text about the details, and before she knew it, the stream was over, and many people were still talking in the chat, disappointed about not winning.

it was now a few days later, abby was getting in her car to get to your place, which was thankfully only an hour away, she was making way too many scenarios in her head about how she was going to have you, which made the drive way quicker. when she got there, abby didn't waste a second to knock at your door, mentally preparing herself to actually see her biggest crush ever. and when you opened the door, she thought she was going to faint. there you were, wearing a soft pink robe that was clinging to your curves like it was made for you, and abby could see a bit of your pink lacy bra that was peeking out.

seeing abby in real life also made you nervous, she was older than you, taller than you, very very bulky and wearing overalls that were hanging loose at her waist, dirty security boots and a basic t shirt that made her look so good, just your type.

you couldn't hide your blushing as you welcomed her in and closing the door behind you guys. "omg hi abby, i'm so glad to see you, and you really do live up to your username." you said with a wink. with that a rush of confidence ran over abby "yeah you like what you see?" she asked getting closer to you and closing the front door behind her.

"mhm i love it.." you teased with a sultry voice, slowly undoing your robe, letting it fall on the floor, letting abby take in your brand new pink and white lingerie that you wore just for her. abby couldn't take it anymore, and fortunately for her, you knew what she was here for and vice versa. there was no more thinking when abby pushed you into the nearest wall, tilting up your head to put her lips on yours, finally, turning it into a heated makeout session as abby dominated the kiss, her hands were everywhere, you couldn't take it anymore as you ran your hands under her t-shirt, feeling her abs.

abby went down to kiss your neck, making you moan out and dig your nails into her back, abby moaning from the feeling of your acrylics on her skin. "abby- fuck.. bedroom please..". she quickly understood and threw you over her shoulder with minimal effort, which made you even wetter for her. when she found the bedroom, abby saw the place she's been seeing on her laptop for all this time in her life and couldn't believe it, she looked around for a few seconds before not wanting to lose any more time and putting you on your bed. but before abby could get on top of you, you stopped her "wait- turn on the stream please- cameras and all are already set up." abby got up with a groan before going to your laptop "how do i do this thing.." she whispered to herself before finally turning on the stream. "all good" she winked at you before crawling back on top of you and peppering kisses to your breasts as you tried to speak to the viewers. "hi guys- sorry we got a little carried away- fuck abby- um so yeah.." you stopped talking, going back to abby who was centimeters away from the place you needed her the most.

"abby please.." you begged, looking down at her. "please what?" she said, not even looking back at you as she was taking off your panties, she looked like she did not care a bit about your stream as she finally looks back at you, waiting for some more begging. "please fuck me.." you finally say, and she doesn't waste a second, licking a slow strip on your pussy, making you shiver. after a few seconds of teasing abby finally gets to it, eating you out like a starved woman and you couldn't love it more. she was sucking on your clit so deliciously, then switching to slide her tongue inside of you and rubbing your clit with her fingers, it was the best head you ever had and you were seeing stars.

"i'm gonna cum- fuck" you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer and abby couldn't be happier, "mhm?" she hummed almost as if giving you her approval and sending vibrations right to your clit, and that was it for you, you came on her tongue with a moan so loud your neighbors would probably leave notes on your door the next day. that didn't matter to abby as she kept sucking on your clit making your orgasm never ending and licking up all of your juices. when she finally stopped, you were breathless and abby had your juices all over the lower half of her face. what got you out of your "post orgasm" state was the never ending ding sounds coming from your laptop announcing new texts in the chat.

you squinted you eyes to check some of the messages

minecrftellieee: oh wow that abby girl can eat pussy

lesbiannmommy: should've been me 😔

ynswhore: how i wish i was the one eating you out like that

you smiled reading some of the messages. "you okay?" you the heard abby ask you, her hair was messy and she was still fully dressed. "mhm im great" you smile at her "but get undressed and fuck me for real now." "right away ma'am" she said before taking off her shirt and reaching for her bag to pull out her brand new strap. "bought this just for you, i hope you like it." she admits before taking off her pants, staying in her boxers and putting the strap on.

you couldn't help but blush, abby was this super hot, muscular older woman and she bought a strap on just for you, you might be falling in love right now. "fuck- you're so hot" you tell her as you watch her adjust the strap on her waist. she simply chuckled before getting back on the bed. "get on your hands and knees for me yeah? so your little viewers can really see your face while i fuck you so good you'll only remember my name". this made you even wetter than before, if that was even possible, and you quickly do as she says, putting your ass up and teasing her. "good girl.." she whispers as she gets some of your wetness to coat her strap with it, you were still sensitive so that gesture made you whine and buck against abby's hips. with that she saw how needy you were and decided to finally fuck you how you needed, she slowly sinks her strap into you, to not overwhelm you, and once she saw that you were okay, she rammed into you, hitting your g-spot so easily you didn't even know it was possible.

with abby's thrust into you it was impossible for you to stay on your hands and knees as your arms were already giving out. she quickly took notice of that and pulled you up so your back was against her chest, which made her thrusts into a different angle. "oh my god- fuck fuck abby" you whined as she fucked you so good you couldn't think. "you like that? i'm sure that feels better than all of your silly toys yeah? better when i'm there to take care of you." you whined as abby repeatedly hit your g-spot making it impossible to answer her, only whines came out of your mouth as she doubled her pace.

"fucking you so good you can't even speak yeah?" she chuckles as she kissed the back of your neck, and sliding one of her hands down to toy with your clit, and that was it for you, you came with a cry, shaking in abby's grasp, as she slowed down her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm. "abby- too much fuck!" she continued a few more seconds before stopping and settling you back down on the mattress. she gently caressed your back as she pulled out of you gently.

you then rolled over to get on your back, to see abby taking off the strap and going back to you. "you liked that?" she asked with a smirk, knowing already your answer. "hmm it was okay." you tease her with a wink.

after sitting up on the bed you look at your laptop to see that the chat is going crazy and you definitely beat your viewers count record, but you couldn't pay too much attention to that when abby found your favorite ever toy on your bedside table. "do you have a few more left in you? i'd love to use that thing on you after sawing you using it on yourself so much."

next thing you know, you were tied to the headboard as abby used your own vibrating wand on you, and for some reason, it felt way better than when you used it by yourself. "my god you're shaking, does it feel that good honey? you're going to cum yeah? come on cum for me." abby said, trying to make you cum one more time tonight. "no- abs.. it feels different wait wait!" you tried to warned abby but she upped to settings of the wand to the maximum, the vibrations being now way too much for you.

you couldn't handle it and you felt a strange sensation, like you were going to cum but way more intense. and before you could even stop yourself you were squirting all over the wand and abby, you couldn't help but moan so loud as the sensation was so much for you. "holy shit- that was so hot" abby was mesmerized, quickly turning down the settings to not overstimulate you.

when you finally came back to your senses you couldn't help but feel so embarrassed by what happened but abby assured you that it was the hottest thing she ever saw. you were still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm as abby brought you a towel to help you clean up before quickly turning off the stream, to the dismay of your many viewers.

"you okay?" abby asked as she kissed your forehead. "mhm yeah.. it was just so much but i loved it" you admitted looking back at her. "well, i'm glad.. i don't know if this is the right time but can i take you out for a date sometime?" she asked and you could see that she was nervous so you chuckled "of course"

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beekeaper · 2 days ago

Text

Sherlock Holmes became an adaptation of an adaptation.

By watching several adaptations, it is possible to see how Holmes' personality begins to change over time, and how some adaptations are very similar to each other, not because they are based on the same book, but because they are based on each other instead of being based on the canon.

For example, the stereotype that Holmes is cold and emotionless, even though in the book Watson indeed says that Holmes is "a machine", Watson still describes him as sensitive, gentle, Holmes compassionate towards the clients who need it most. In addition to the explicit affection he has for Watson and how he respects Watson's feelings.

In older adaptations, Holmes has a personality and attitudes that are more faithful to the books, until the 2000s, Holmes' personality was consistent with the canon.

From the 2000s onwards, the adaptations became increasingly distant from the canon and began to be based on existing versions of the character instead of the canon, and thus a whole new perception of the character was created that did NOT match AT ALL with his original counterpart.

(very long post)

And it's not just Holmes' personality that is affected, but his dynamic with Watson and the history and personality of the other characters ends up being affected. For example, Irene Adler.

Although the interpretation of Irene as Holmes' romantic partner has existed for decades, since the 19th century, and even though she appeared in ONE short story, and was the only woman to beat the great detective, her relevance in having been a woman at that time and having been smarter than Holmes was transformed and reduced to her being Holmes' love interest, BUT even then, there isn't THAT many adaptations where Irene is portrayed this way how people think

First, there is Alice Faulkner, Holmes' romantic partner created by William Gillette, an original character inspired by Irene Adler, but very different from Irene. Holmes helps her and falls in love with her, kinda cute. (almost everyone knows) William Gillette is also responsible for the image of Holmes with the big pipe and the famous phrase never said by the canon Holmes "Elementary, my dear Watson". This is where the first influence on the other adaptations begins.

William Gillette's Holmes inspired the adaptations by Clive Brook and John Barrymore. Brook's version Holmes has a wife like Alice, and Barrymore's version is an adaptation of Gillette's film.

‼️This is all referring specifically to visual media such as movies and tv shows.

From decades before until the 1950s (not included), there is no Irene Adler. Of the more than 30 adaptations, four of them have an original female character as a romantic partner to Holmes. From the 50s to the 80s (not included), there are 30 other film and television adaptations. Where Irene only appears in 1976 in “Sherlock Holmes In New York” with Roger Moore as Holmes, and I believe that this is perhaps the FIRST version where Irene and Holmes really have a romance.

In this movie, half of the time, it is shown how Holmes loves Irene Adler and misses her, until a case ends up taking him to New York, to meet the woman he loves so much, BUT in the end, after he discovers that he has a son with Irene, he simply decides that he cannot stay with her and their son, because he has a whole life in London and cannot leave everything like that. Father of the year.

Before that, of course, there is “The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes” in 1970 by Billy Wilder, where he has the character of Gabrielle, which may have been the starting point for Irene Adler's transformation.

There were two adaptations in the 1970s where a man ends up in a type of psychosis that makes him believe he is Sherlock Holmes and a doctor named, by coincidence of course, Watson, and she is the one who helps him. In the first film, “They Might Be Giants,” Holmes and Dr. Watson fall in love.

At this time, it has the movie “The Seven Per-Cent Solution,” where Freud helps Holmes overcome his “aversion to women” and at the end of the movie, Holmes meets a potential female love interest.

Of all the 33 films from this period [50s-80s], there is ONE movie where Holmes is implicitly homosexual, ONE movie where H&W fall in love, ONE movie where Holmes has an original female romantic partner and ONE movie where Holmes and Irene Adler were a couple.

Irene only appears then in the “Soviet Holmes” series from (1979), where although it seems that Holmes may have feelings for her, she is not a love interest.

From the 80s to the 2000s (not included), of the almost 40 film and television adaptations, Irene Adler only appears THREE TIMES.

In 1984 in the film with Peter Cushing “The Mask of Death”, where Holmes seems grumpy with the mere presence of Irene and complains about how he lost to a woman. In the same year also Irene appears in “Granada Holmes” which is probably the most faithful adaptation of the tale of the Scandal in Bohemia.

Irene only appears AGAIN in 1991 in “The Leading Lady” with Christopher Lee, where Irene has no self-respect whatsoever and has only one mission in this movie, which is to marry Holmes. She literally says that she DOESN’T CARE IF HOLMES DOESN’T LOVE HER, she wants to marry him and ends baby trapping him.

In 1994, there was the pilot episode of the series that would be called “Baker Street: Sherlock Holmes Returns”, which is a remake of the 1987 pilot episode “The Return of Sherlock Holmes”. In the first version, Holmes wakes up from cryogenics and meets Watson’s granddaughter, Jane, and from her, he learns that it is okay to be gay in the 80s. In the second version, Holmes is found by a doctor named Winslow who falls in love with him, but Holmes shows no interest in her.

In the late 90s, there is “Shirley Holmes”, who is Holmes' great-great-granddaughter-niece (?), her father is a Holmes and her mother is a doctor named Joanne. There is also “My Dearly Beloved Detective” where H&W kiss, the movie is mainly about love.

From this period, of the three times that Irene appears, only once she is a love interest and other THREE adaptations that put H&W in a romantic position.

So until the 2000s, of the more than one hundred adaptations, Irene is Holmes' love interest ONLY TWICE.

Of about 61 film and series adaptations produced since the 2000s till this day, EIGHT adaptations have Irene Adler as Holmes' romantic partner and another EIGHT adaptations where Holmes has other originals female characters as romantic partners.

And just because I'm a math teacher:

It's worth noting that the number of adaptations (movies and tv shows) in 25 years is almost equivalent to the number of adaptations (movies and tv shows) in ONE CENTURY.

From the first sample of adaptations (movies and tv shows) from the period 1900-1999, there were 104 adaptations.

Irene as a romantic partner: 2 (± 2%)

Original Female Character: 4 (± 3.8%)

H&W in a romantic situation (corresponding or not, explicit or not): 4 (± 3.8%)

From the second sample of adaptations (movies and tv shows) from the period 2000-2025, there were 61 adaptations.

Irene as a romantic partner: 8 (± 13%)

Original Female Character: 8 (± 13%)

H&W in a romantic situation (corresponding or not, explicit or not): 7 (± 11.5%)

Irene Adler as love interest from the 2000s onwards:

“The Royal Scandal” with Matt Frewer, their relationship is implicit, this movie sucks, but other Frewer movies are good, as is Clive Merrison, Frewer is one of the only actors who has a voice that most closely matches the description of Holmes' voice in the canon. Also in the television film “Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars”, where Irene spends most of the movie disguised as a man, because of course that the ONLY WOMAN Holmes could fall in love with, dresses as a man. And then we have the Robert Downey Jr. films where despite explicitly showing the romantic relationship between Holmes and Irene at the same time it implicitly shows the romantic feelings between Holmes and Watson. And then we have “Elementary” (2012-2019), “Шерлок Холмс” (2013), “Sherlock Gnomes” (2018) and the most recent “CBS Watson” (Holmes is dead but they still made sure to let us know that Irene and Holmes had an affair.)

So, it was here, in the 2000s that the adaptations really began to change and became adaptations of each other. Holmes lost his personality and became another character. The canon stories were replaced by “fanfics” of other adaptations. (Irene Adler case)

I consider that three adaptations are mainly responsible for the CURRENT image of Sherlock Holmes, and that it is from these three adaptations that the image that we have (in the contemporary era) of Sherlock Holmes was perpetuated and is the basis for the adaptations produced more recently.

The first is House M.D. (2004-2012). Although the general public does not know that it is based on Sherlock Holmes, House influenced other adaptations, especially the personality that Holmes has today. The cliché of the super-intelligent, cold, calculating, emotionless male character begins here. Even though House is not exactly that trope. The image of Holmes being insensitive to clients/patients, his arrogance and being an ASSHOLE starts in House. Including the way he treats or mistreats Watson/Wilson.

The second adaptation is the Robert Downey Jr. films as Holmes (2009-2011). He turns Holmes into an action hero, which Holmes is not, his personality does not match the canon at all (in these movies, this is not a problem). But the main influence of RDJ Holmes is Holmes as an action hero, and being SLOPPY. He dresses badly and does not keep a clean appearance. It looks like he has not showered in months. I know he STINKS.

And then we have the third adaptation, which is where the adaptations of other adaptations begin: BBC Sherlock (2010-2017). BBC Sherlock could almost be an adaptation of “The Private of Sherlock Holmes” considering the amount of similarities and references to Billy Wilder's film and the number of times Moffat and Gatiss said that this was their favorite film and INSPIRATION. BBC Sherlock is set in the modern era as Basil Rathbone's film series was then, it also makes references to the 1965 BBC series with a background appearance by Douglas Wilmer, they made reference to “Granada Holmes” in “The Abominable Bride”. And considering that RDJ Holmes is (I believe) the FIRST adaptation that decided to have Irene Adler working for Moriarty, it can be considered that Irene Adler from BBCSH, besides being an adaptation of Gabrielle from “Private Life of Sherlock Holmes”, is also inspired by Irene from the movie.

Still, controversy, but BBC Sherlock also suffers from the influence of House, mainly in Sherlock’s PERSONALITY. He has a personality quite similar to House’s.

So we have BBC Sherlock that is inspired by other adaptations and other adaptations that are inspired by BBC Sherlock. They are adaptations based on others adaptations, where the original Holmes gets lost and it is no longer possible to recognize him.

House influenced BBC Sherlock, Elementary and CBS Watson. Although Elementary suffered from the obvious comparisons to BBC Sherlock, it clearly follows a House approach style, including the opening of the show is inspired by the 1965 BBC series. And even with the influences of other adaptations, Elementary managed to maintain a personality more in keeping with Holmes, despite the sexual appeal that Elementary Holmes has (I believe it's House's fault). This Holmes has character development and takes a more serious approach to being neurodivergent and queer, and to his addiction. Unlike both House and BBCSH, which do not fully address Holmes' autistic, or his sexuality, and in the case of BBCSH at no point does it seriously address Sherlock's addiction problem.

And again, possibly influenced by Irene from the Warner Bros. films, we have an Irene Adler who works with Moriarty, and spoiler alert, not only does she work with Moriarty but is actually Moriarty herself. In addition to having a romantic involvement with Holmes, and Moriarty (her own counterpart) being an obstacle in their relationship (as in the film).

CBS Watson series has a big problem, being from the same producers as Elementary, even though Elementary managed to maintain consistency and a certain fidelity to Holmes' personality, CBS Watson ends up having almost no personality, being similar to House, and with a Watson that seems trying to be Holmes at all times. In a way, CBS Watson is an adaptation of another adaptation: House, which is inspired by Sherlock Holmes.

RDJ Holmes has influenced two Russian adaptations, “Sherlock Holmes” from 2013, where despite expectations that it was inspired by the Soviet series from 1979, the new Russian Holmes is very similar to the ways of RDJ Holmes, sloppy and careless. The series plot is that Watson narrates the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, but the Holmes he writes about is not the same as the real Holmes he lives with. Even though in this context, fidelity to the canon somehow does not need to exist. It still shows the influence of RDJ's films. And again, Irene Adler here is Holmes' romantic partner.

As for the NEW Russian series “Sherlock in Russia” (2020), despite its originality and very well produced, we have an almost sloppy Holmes, long hair and a goatee, that yes, is RDJ's fault.

Being the most influential of the post-2000s adaptations, BBC Sherlock influenced several other adaptations, such as: “Miss Sherlock” (2018) which is not only inspired by BBC Sherlock, but clearly an adaptation of BBC Sherlock in a modern Tokyo setting where Sherlock and John are women. (An adaptation of another adaptation that was inspired by other adaptations). “Sherlock Untold Stories” (2019-2022) which is also heavily inspired by BBC Sherlock visually, but unlike Miss Sherlock it manages to be more original.

Moriarty the Patriot's Sherlock. Both the manga and the anime are, in my opinion, the best adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, both in the original plot and in how they adapted Moriarty and the canon to the context of the manga universe. However, Sherlock is clearly inspired by BBCSH's Sherlock. Some parts of the manga are also very similar to the events of BBC Sherlock.

And the most controversial one: Sherlock and Co. And I say this not as if they deliberately decided this. It's undeniable the impact that BBC Sherlock had on the general public's perception of WHO SHERLOCK HOLMES IS. Considering that the producer himself said that they had three audiences that they had to balance when making this adaptation, one of them being the "Johnlocker Community". Evidencing the HUGE impact that BBC Sherlock has even on the general Sherlock Holmes fandom, and yet, the producer said that he didn't know about queerbaiting when the allegations started that SH&Co. could be queerbaiting, remembering that no adaptation is obligated to make H&W a couple. This fact happened precisely because of the public's perception of how SH&Co. is similar to BBCSH and not just because it is set in the modern era. Observing the fandom, especially in the beginning, it was perceptive that SH&Co. was being treated as an extension of BBC Sherlock. So by EXTERNAL CONSEQUENCES, I will consider that SH&Co. Whether willingly or not, he suffers from the direct influence of BBCSH (and its fandom).

And then there's the Netflix problem. I haven't read the Enola books (yet), and I have no idea how Holmes is adapted in her books. But Henry Cavill Holmes is a consequence of BBCSH and RDJ. It's as if they had a son, but he clearly pulled Sherlock's hair more (BBCSH).

And Irregulars, only Netflix know where they got their inspiration from to do that. And Holmes is sloppy again, it's RDJ's fault. And taking inspiration from Sherlock in New York, Netflix's Holmes also abandons his daughter even though he says he loves the child's mother more than anything. Eleven worse, Irregulars Holmes neglects his daughter for FIFTEEN YEARS, but her mother is the love of his life and could let the world end if they could be together. And for some reason Watson loves that jerk.

(also is like benedict and jonny lee miller had a child)

And the light at the end of the tunnel came, unexpectedly, from the CW. Finally an adaptation that is not based on another adaptation, that despite the original approach, it is still noticeable that it is in fact based on the canon and does not suffer from the influence of other adaptations.

This is based on a twitter discussion, but mostly on a comment from an oomf.

English is not my first language, I am smarter in Brazilian Portuguese

#sherlock holmes adaptations #meta #sherlock holmes

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rafeys-angel13 · 3 days ago

Note

Hey! This is my first time eating here! So um..can I please have a hotdog with some French fries…and a Fanta lemon along with some sweet chili sauce? How much do I owe you? 😉

order number #5 menu

good girl x bad boy, s1 rafe smut one-shot

kook reader x rafe cameron

MDNI 18+

warnings: unprotected sex (pull out method), loss of virginity, fingering.

“stay still, princess…” he murmurs as his fingers brush over your slit. he’d layed you down on the bed, stripped you of all of your clothes then kissed you from head to toe.

the kisses trailed from your neck, down your chest and sternum, down your stomach before the eventually came to an end at your glistening pussy lips.

his thumb gently rubs circles over your clit. you whimper and squirm.

you’d never felt anything like this before, it was weird. but it felt so good. it made you wanna pull away and squirm but you wanted him to carry on.

“shhh… keep still for me. i know it’s hard…” he leans down and presses soft, wet kisses to your inner thigh.

“sorry…” you moan, your legs twitching as his rubbing motion picks up the pace.

“it’s okay, babygirl… you’re still new to this, huh?” he smirks up at you, his hands moving to the back of your thighs and pushing your knees to your chest.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you try to stop your anxiousness from ruining the experience.

“yeah… i don’t really know what to do…” you respond quietly, your sentence trailing off into a whine as his finger drags down your slit to your weeping entrance.

“you don’t need to do anything, sweet girl. i’ve got you.” he chuckles lowly and dips his head down to press a hard kiss against your clit.

his middle finger slowly slips into your tight hole, your arousal helping it glide in effortlessly. he slides them in and out slowly, letting you get used to it.

then follows his ring finger with his middle finger, the pace is slightly quicker this time— withdrawing moans from your parted lips.

“good girl… you like that?” his smirk widens slightly as he sees your flushed face and glazed over eyes.

“yeah…” you moan, your back arching as he thrusts his fingers into your needy hole repeatedly.

he speeds his fingers up and rubs your clit with his other hand. your toes curl and he chuckles at your reaction.

“rafe- im gonna cum-“ you splutter out inbetween moan. his fingers curve upwards, hitting the perfect spot on your gummy walls.

your stomach feels incredibly tight as he works you up towards your climax.

it feels like a band snaps as a wave of immense pleasure washes over you, your pussy clenching around rafe’s digits.

“there she is… well done for telling me you were gonna cum, doll” he praises with a soft kiss to your stomach as he pulls his fingers out of your pulsing hole.

18+ link

your face is buried in the pillow as your ass is in the air, your knees bent and feet pressed back against his hips.. rafe is pounding his hard cock into your pussy. your moans are muffled by the thick material of the pillows.

his hands have hold of your hips as he pulls you back against him, his cock hitting the g-spot with every thrust.

“you little innocent thing… never been fucked before huh?” he taunts softly, his fingers digging into the plush skin of your hips.

“bet you’ve never been face down ass up for anyone else, have you princess?” he continues, he knows you can barely hear him but he taunts you anyway.

you’re such an innocent girl and you’re all his to play with, to teach dirty things to. this is rafe’s dream.

you cry out in pleasure as his cock stimulates you perfectly every time his cock pushes into you. his grunts turn into quiet sighs and whimpers, which causes his grip to tighten and move up to your waist— slamming you back against him.

“i’m gonna cum- again rafe-” you gasp and yet again, a wave of pleasure rushes over you.

this time, it’s more powerful. you feel rafe’s thrusts slow down as he pulls out and shoots white ropes over your ass and back.

“you tired, sweetheart?” he pats your hip and lays down next to you. you nod and collapse ontop of him, your face immediately hiding in his neck.

he kisses down your neck, his arms squeezing you softly.

“you’re my little doll… so sweet and perfect.” he murmurs

total: $7,03 - word count: 703

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valeisaslut · 11 hours ago

Note

Hey, if you're up for it, could you write like a twisted fairytale inspired fic for ellie pls. Like flynn rider ellie would EAT. Huntsman! Ellie and snow white reader would EAT. Btw im in love with your writing MWAH

if this is a fairytale, let it be the wrong kind ࿐

❀ word count: 2.5k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

❀ content warnings: fairytale-like au, huntsman!ellie x princess!reader, fluff, soft romance, gentle tension, yearning, pining, implied class difference, longing, mutual awe and aching, AFAB reader, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

the morning begins with lace.

fine as gossamer, soft at the wrists—your favorite dress, dove-white, threaded with blue silk that catches the light when you move, pearl buttons climbing up the slope of your spine. it was sewn for parlors and politeness, for tea at noon and embroidery at dusk. for sitting straight and talking softly.

not for this. not for grass-stained hems and the hush of the early afternoon pressing cool against your skin.

but something inside you aches today, not a sharp one. not the kind that demands, or cries. this one is quiet, steady. the ache of rooms that remain always quiet, of footsteps too graceful and always being watched.

so you slip out.

before the cooks stir the hearth, before your sisters rise for lessons, you pad barefoot through the servants’ wing. past the rose trellis, past the fountain with the cracked cherub, past the garden gates no one expects you to cross.

and the woods greet you like an old friend.

they stretch together—green, unspoken, older than your lineage, older than the palace. the trees rise like cathedral columns, their limbs tangling high above your head in whispered praise. sunlight breaks through in speckled ribbons, and somewhere, water hums over stone.

the forest remembers what the castle forgets. and you, the youngest daughter of a crown too heavy, come here to be forgotten.

you step lightly, in silence, alone. or so you believe.

because from the thicket — unseen, quiet, breath held tight behind a branch — a pair of green eyes watch you.

ellie doesn’t believe in fairytales.

she believes in the weight of blood in snow, of meat over her shoulder, of a clean shot held steady in her lungs.

she’s been tracking this buck since sunrise — wide rack, steady gait, a good kill. one bullet could feed the village for days. it’s not the first time she’s watched through her scope and lined up the end of something.

but then a girl steps into her view.

barefoot, graceful, glowing — dressed in something white and weightless, fabric soft enough to catch the light like water. your hem brushes the ferns, but you move as if gravity forgot you. as if the world, with all its mess and weight, doesn’t dare cling to you the way it does to everyone else.

ellie’s breath catches.

she’s seen a thousand things in these woods. blood, bones, beauty in pieces.

but never anything quite like you, never anyone that beautiful. never anyone that makes her wonder if their feet even touch the ground.

the buck lifts his head, but doesn’t run.

you move towards him slowly, hands open, soft whispers spilling from your lips in a language not meant for soldiers or servants. soft and strange, tender in a way ellie has never heard before. a language meant for gentler things.

and then your hand — careful, dainty — grazes the velvet of his antlers, and he stays.

ellie’s finger slips from the trigger.

something unfurls in her chest. not a snap, not a shatter, but a slow pull. like the first thread coming loose from a tightly sewn seam, sharp and unfamiliar, pressing against the inside of her throat.

you smile.

and her heart does something it’s never done before.

it aches.

just slightly, just once, but it’s enough to make her gasp.

and in the still air of the forest, you hear it.

“hello?”

you lift your head, and your voice carries like wind through leaves— light, curious. it sounds like music, it’s sweet like honey on spring.

ellie freezes. still crouched behind the brush, rifle lowered, heart pounding loud enough to startle birds from trees.

she then steps accidentally on a branch, wincing at the snap and cursing under her breath. your head turns sharply towards the sound.

“who’s there?” you call, still gentle, but now laced with the kind of fear that doesn’t come from fairytales.

then a girl steps out from the brush slowly, rifle slung over her shoulder, both hands raised in harmless surrender.

“s-sorry,” she says, voice low. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you blink, and so does she.

you have never seen anyone quite like her.

sun-warmed, broad at the shoulders, sleeves rolled to her elbows, arms smudged with dirt. her right forearm is speckled with ink, markings that curl and bloom down to her wrist, somewhere between maps and magic. her auburn hair is tied back in a loose, messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. freckles dot her cheeks and nose, scattered like constellations. her eyes — green, striking — meet yours without hesitation.

and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

you hadn’t expected a girl, and definitely not a girl like this. not one this handsome, this rough-edged, this beautiful. not one dressed in worn canvas and leather, boots scuffed, looking more myth than maiden.

she startles you. not because she’s threatening — but because she doesn’t look like any girl you’ve ever seen around the castle.

and she’s looking at you like she’s not sure you’re real, either.

“i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you finally mumble softly, your cheeks warming.

“you didn’t,” she replies, voice gentle. “he let you get close.”

you glance toward the buck, already slipping away into the trees, unbothered.

“i just…love animals,” you admit.

ellie’s mouth quirks at the corner.

“that’s why you came all the way out here in a dress worth more than everything i own?”

you laugh, bright and unfiltered. “you think this is my finest dress?”

she lifts a brow, teasing. “well, it ain’t exactly hunting gear.”

you smile, faint and fragile, and then you hesitate.

“…are you a hunter?”

she nods, eyes not leaving your face. “yeah,” she says. “had him in my sights.”

“the buck?”

“mhm.” she shifts, and there’s something sheepish in the way her voice dips. “but then you stepped out from the trees and… yeah. ruined the whole thing.”

your mouth drops open, scandalized. “i did not!”

“you did,” she says, grinning. “completely.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, laughter caught somewhere between apology and delight. “oh—i’m so sorry—”

“don’t be,” she interrupts gently, shoulders lowering. “i’m not mad. just… surprised.”

you tilt your head. “surprised?”

“that you chased off the deer,” she says, then flicks her eyes over your dress again, that faint smile tugging at her lips, “and that someone who looks like you would wander into these woods alone.”

your cheeks blaze, and you can’t stop it. it’s the way she looks at you — sharp and soft all at once, like she can see straight down to the bone — that makes your heart trip and race, beating harder, louder, like it’s trying to escape. like it’s waking up to a feeling it’s never felt before.

“well,” you say, quiet and a little breathless, “sometimes princesses get tired of being watched.”

and just like that, the air changes.

ellie freezes.

princess.

the word lands heavy between you. and now, of course, it all makes sense.

your voice, your posture, the embroidery on your cuffs. the single gold ring on your right hand, with the family crest etched into the band as a promise you didn’t ask to wear.

ellie lowers her eyes and bows her head slightly.

“your highness.”

you wrinkle your nose. “oh, don’t do that.”

she lifts a brow. “do what?”

“that! the bowing, the title,” you say, waving a hand between you. “it ruins it.”

“ruins what?”

“this moment.” your voice is quieter now. “i’d like to pretend, just for five minutes, that i’m not who i’m supposed to be.”

she studies you, green eyes tracing the lines of your face like she’s reading a book she never imagined she’d be allowed to hold.

“then who are you?”

you inhale slowly. the warm breeze stirs your hair, tugs soft at your skirts.

“…a girl,” you say, “that talks to a buck.”

a silence settles between you, delicate as spun sugar.

“what’s your name?” she asks, not like she’s demanding it, more like she’s hoping you’ll trust her with it.

you hesitate, but only for a breath.

“it’s—” your voice softens, as if saying it aloud might undo the spell. “y/n.”

ellie’s lips curve around it, soundless, tasting it in her mouth before saying it back.

“y/n,” she repeats. “suits you.”

you tilt your head, curious. “and you?”

“ellie,” she says. “just ellie.”

“...ellie” you smile. “suits you, too.”

she grins, a little sheepish, a little proud. “i’ve never heard it sound that pretty before.”

and for a moment, the forest breathes around you — slow, golden, endless — and your names hang between you like a promise.

her eyes crinkle.

“you always talk to animals?”

you blink. “yes. why?”

ellie shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “just seems... personal. like they know things you don’t tell anyone else.”

“they do,” you say, half-teasing, half-serious. “they’re the best secret-keepers.”

she laughs, low, surprised. “guess i missed out, growin’ up with chickens and hogs instead of deers and doves.”

you grin. “and what would you tell them?”

“hm?”

“if you had your own creatures, what would you tell them?”

ellie goes quiet for a moment. then, “maybe that i wanna leave sometimes. just pack up and keep walking past the river and the mountains.”

you blink. “why haven’t you?”

she flicks a pine needle off her sleeve. “because someone’s gotta stay”

“so you stay for others?”

“not exactly” she looks at you again — really looks. “do you?”

you don’t answer right away. instead, you smooth your skirt, glance at your bare feet in the moss.

“…i do,” you admit. “but sometimes i wonder what it would be like to wake up with no one expecting anything from me.”

“i wonder the same,” she says. softer now. “except the other way ‘round.”

you lift your eyes.

“what do you mean?”

ellie picks at the edge of a callus on her thumb.

“i think i’d like someone waiting. just one person, expecting me to come back.”

the hush that follows feels almost holy.

a breeze rustles the ferns. the leaves above you catch the light, spill it down in golden strings. petals tumble lazily from a nearby branch, spiraling to the ground like blessings.

there’s nothing clever left in either of your mouths. just awe, just quiet.

ellie shifts. clears her throat. “you wanna sit?”

you nod.

right there, in the grass, knee to knee, sunlight balmy on your shoulders, you watch her pull her legs up and rest her arms on her knees. her eyes keep soft but her voice is a little steadier now.

you talk.

about animals, books, your childhoods. she tells you about the time she tried to tame a raccoon, and got bit on the ankle for her troubles. you tell her about the time you dropped your crown into the fishpond during a royal procession and jumped in after it, dress and all.

“and you just jumped in?” she repeats, laughing.

“i was six,” you say. “i thought it was enchanted.”

“was it?”

“no. i smelled like fish for a week.”

you both dissolve into laughter.

and god—it feels so real.

there’s a rhythm to her voice, a music to it. her drawl catches the ends of her words like soft twine. you catch yourself watching her lips more than once.

and ellie’s watching you, too. every time you laugh, every time you push a strand of hair behind your ear, every time you glance up at the sky, nervous you’ve stayed too long.

which you have, because the sun is starting to set, pouring warm aureate through the trees. and because the ache in your chest is only growing.

you glance at the treeline, reluctantly. “i should go.”

ellie’s jaw ticks. “me too.”

you both stand. brush the grass from your skirt, shake the dirt from your sleeves. she rises beside you, and just like that, you remember how her shoulders slope like a drawing come to life. how the light kisses her freckles, how her eyes are the color of moss and storms and something you’ve aren’t sure if you will ever be brave enough to name.

you fidget. she watches you.

“…about the buck,” you begin, suddenly timid. “i really didn’t mean to ruin your hunt—”

“don’t worry about it,” she says quickly, voice low and fond. “i think he earned the day off.”

you smile.

then you step closer, just a little. not quite valorous enough to touch each other, but close enough to feel the heat of your bodies.

“will you be here tomorrow?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker in her voice.

“maybe.”

“maybe?”

“depends if another girl comes wandering into the woods and ruins my shot.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re blaming me again.”

“not blaming,” she says. “just… hoping.”

and you laugh, soft and quiet, but so bright it finds its way between her ribs, making her chest ache as a pulled bowstring.

“i hope you’re here,” you murmur. “i mean it.”

ellie swallows.

“i hope the same.”

you don’t say goodbye. you don’t have to.

there’s something about the way you look at each other before parting — something quiet and knowing — that makes words unnecessary. your fingers never touch, but they flex in tandem. your paths diverge, but your steps feel tangled.

you walk barefoot back up through the woods, your hem damp with dew and heart too full to carry properly. the world feels different now. lighter, overall, but heavier in places you’ve never noticed before.

behind you, ellie stays in the clearing long after your glowing figure disappears behind the trees. her hand lingers on the bark of the tree where you sat, her thumb pressed into the groove where your skirt rustled the moss.

and something in her, restless and tender, doesn’t follow her home.

it follows you.

that night, in your canopied bed with silk sheets and moonlight spilling over the pillows, you bury your face in your hands and whisper her name into the stillness. once, then again, just to see if it feels real.

ellie.

it does.

more real than anything else has in your life.

your maid knocks once, gently, to ask if you’re feeling well. you don’t answer. you just smile to yourself, and say nothing.

miles away, in a low cabin tucked between two hills and swallowed in pine, ellie lies flat on her back, boots still on, one arm thrown over her eyes. the fire is down to embers, the windowless walls creak with wind.

she should be asleep, should be out cold after the miles she walked and the meal she skipped.

but her whole body is humming. her lips tilt into a foolish, beautiful smile, and her chest aches. warm, sharp, like it’s learned a new language.

she keeps thinking about the way you laughed — high and sweet and sudden, as if you hadn’t done it in a long time. she keeps replaying the moment your eyes glinted, the way your lips parted, the blush that bloomed slow and shy across your cheeks when you saw her for the first time.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were never meant to meet.

she’s a hunter. you’re a princess.

she smells like smoke and sleeps in wool. you smell like flowers and dreams and wear pearls on your wrists.

you belong to opposite worlds.

but even still — lying there in the dark, fingers curled into the edge of her blanket, teeth worrying her lip — ellie can’t help but think:

if this is a fairytale, then let it be the wrong kind.

because god, what a feeling.

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW LETS ALL JUST AWWWWWWW IN TANDEM BECAUSE AWWWW HEART IS MELTINNNGGG!! first time writing something like this HEHEHE wanted to try out fluff and romance and i kinda really liked the result!!! hope yall did too <3333 thank you nonnie for the request love youuuu

perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater

images from pinterest - edited by me

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saturns-smut · 2 days ago

Text

Spotted In The Crowd (Miyeon, i-dle)

Pairing: Miyeon x Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: The princess of K-pop spots you in the concert crowd and immediately knows she has to have you.

Tags: Idol x Fan, Lingerie, Boob Play, Penetration, Oral Sex, Deep Throating, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Begging & Squirting.

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: I don’t really like this if I’m being honest. So please tell me any feedback or advice you may have, I’d really appreciate it. This was a request by anon, so I hope you like it! If you liked reading this, please like, comment, reblog or follow to help a small writer!

———

Miyeon and her group performed their latest songs with energy and dedication. The corners of her mouth moved into a flirty smirk and her hips persuaded all fans in the audience to stare at her shamelessly.

Miyeon has been your bias ever since (G)I-DLE debuted. You loved her. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her reactions. Her waist. Her tits. Her ass.

At the end of the concert, you stayed back a bit to soak it all in. But a short woman approached you.

“Excuse me? You need to come with me.” She said, showing you her staff wristband.

“What? Did I do something?” You asked worriedly. “No, you didn’t. Miss Cho Miyeon wants to see you.”

This could not be real. The Miyeon? Your ultimate Miyeon? It has to a joke.

“I’m not joking. We should hurry, she doesn't like waiting.” She said, grabbing your arm and taking you to the staff reserved area. Scanning her wristband and walking in, receiving some weird looks from her coworkers, to which she just responded by mouthing ‘For Miyeon’ to them. That seemed to make it.

She guided you to a room, unlocking the door and handing you the keys. “Miss Miyeon is waiting for you inside. Lock the door once you get in so nobody walks in. Oh and a piece of advice, Miss doesn’t get tired easily.” She informed you and you nodded. This was really happening. Like those stories you read.

You opened the door carefully, locking the door behind you without even looking at the room properly. When you turned around, there was Miyeon. Laying in the small bed wearing only a baby pink lingerie set that barely covered anything.

Its form was made by tiny, thin straps and only had lace to cover her nipples and her pussy. The lace gave an innocent illusion, though nothing there was innocent at all.

“Are you gonna say anything or just stare?” Her voice, giggling, broke your train of thoughts and you didn’t know what to say. “Um… hi?” You tried.

More of her cute giggles echoed through the room. “Hi, baby boy. You like what you see?”

“Uh… Fuck— Um, yes.” You said, taking a moment to scan the room. The small bed Miyeon was laying at, a table which you thought was for make-up, considering the beauty items and the led mirror. Also a clothing rack that included her stage outfits, a black lingerie set, and casual clothes. Next to the bed, a small nightstand with its drawer opened, which let you see the variety of sex toys in it. You widened your eyes.

Miyeon smiled at your reaction. “Come on, come sit with me.” She pat the space beside her and you walked over sitting down.

The woman climbed quickly into your lap, her tits right in front of you while she hadn’t settled yet. Your hand instantly went to her waist, squeezing out of instinct. She wrapped her arms around your neck.

“So… You caught my eye at the crowd… And I saw you couldn’t stop staring at me. So I figured you should be the lucky one I invited backstage tonight.”

“You do this every concert?” You asked curious.

“Not exactly. It depends. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is right now.” She said, leaning in so her chest was closer to you. One wrong move and the fabric could slip off and show you everything. “Take it off me, please.”

And you did. Unclasped the bra teasingly slow. “Play with my tits, please, daddy.”

And you did. Sucked her left nipple while fondling her right breast. Then switched while taking off her panties.

Miyeon had met a few guys that were this confident with her. And when she saw you enter the one? She thought you would be one of the shy, sweet innocent ones. She regrets thinking that.

Your free hand slipped between her legs, feeling the wetness and spreading all over her pussy and inner thighs. She loved it.

“You’re gross.” You whispered while pinching her clit. “Bringing random guys here just to let them fuck you. Gross.”

“Yes! Yes I am, daddy! Your nasty girl!” She cried out.

Miyeon’s breaths were uneven, even if you hadn’t even gotten yourself inside her yet. She was sensitive. For some reason, especially with you.

You entered her welcoming hole with two fingers, speedily moving them, making the woman moan out loud.

“Your cock! Need your cock inside me!” She begged. I mean, you’re just a man. Miyeon begged and she had what she asked for.

Hurriedly, you took off your pants and boxers, fondling with the zipper and having her help you.

You flipped her in the bed, laying her down. You held yourself up with one hand on the bed next to her hair, while the other hand lined up your member with her entrance, bottoming out her inside her clenching pussy.

“Oh gosh! Oh my God! Daddy! You’re so big!”

“Yeah? Daddy’s deep inside you?” You groaned into her ear, never slowing down your thrusts into her cunt.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, daddy! Daddy! Gonna cum!” Miyeon screamed, her back arching off the mattress.

“Daddy’s gonna cum too, baby. You’re so tight. Been fucked so much and you’re still tight. Cum for me, Miyeon. Come on.”

The idol in front of you followed your directions and reached her peak with a loud, very porn-like moan. You quickly pulled out, also cumming but in her stomach, painting her beautiful body with your own release.

“Come on, pretty girl. How ‘bout you get on your knees and make me feel even better? Get me deep in that throat?” You suggested.

Miyeon was quick to get into her knees on the floor, looking at you with those eyes. A need to obey and satisfy her daddy.

The woman wet her lips before leaning in to lick your whole length, pressing a small kiss to the tip. She wasted no time to completely dive in, taking all of your cock in her mouth and throat.

You pulled her hair, controlling her head. Miyeon bobbed her head up and down, taking you deep in her throat just as requested.

She pulled out briefly, just to have her sweet, faux-innocent voice ask you if you were close. You nodded, letting out a groan and pushing her head to continue sucking you off.

After a few more thrusts, you came once again, this time in her mouth. Miyeon swallowed all of it, opening her mouth at the end to show you. “Was I good, daddy?” She asked, words so sweet and innocent considering the not-so-sweet-and-innocent act she had just finished.

“So good, baby. Deserve a reward, okay? Lay back on your back for daddy.” You instructed.

Miyeon followed obediently and you made yourself comfortable between her spread open legs.

You leaned in, placing a kiss to her inner thigh, which was wet from your combined juices. She breathed harder at the sensation of your warm breath against her.

Your flattened tongue licking her cunt from her used hole to her clit made her moan out. Oh, such pretty moans. You could get used to them. Waking up to them. Living with them.

“Daddy!! Don’t stop!! Just like that!! Cumming!!! Ah, ah, ah! Gonna cum!” She screamed out.

Then she came, juices wetting your chest and her whole body. “You squirt, baby?”

“I— I didn’t know I could do that.” She said.

“Well, now you do.” You said, kissing her lips and laying down with Miyeon.

#saturns smut #saturn writes #kpop smut #kpop x male reader #x male reader #kpop gg smut #g idle smut #miyeon smut #miyeon x male reader smut #idle smut #idle x male reader #gidle smut

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william-t-sickofyourshit · 2 hours ago

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While Sebastian was put to bed and slept soundly, the rest of the group remained in the salon for a couple more hours. Everyone was in a great mood, energized and carefree, and no one wanted the night to end too soon. Even Charlotte, who was already an older lady, stayed up with everyone, playing games, talking and laughing, discussing presents everyone got. William and Sebastian got her the nicest things at Mrs Welsh’s antique store back in St Michael’s, and she was proudly showing off the gifts she got.

It was already past 1am when some of the people started to yawn and decided to call it a night. Charlotte retreated to sleep around that time too, quite tired by then. But before leaving, she of course told everyone else that they’re free to stay and keep having fun. During Christmas time the usual estate routine was way more laid back. The servants could sleep in, and Charlotte didn’t expect them to clean up the salon right away or anything like that. Sometimes she would even go to the kitchen herself and make her morning tea on her own, letting the staff rest.

William stayed behind maybe half an hour more after grandma Charlotte went to bed. He chatted a bit with Bard, and some other staff members, and they played a few rounds of Jenga together. But eventually William got too sleepy, and said goodnight.

He went upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Sebastian, and found his boyfriend sound asleep in bed. He peeled off his clothes, took a quick shower, and then crawled into bed next to Seb, wearing cozy warm pyjamas.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes.

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times.

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?”

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them.

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

#for i have sinned

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reminiscingthesea · 2 days ago

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Part two of my stalker Phainon x nerdy reader fic!! You should be able to find part one just under this post!!

A/N- tysm again for the massive support and love on my last post, it’s honestly making me feel rlly happy and I’m genuinely considering making this a chapter by chapter fanfic (no promises tho idk what life may throw at me)

Synopsis- After establishing a friendship with you, Phainon simply can’t help but fall deeper in love with you. Yet, when an unknown variable- a pest- invades his peace, he feels as though things may take a dangerous turn for the worse.

Warning- Stalking, mentions of extreme violence towards another character, kidnapping, gore.

Ever since you and Phainon became friends, the two of you would always be texting each other nonstop! Talking about silly things like teachers, cute videos, random drama, and also more in depth things, such as your shared interest of historical relics.

Because of this, the two of you would often set up dates hang out days to take each other to a local museum to research ancient relics or texts. Other days, when the two of you are both free, you’d each be cooped up in a corner of the campus’ library, reading literature and talking to each other with enthusiasm when an interesting point was reached. Albeit, not without the sound of angry shushing from the old, cranky librarian at the front desk. She could really hear everything..

However, when you reject Phainon on a day out to a relic site-seeing place, he feels confused, upset, dejected, but most of all, angry. Very angry, especially after finding out why you weren’t available.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Phainon. But I won’t be able to join you tomorrow on our little weekly day out. I have plans with someone called Mydei? You know him, right?” You spoke nonchalantly, flashing him a quick, apologetic smile as you watched him momentarily deflate at your initial rejection, before turning away just as quickly, not able to see his face morph into a look of wrath once you mentioned that name.

He stayed silent for a few moments, before beginning silently. His tone sharp and cold as he spoke, “Yeah, I happen to know who he is. Mydeimos, son of Gorgo or something. He’s a recent transfer student, isn’t he? What’s he hanging around you for?” He asked as calmly as he could, to mask his voice of envy and irritation behind his cool demeanour.

“Oh, uh.. yeah he is. He’s not very popular right now, so I was assigned to be his little study-buddy for the time being, sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s a bit stupid how they thought placing a quiet kid with another quiet kid was a good idea, but….” You rambled on about your school’s inadequacy or whatever, blissfully unaware that Phainon was indeed not paying any attention whatsoever, and instead, focusing on the numerous thoughts flying through his mind at 360mph.

‘Has she gotten bored of me now?’ ‘What does this Mydei have that I don’t?’ ‘I bet he’s really fucking ugly, he’s probably just a charity case in her eyes.’ ‘Who does this Mydei guy think he is?’ ‘Is he asking for a death wish?’ ‘Maybe I should slice him up into pieces, and serve his meat as meatballs for her-‘

Just as Phainon’s internal turmoil reached its peak, a quiet clear of the throat could be heard from behind the two of you.

“Oh, hello, [Name]. I was told you’d be here, should we get going?” A voice spoke. The pair of you, Phainon and yourself, turned around to the sound of the voice. You smiled brightly at the sight, waving at the guy with your hand. Phainon on the other hand, stood still in shock as he took in the other man’s appearance.

“Ah, Mydei! Hello! I was just finishing up with my friend here, Phainon. We can get going soon, I just need to fix something on my phone. The two of you can chat for a bit before I’m done!” You chirped happily, stepping to the side to fix whatever glitch was on your phone now. Shitty campus signal was really no joke.

Bulky, muscular, slight tan, short, golden wispy hair with slight red ends, enchanting golden eyes, not to mention, ridiculously tall, almost taller than Phainon.. he seemed to be a good contender for your love.

“..Are you just gonna keep staring at me or what? It makes you seem odd, y’know?” Spoke Mydei, his voice deep and rich, with a slight edge of aggressiveness to it. Stunning Phainon out his stupor, he laughed quietly and bowed a bit apologetically.

“Ah, I apologise, Mydei. I was just thinking about something, nothing more.” Flashing Mydei a quick, sweet smile, he was met with a questioning, curious look, that could almost be comparable to a glare. Phainon swore he could see a flicker of understanding and awareness through Mydei’s daybreak orbs for a split second as they darkened slightly, before a soft sigh could be heard from you in the distance.

“Still glitched out. I swear, this campus really does not care about their students. The signal is terrible! Anyways, Phainon, I need to get going with Mydei now. We can chat later!!”

You stood next to Mydei as the two of you began walking away, waving quickly at Phainon as you walked away. However, what you didn’t notice, was the death glare that Phainon was sending towards the two of you, especially at Mydei.

But Mydei saw. With the turn of his head, he saw those icy blue, once bright, now dark blue orbs cutting deep with their intense gaze. He didn’t shudder or tremble in fear, no. He simply kept a blank, unreadable look on his face, looking Phainon up and down with his eyes, as if scanning him carefully, whilst you’d talk about something random.

“So, Mydei. You told me you like to bake, is that right? Would you like to teach me how to bake? I’m more-so good at cooking rather than baking.. I always make the desserts too raw, or too dry!” You were both now in his dorm as you ranted, placing your books and bags on his table, granted with his permission, as you joined him in his kitchen, which was so much tidier than most other student’s kitchens.

“Hmph. The art of baking stems from the heart. Even raw or over baked goods are still delicious if you know the person made it from their heart.” He declared respectfully, handing a small black apron to you, whilst putting on his own soft pink apron on.

“Uh, are you sure this black apron is for me? I’m pretty sure you should be wearing this one-“ You’re immediately cut off as he sends you a quick death glare, which shuts you up just as fast, but you could’ve sworn there was a slight flush to his cheeks, that matched his pretty pink apron for a few seconds.

“If you looked, you’d know that apron is clearly too small for me. Of course yours is the black one. What? A man can’t wear pink now?” He asked aggressively, but not without a hint of playful aggression laced into the threads of his serious tone.

“I-I never said that!” You waved your hands in front of your face in distress and apology

“Quit it, I was just teasing you.” He uttered again, a soft smile now on his face as he took in the utterly adorable pathetic sight of you trying to save your case hopelessly.

After a while, you had managed to create an adorable set of yummy cupcakes with the helpful guidance of Mydei’s exceptional baking skills. Opening the oven door, a warm air of sweetness and cocoa hit your nose, before enveloping his whole dorm.

“Looking good,” Mydei praised as you carefully took out the tray with some oven mitts and bent down to place them on the stove atop the oven, before going back down to close the oven door again. But in the reflection of the oven, you saw something for a split second- Mydei’s gaze on you, your form in front of him. Before you could notice fully, he quickly averted his gaze back to the chocolate cupcakes in the baking tray.

Was he praising you?

As you got up, he spoke, bringing in a piping baggie and holding it in front of you.

“Now that the cupcakes are done baking, we’re going to have to wait a bit before we can ice them, since they need to cool down a bit first. Otherwise, the frosting would melt and go everywhere.”

He then brought together the ingredients to make the icing, as well as three food colourings tubes

“Now, you can decide between red food colouring, pink food colouring, or blue food colouring. I don’t really mind either way.” He said, handing the tubes to you to decide which colour to use.

You looked at the food dyes in your hand, deep in thought. See, you had wanted to gift some of these cupcakes to Phainon to make up for having to cancel your little hangout, but you also saw the way Mydei was eyeing the pink food colouring in your hand.

“Hmm.. I think I’ll go with the blue food colouring! You don’t mind that, right?” You asked gently, giving him a look of sympathy as you saw how he deflated slightly at your decision. He took the other dyes from your hand without a word, but you swore you could see a hint of a small pout on his face as he turned his back on you.

“That’s fine. I’ll help you make the icing, I just need to get the right nibs for the piping bag..” He spoke, momentarily distracted as he rummaged through his cupboard to find an appropriate nib. He came back a few moments later, standing next to you in front of the counter.

“We’re gonna be using a simple nib today, no designs. Since it’s your first time, you won’t be using any intricate designs.”

You pouted playfully as you helped him whip together a batch of icing, dipping in some of the blue food dye into the mixture, and watching as it turned from white to a pretty shade of cerulean blue almost resembling Phainon’s eyes.

“Really? I’m sure I could do it! Please, an intricate design would be so cute! Plus, I wanna gift some of these to my friend, so..” You pleaded gently, looking away in shame as he shot you a scowl, which really just made him look like a cat, or a young lion. He turned back to the bowl, whisking carefully, before muttering something almost incoherent under his breath.”

“Would’ve been cuter if you used the pink dye instead…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Now, I’m going to teach you how to pipe the icing properly onto the cupcake. We can still make cute designs with a simple nib, so just listen carefully.” He announced, almost sternly as he filled the piping bag with the light blue icing, twisting the nib onto the corner of the bag, before handing it to you and taking a chocolate cupcake out the tray and placing it in front of you.

“Ice it.” He said, staring down at you as you held the bag almost cluelessly in front of you.

“I thought you were gonna help me..” You inquired meekly

“I just wanna see how bad you’ll do, that’s all.” He quipped back, a sly grin on his face as he stepped away from you. You could only narrow your eyes at him as you turned to try and ice the cupcake.

That poor cupcake was now subject to messy, uneven scribbles of azure blue icing, your handiwork was truly poor. You sulked, not being able to even take your eyes off the now eyesore of the cupcake, lest to not have to see Mydei’s face, which was probably adorned with a giant, stupid smirk.

But he wasn’t Phainon, as he chuckled softly and leaned his head near yours, trying to catch a glimpse of your sullen expression.

“You don’t have to pout like that, y’know? Not everyone’s going to get it right on their first time.” He sighed, his voice now taking on a more mellow, kinder, tone, more patient, as it was devoid of any aggression or abrasion. He then simply pushed that cupcake to the side and brought out another one from the tray, before wrapping his big, muscular arms around your form, gently holding you by the hand with his larger hand, as if guiding it.

“Just follow my lead, I’ll help you..” He spoke gently, almost intimately, as he whispered into your ear, huskily, coaxing your hand to lift the piping bag once more with his.

“Mydei..” You spoke hesitantly, shyly, as your cheeks flushed, which he could see through the faint red that dusted onto the curve of your cheek from behind, and on your ears.

“Call me Mydeimos, yeah?” He breathed richly into your ear as he steered your hand with his, squeezing it to coerce you into squeezing the piping bag tight once more, to start icing the cupcake.

You stayed silent as he helped you, but yoy couldn’t help but feel so unfocused as he stayed so close by to you. How his warm breath on your neck as he leaned down to whisper instructions or words of praise into your ear from behind, how it tickled the inside of your ear a little.

After some time, the cupcakes were all beautifully decorated with the icing, with pretty, intricate designs made with the piping bag due to his ‘guidance’

“Look at that, masterpieces in less than ten minutes. You’re a pro already.” He praised, his tone now becoming less husky and quiet, returning to its normal deep and resonate tone as he pulled himself away from you.

“T-thank you.. this was mainly your doing though, you helped me move my hand in all the right places and all..” You muttered quietly, blushing softly as you met his gaze.

“You’re being a lot quieter than you were before when you were with that.. Phainon? guy. Are you two..?”

“Oh- we’re not.. yet but he’s been acting odd lately. More distant and passive-aggressive at times..” You said sadly, thinking back to his colder tone as you told him about Mydei at the start of the day.

“Well.. maybe these cupcakes will make him feel better. You too seem to be close friends, so I’m sure he’d appreciate the gesture.” He answered calmly, almost sympathetically. But, a flicker of a possessive, almost excited glint glimmered in his eyes for a split second as he spoke.

Did he have a chance with you? He did enjoy your company after all

“You’re right,” You sighed “he’s normally really bubbly, so I’m sure something sweet and cute like this will definitely lift his spirits!”

Mydei could only look at you with an adoring unreadable gaze as you began packing up the cupcakes in a tidy container you had brought along with you to his dorm.

Suddenly, you felt one of the cupcakes being pushed towards your lips, the blue icing smearing a little onto your pretty lips.

“Wha-“

“It’s the failed cupcake, just eat it. I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate it” He stated jokingly, shoving the dessert further until you opened your mouth to get it with a muffled giggle, covering your mouth and turning to face him, cautiously taking the cupcake from his hand and looking up at him.

“Thanks again, I really enjoyed this.. I didn’t think you’d be into these sorts of things, but I’m glad I got to know you and your interests..” You mused calmly, fully aware of the close proximity between the two of you yet again. You were almost pinned against the counter by him as he kept his hand firmly next to your torso on the counter next to you

The two of you could only stare at each other longingly for a few moments, before you both blushed and pulled away from each other.

“A-anyways.. I need to get back to my dorm now, I really enjoyed your company agai-“

“Let me take you. It shouldn’t be too far, right?” He cut you off, albeit, politely due to his sincere intentions. He didn’t give you a moment to think as he helped you pack your things, slinging his keys around his fingers, creating a quiet jingle sound as he did.

“Sure, I guess. We do both live on the same floor, no? Let’s get going then.” You turned to take your things from him and grab the tub of cupcakes on the table, before making your way to his door.

However, before following you, Mydei couldn’t help but momentarily turn his head over his broad shoulder, looking through the window behind his sink. His expression was dark as he felt another presence nearby, that obviously wasn’t yours. It was now dark outside, so he couldn’t see clearly. And he didn’t want to keep you waiting to go check up and confirm his suspicions. So, he simply smirked to himself and the dark outside world beyond the window.

He knew you were being watched and listened to the whole time, so why not give a little show, no?

Phainon gritted his teeth and almost bared them like an angry dog’s at the entire spectacle from outside his window. You were now long gone from Mydei’s dorm, he had already slipped back into his own dorm, to avoid being caught by Mydei, who was already onto his ass from the very beginning.

“Shit. Fucking piece of shit. Who does that guy think he is? Touching her up, holding her like he’s fucking her. Whispering into her ear from behind like that.” Phainon mumbled angrily to himself as he tore a new one into a poor, fluffy pillow on the ground.

He pretended the pillow was Mydei. How he’d tear his resilient skin off his muscles, rip out each and every one of his axons and nerves, tear through that generous muscle of his, that almost rivalled his own. How he wanted to blend up his organs, crush up his skull, and serve it all raw to you, to show you his devotion.

But he knew you’d run away in fear, never want to speak to him again, be scared of him for the rest of your life. And he didn’t want that. In fact, he wanted the complete opposite. He wanted you to rely on him, make you depend on him. He wanted you. All to himself. No more beating around the bush, you belonged to him. And messing with a potentially even messier dog for food may result in trouble. So why not go for the food first before the other dog gets to it first?

It had been a few days since your hangout with Mydei- or Mydeimos as he wanted you to call him.- The friendship between the two of you grew stronger, and you were happy about that! But there was still a growing ache in your heart.. what about Phainon?

He hadn’t contacted you throughout the days that had passed, and he wasn’t at his dorm either whenever you knocked to come check up on him whenever you were free. Initially, you had thought he was busy with his own classes, sports activities or whatever, but even during the times where he too was free, you could never find him, anywhere. Not in his dorm, the gymnasium, the gym, museums, cute cafes, nowhere. It also didn’t help how any text you send was always left on delivered. You were becoming worried, but most of all, upset.

You missed him, you wanted to see him, you didn’t like the thought of him being angry at you because of something you did. You had to make it right, you just had to.

It was a cold, winters evening, where the sun was already beginning to set at the dusking time of 6pm in the afternoon. You walked with determination to one of Phainon’s favourite places- grand library, much greater than the one on your campus- You had remembered when Phainon took you there during the holidays at the end of the first semester, noting how it was absolutely filled with loads of historical textbooks and fiction.

You had hoped, that just by a miracle, you would be able to find Phainon there, or at least get him a few books for him as an apology gift for canceling on him for someone else, even if it seemed small in retrospect.

However, the roads and streets were desolate, quiet, empty. Nobody liked going out or hanging around during these times due to the dark weather, and the gloom it brung along with it. But you were calm, you wouldn’t be out for too long anyways, the library wasn’t too far from your college’s campus to be out for so long.

What you didn’t know, was that someone was watching you, following you, drawing closer and closer as you advanced deeper into the darkness, until-

“What’s all that runni- HEY-! MMPH!! MMHMPH—-mmph- hmmgh-.. mmh…”

An unknown perpetrator had grabbed you from behind, their arms held tightly around you like a vice as their hand brought up a cloth to your nose and mouth, drenched in a form of anesthetic, forcing you to inhale the chemical skillfully. Once the unknown person knew you had been knocked out, they rid you of your belongings, discarding them on the ground besides you aimlessly, before dragging you away, and taking you someplace else, disappearing with you into the night.

A few hours later, your eyes fluttered open with a few blinks, taking in your surroundings. It was dark to say the least, and cold, probably dirty too. Your vision was blurry, as it took you time to adjust. Once you did, you realised you were bound tightly to a chair, unable to move a limb, even by a tiny spasm from your muscles. There was also a cloth wrapped tightly around your lips, muffling any noise coming from your mouth.

Trembling in fear, you teared up. Was this the end? Were you about to be killed? Why would someone do this? Where’s Phainon? Phainon won’t know where you are.. You’re gonna die knowing Phainon hates you- Phainon- Phainon-

You didn’t even realise you were calling out Phainon’s name, even if it was muffled by your gag, as you felt a sharp, cold knife being pressed against the large vein in your neck from behind. Whimpering softly, you shut up, sweat beading at your forehead, as tears began streaming down your cheeks.

“So very pretty, aren’t you? A pretty little thing like you should know not to stay out so long i

n the dark, don’t you have a boyfriend to keep you safe?” They spoke, his voice sinister and low as he spoke, roughly yanking the cloth from around your mouth downwards to let you speak.

But you could only whimper pathetically again, your throat feeling dry as the words fell on your mouth.

“I don’t have one..” You answered weakly, your voice strained from the anesthetic previously used on you a few hours prior, from the dryness of your mouth and throat, due to the lack of water, and from your short sobs.

The figure chuckled lowly, evilly, a bite of inhumanity lingering in the sound.

“What a shame.. nobody to protect you, nobody to save you, nobody to help you, nobody to run to, nobody to love…”

Thoughts swarmed your mind as you thought of the endless possibilities of what may happen to you here. Bad thoughts, thoughts that made you even more scared, and cry even harder, louder. To which, you began to sob out loud. A genuine sound that your kidnapper took great pleasure in hearing. You felt their presence behind you back away, only to appear in front of you. They were masked, gloved, concealed fully in all black, with the exception of their eyes, which you couldn’t make out the colour of due to their mask almost covering it up completely.

Not being able to face the kidnapper eye to eye, you turned your head to the side and sobbed, not caring how stupid you may have looked as it lolled over the chair to the side. But they clearly weren’t having it, as they drew their knife under your chin, lifting it up with its sharp edge, to meet their thunderous gaze once more, eliciting a shudder and gasp from your lips.

“What’s the matter? I just want to see your face as I slice you open an-“

Their words are cut short as they gurgle on something- blood, before falling to their knees and side in front of you. What stood behind them shocked you to your core.

It was Phainon, standing tall above the man with a dagger in his hand, now coated in blood. His gaze was icy cold as he stared the kidnapper down, who looked back at him with a look of shock, and also, betrayal?

Before the kidnapper could get another word out, Phainon stepped on the back of your captor’s neck, crushing it with his weight, before turning back to you, who was horrified and motionless, face turning pale.

“P-Phai-“ You choked out, before sobbing loudly in fear and relief. His gaze immediately turned to one of immense worry and love as he dropped the dagger and cradled your face in his hands, looking at you with eyes full of distress, scanning over your form with despair.

“[Name], [Name]! Listen to me, you’re fine, you’re okay. Shh.. Hey- stop crying, please.” He gently patted your cheeks as he got down on his knees in front of you, having kicked the now dead body of your kidnapper away.

When you didn’t stop crying, he could only wince in sadness and frustration, making quick work at the rope around your legs that bound them to the chair’s legs. He whispered soft shushes to try and alleviate you somehow, which obviously didn’t work.

Once he had untied the rope’s tight knots around your ankles, he moved behind you to untie your arms from behind your back over the chair, which soothed a soreness from there that you didn’t even pick up when you woke up as he loosened the rope. He kept muttering small “I’m sorry..”’s into your ear from behind, his voice ever so soft and comforting.

Having fully untied you, he took you off the chair and brought you down onto the floor with him, cradling you against his large, warm torso, stroking your hair as you sobbed into his chest, soaking his light blue hoodie.

After some time, you had calmed down, albeit, still sniffling and choking slightly as you tried to speak.

“P-Phainon.. I— hic- I’m s-so sorry… I w-wanted to apologise- sniffle- but-“

“Shh.. it’s fine, [Name]. You shouldn’t be the one apologising, it should be me. I… I got you into this mess because of my own pride and communication issues, even if you told me to improve on it. I’m sorry, you’re safe now. Please don’t apologise, I was so worried when you weren’t picking up my calls…”

You heard a sob coming from him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, crying gently at his own stupidity, the same stupidity that got you in this position. You couldn’t help but rub his back gently, trying to comfort him now, but he only let out a slight huff at your actions.

“..You shouldn’t be comforting me.. I got you into this mess, I almost got you killed. I was so stupid I-..”

“Phainon, i-it’s fine. You got me out of this mess, didn’t you..? And- and I don’t blame you for ghosting me or keeping your distance from me- I shouldn’t have cancelled plans on you last m-minute.. you didn’t know it’d end up like this..” Your voice was calmer now, less broken and fixing up as you spoke, trying to reduce his stress and worry.

‘You didn’t know it’d end up like this’ what a joke. He thought to himself.

“I just.. I was so worried. I tried messaging you back at 8pm to talk it out, because I knew you were most active during those times, but you didn’t answer. I spammed you so much and tried calling you so many times, but no answer…” He let out a shaky sigh as he ran a hand through his hair before continuing, “..I went to your dorm, knocked and waited there for so long, but you weren’t answering- I was terrified at that point.. Then, I went out and tried looking for you outside campus, still didn’t find you. And then- I saw it all.. your things. Your bag, your phone, everything- on the ground near some old trash cans near the side of the road. It took me ages to find you, but I spotted some desolate area and thought I’d try my luck, and thank goodness I did..”

He hugged you closer, before picking you up in a princess carry delicately, as if you were made of glass due to your more fragile state. He soon made his way out the room, making his way through the labyrinths of rotting walls and long, creepy corridors. He made sure your head was tucked away under his chin in the crook of his neck, so he could hear your breathing through his ear, in case anything went wrong.

“I have your phone and keys with me too, they must’ve fallen out whilst your kidnapper took you away, hm? Must’ve been terrifying, poor thing..” He gently swiped a piece of hair away from your face, which was all red, puffy, and wet from all your crying, giving you a pained expression in return to the sight.

As he carried you back into the campus, everything was a complete blur, and he could only slowly rock you back and fourth like a baby, to ease your nerves and mind, and coerce you back into reality as he swiftly entered your dormitory’s floor, reaching for the key in his pocket and unlocking the door swiftly.

He carefully lay you down on your room’s couch, getting on his knees again and stroking your head gently, a sad, hurt look on his face as he acknowledged your agitation and trepidation, after such a frightening experience.

“Just rest now, okay? You look so tired.. Don’t worry, [Name], I’ll keep you safe and watch over you. Just get the sleep that you need..” He lightly commanded, staying there, on his knees, until you drifted off into the realm of dreams peacefully.

He sighed in exhaustion as he got up, rubbing his forehead and looking at you with pure love in his eyes.

“…You know why I had to do this, right? Why I had to have some disgusting kidnapper take you away for some time? I need your love, your attention, your trust in me.. I’m so, so sorry, my love, but I had to. Otherwise, that pest- no. That virus, Mydei, would’ve taken you away from me, and I just can’t let that happen. I can’t imagine a life without you, [Name]….” He preached reverently, as if he was looking down at you like you were the embodiment of the divine, speaking to you as if you were his God. But you were. You were his to worship, his to love, his to keep safe. And he was going to make sure of that. One way or another, even if it meant hurting you in the process.

You belonged to him and him alone.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr men #phainon x reader #yandere phainon x reader #yandere phainon #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #phainon hsr

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yamumsyadadd · 1 day ago

Text

the end of the road

The start of a new series :) alexia Putellas x Leah Williamson!ex wife. Other writings about it here: 4 times

When you were thirteen you thought you met the love of your life, but now at twenty-six you realised you were wrong.

Leah had always been the pretty, popular girl. When you immigrated to Melton Kaynes in 2013 with your papa, you were intimidated by her. Her natural blonde hair and blue eyes made everyone fawn over her. Everyone but you. Though that would quickly change.

After an assignment threw the two of you together, she wanted to be around you. You didn’t think you were anything special, your ordinary brown hair, brown eyes and Spanish skin but to Leah, you were the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

There was something about your demeanour that drew her in. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t care what people thought about you, or the way you helped others in class when they didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure, but she was ready to risk everything for you.

Leah would follow you around like a puppy begging for a crumb of food. She wanted your attention, for you to see her. Truthfully you did see her but you weren’t confident in your own sexuality, so why would you be confident in hers?

Slowly, your walls around her came down. You had a lot more in common than you realised. Her parents were divorced and so were yours. The only difference was who you lived with. Your mami had stayed behind in Spain, continuing on with the group homes and foster care foundation she had started. Your papa opted to move back to England and extend the foundation to more European countries.

It was a random Tuesday when you first kissed Leah. She was rambling on about some football thing she disagreed with and you couldn’t help it. After the initial confusion Leah kissed back. It didn’t even get to the end of the day before she asked you to be her girlfriend, you were slightly hesitant, but said yes nonetheless.

You tried to hide the relationship from both your parents. Your mami was the one that caught it first, secretly telling your papa not to freak out if and when you decided to share the news. It took a few months before you felt confident and comfortable enough to share it with them.

Since their divorce, they remained friends. Real friends, there was no huge fight or cheating that caused it, they simply just grew apart and no longer loved each other in that way. As all three of you sat around the dinner table in Barcelona, you started to cry. The overwhelming feeling that your parents would be disappointed, angry or even resentful.

“Querida, what’s wrong?” Your mami was alarmed, one minute you were all laughing then you burst into tears.

“I’m in love with Leah. She’s my girlfriend, I’m a lesbian.” It came out in a mumbled mess. “Please don’t be mad.” You quickly added once you realised neither of your parents were talking.

“Pumpkin, we know.” Your papa smiled at you.

“You do?”

“Of course. Why do you think you have to keep your bedroom door open when she’s over? Or that she has to sleep in the guest room for sleepovers?” Oh. You never thought about that.

“Why would we be mad?”

“I don’t know. I guess because I won’t give you grandkids?”

“You can have a baby another way. I’m sure if and when the time comes, you will give us the most perfect grandchildren.” Your mami wiped your tears. She was wrong though.

As the years progressed, so did your relationship with Leah. Throughout the final two years of highschool you were an anchor to each other. When your mami was diagnosed with breast cancer, she was there.

When your mami died eighteen months later, she was there. Holding you on the hospital floor as you sobbed so hard you made yourself sick. The entire time Leah was by your side, refusing to leave, letting you cry into her until you passed out.

At twenty, Leah proposed in the country side of England. Without hesitation you tackled her to the ground repeatedly saying yes. You were going to marry the woman of your dreams.

It felt like a dream, telling your friends and family, throwing an engagement party, having everyone congratulate you. Never in a million years did you expect for this to happen.

Thanks to the inheritance you received from your mami, you were able to buy a house big enough for you and Leah, maybe a few kids down the line. It wasn’t the biggest or fanciest house, but it was yours. It felt and smelt like home.

After being engaged for two years, you had set a date. The wedding was everything you and Leah had dreamed of. Her teammates from throughout the years, high school friends and your family from Spain were all in attendance. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in either of your minds.

After the reception, you and Leah were able to sneak away for a few quiet moments.

“You look so beautiful.” She said as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

“So do you. I love you.” Your hand ran along her jaw as you took in the way she looked. Wanting to savour this moment forever.

“I want to have a baby.” You were slightly taken aback with her serious tone but agreed straight away.

Almost as soon as the honeymoon was over, the fertility treatments started. It didn’t take long, your second try, and you were pregnant. The pregnancy was a dream, you had limited morning sickness and no stretch marks. You and Leah were in heaven. But then the world shut down.

The COVID-19 restrictions awoke something inside of you. The feeling of missing your home country, the people who helped run the foundation and your mamis best friend, Marisol. You longed to go back to Spain, but with Leah’s football career kicking off you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

The birth of your first child, a boy called Oscar, was something so magical and beautiful. You laboured at home with Leah for as long as you could, she was there doing whatever she could. Getting ice, massaging your lower back, swaying with you. You name it, Leah did it.

After 49 hours, Oscar came into the world screaming incredibly loudly. As soon as he was put on your chest, both you and Leah burst into tears.

Oscar was a dream baby. For a while it was just the three of you. While it was completely exhausting, it was worth it. You and Leah had created the most perfect little boy. You were happy with the life you created but you still longed to return home.

It was harder to run the foundation from England then you anticipated. Marisol was taking care of the Spanish part of it, your dad looking after Germany and Switzerland. The UK was on you. Everything would go perfectly and then, in a blink of an eye, things would fall apart.

Cracks started to appear in your marriage too. Leah was in the prime of her life, travelling all over for football, but you were stuck. Oscar was in nursery throughout the day when you worked but you couldn’t help but feel empty.

Leah was coming home later, sometimes close to midnight. The sex had dwindled to maybe once a fortnight if you were lucky. You were the one that did everything. The laundry, house cleaning, paid all the bills, took Oscar to swimming and little kickers, read his bed night stories. It was as if you were a single parent.

Then you noticed the signs. The change of the her phone password, no more flaunting you on social media, inviting you to team events. She made it seem like she was single.

Oscar was only fourteen months old. You could see the future you hoped for disappear in a flash. Amanda, Leah’s mum, had taken Oscar for the night. It was supposed to be your date night.

But as you sat there in the couch, heels thrown off near the door, dress started to feel constrictive, you realised that Leah wasn’t coming home.

It was well past midnight when Leah came in. smelling like alcohol and someone else’s perfume.

“Where have you been?” You asked, anger evident in your voice.

“Out with mum.” She couldn’t even lie properly.

“That’s a lie.” You said as you stood up, “your mum has Oscar. He’s been there since 3pm.” You watched her reaction. You walked closer to her, wanting her to know how serious you were, “I don’t care who she is. If you keep seeing her, we are done. Oscar and I will go back to Spain.”

“Babe-“

“No.” You put your hand up to stop her, “it’s us or her. You decide.”

She chose your family. You never asked who the girl was, you suspected, but it was never confirmed. You made her go to therapy, then for you both to go to marriage counselling. You worked hard to regain trust and Leah proved to you again why you loved her.

It took six months but then stupidly you agreed to a second baby. For the first two trimesters Leah was there. Helping more with Oscar, doing house work, taking you out on dates and being the loving wife you knew she was.

As you were nearing your final month of pregnancy, things were getting harder. Leah was barely around, the love you once shared seemed to be a distance memory. Most nights you cried yourself to sleep, hand in your belly as you did so.

You needed help, Leah would have excuse after excuse so you hired a nanny. Isobel was from Spain too, spending the year studying in London. She was perfect, you were able to speak your mother language to her, Oscar picked it up quickly too.

It was a relief. To have the help with Oscar and household chores. You got to focus on the last few days of work before you went on maternity leave. The due date of your daughter was approaching fast, as was Christmas.

The Christmas market was a favourite of yours. The light snow dusted the ground, the smell of cinnamon and hot chocolate filled the air. Oscar looked so cute in his winter suit with his gloves and hat, and there was Leah. Looking as beautiful as you remembered.

You felt giddy like a children when she told you she’d be joining the two of you tonight. This would probably be your last outing as a family of three. By the time you were at home in bed, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You were incredibly happy that your family was slowly coming back together.

It didn’t last long though. On December 21st, you sat at home on the couch. Oscar was already in bed asleep and the time was nearing 8.30pm. All day you had been having slight contractions, but the sharp pain that ripped across your stomach was nothing you’d ever felt before.

Something was very wrong.

You tried ringing Leah. Over and over again. But each time she declined the call. You texted and she left you on read. The final text message you sent that she did reply to broke your heart.

You: somethings wrong Leah. I’m bleeding and the pain is horrible.

Leah: what do you want me to do about it?”

You: I need to go to the hospital. Oscar is asleep.

Leah: call an uber or something. Idk.

The anger you felt was very quickly replaced with fear. Your two and a half year old son was sleeping upstairs, your wife was being a bitch and there was no other option than to call for an ambulance.

So that’s what you did. First you rang Amanda, Leah’s mum, then you rang an ambulance. As you potted around the loungeroom, blood was dropping onto the floor. You knew it needed to be cleaned before Oscar woke up otherwise he would freak out.

Thankfully, Amanda arrived quickly and so did the ambulance.

“Leah’s not coming. Please stay with Oscar.” You begged her as they loaded you up. Something flashed across Amanda’s face, probably anger and disappointment in her daughter but at that moment all you could focus on was your own daughter.

Somewhere along the way you rang your dad and Marisol begging them to come as fast as they could. They tried but ultimately you gave birth to your beautiful daughter alone, at 4.44am.

You were exhausted and didn’t even bother looking at your phone, missing the millions of instagram notifications until it was too late.

Marisol was the first to get to the hospital, meeting your daughter, Amelia, a mere 45 minutes after she was born. She told you how proud she was of you, how you did such a good job and you couldn’t help but cry.

Since your mami had died, Marisol took over that role. She was your mamis best friend, your godmother, one of the best people you knew. After a few hours and minimal sleep, you decided to message Leah. Letting her know that her daughter had been born.

Before you could though you were overwhelmed with the amount of notifications on your phone. As you clicked on one, it lead you to the comments section of an instagram post.

A post that contained your wife and a teammate. Kissing. At the same Christmas markets you took your son to a few days prior. You couldn’t stop the sob that came out of your mouth. Both your dad and Marisol stopping what that were doing immediately.

“What’s wrong!”

“Is something hurting?”

“Leah-“ was all you were able to get out, shoving your phone into Marisol’s hand. Their hearts broke for you, less than 10 hours after giving birth you found out your wife was cheating on you.

It started to make sense. The distance, the late nights and early mornings, the way she separated herself. It made you nauseous. Was she cheating when she begged for a second kid? Did she fuck someone in the house you lived in together? In your bed?

Before you had the chance to completely spiral, Oscar ran into the room. Excited to meet his baby sister and see his mama. There was a look of anger on Jacob’s face when he walked in and saw Leah still wasn’t there.

For an hour they kept up appearances but then you politely asked everyone but Amanda to leave.

“Leah cheated on me. I don’t know details, and I don’t want to know details but I want all of her stuff out of my house by the time I’m home.”

Amanda was confused so you took the liberty to show her the photos. Confusion turned into anger. She called her own family to organise the removal of Leah’s belongings, your dad took the chance to call a locksmith.

If or when Leah decided to return to the family home she would find all of the locks changed and her belongings at her mother’s.

You were good in a crisis. Level headed and calm, always the first point of call when something went wrong with the foundation and this was no different. The crisis was now your life and you had to fix it.

Christmas was a good distraction, Leah had attempted to reach out, to promise it was a mistake, a one time thing. but the wound had been created and she couldn’t fix it now.

Over new years Oscar struggled. You all did. thankfully your dad and Marisol hung around for as long as they could.

Leah had only met Amelia twice. By the second time she didn’t seem interested at all. As if this baby was just a burden to her. Amanda visited often, as did Jacob. One night you decided to break the news to them. Oscar was already passed out in bed and Amelia was asleep in the bassinet.

“I’m moving back to Spain. The kids will obviously be coming too. I’m selling the house.”

“What about Leah?” Amanda asked.

“She can see the kids whenever she likes. I won’t keep them from her. However in the last week she hasn’t reached out at all.”

“That’s it? You’re giving up?” Jacob asked, raising his voice.

“There’s nothing to give up on Jake. She cheated, she ruined this family. Not me. I gave birth alone, I have been raising our son alone.”

“Have you told her?”

“I tried. She left my message on read. I sent in the divorce papers, I don’t want any money from her, I don’t want to fight over this but I will if I have to.”

Amanda let a few tears slip before she spoke up, “you deserve better.”

“Mum!”

“No jacob she does. Leah broke this family, Leah left her wife alone to give birth, she went out to a public place and snogged a teammate. You can love your sister but this, this is her fault. Y/n, I will support you through this. You’re a wonderful mother, both those kids are incredibly lucky to have you.” You cried as she hugged you goodbye, the chapter was closing and while it is what you wanted, you felt incredibly heartbroken.

Leah fought the divorce. It was ugly and it was messy. The prenup prevented either of you from getting each other’s money, you would keep the house. The judge agreed that sole custody would reside with you for the mean time and in a year it would be revisited.

The alienation started almost immediately. Leah would tell Oscar it was you that broke up the family, that you were taking him away from her. Never once did you correct her, there was no way you wanted to mess up his toddler mind more than it already was.

Spain was a breath of fresh air. You had reached out to Isobel, explaining most of what had happened and said if she was to find herself in Barcelona anytime soon, you’d happily hire her again.

Oscar settled into his new daycare easily, at home he wasn’t so settled. You tried to be understanding, but it was so incredibly hard. Your marriage was over, your soon to be ex wife was alienating your son, the friends you shared with her slowly stopped reaching out.

Once your maternity leave ended, you threw yourself into the foundation. Wanting to make it grow, fix everything you could.

The idea of a compound came to you in the middle of the night. Amelia was teething and as you sat there comforting her you thought about all the teen parents doing the best they could. Fostering teenagers wasn’t something many people did, so foster a teenager who had a baby was even more limited.

You drew up a rough plan, something to discuss with Marisol later in the day. It consisted of an apartment style complex, 6 or 7 houses, 1 and 2 bedroom apartments with one on the end for a caregiver.

When you bought the idea up with Marisol and Miriam, the manager of the under 10s portfolio, they were on board immediately. It wouldn’t be easy to pull off but you were sure you could do it.

While you threw yourself into work to get over the heartbreak, Leah threw herself into the beds of other women. No matter how hard to tried to avoid it, there was pictures and comments plastered on the internet.

Oscars behaviour was getting worse. After every phone call, every quick visit, he would come back rude and mean. You knew he was struggling but you also knew that he couldn’t talk to people like that. Leah refused to help, she claimed he was the perfect child for her and this was all your fault.

As the months pushed on, you worked tirelessly to began this project and when it started, you couldn’t help but shed some happy tears. All the extra hours you put in once the kids were asleep was finally going to pay off.

When Leah tore her ACL you were conflicted. On one hand you were sad she wouldn’t be able to captain her team in the World Cup, but on the other hand she would be able to be move present in your children’s lives.

Her relationship with the now five month old Amelia, was practically nonexistent. You weren’t breastfeeding, finding that it was causing you more stress than it was worth. When offered to have her over night, Leah would straight up refuse. It was getting to a point that was concerning to you. At no point did you want your daughter to grow up feeling less Love from her own mother.

Oscar’s third birthday was fast approaching. Leah, who had done her knee, wouldn’t be attending the pre-world cup camps. Her family and yours would come together in Spain and celebrate him. As much as it hurt seeing her and her family, you had to swallow your own feelings to put Oscar first.

He loved every second of it, all the attention, the food, the love. It had been a while since he had been that happy. As the day came to a close, Jacob and Oscar were outside on the trampoline, Marisol and Amanda were pottering around tidying up and you had just put Amelia to sleep when Leah came up behind you.

“I miss you.” She whispered, learning up against the door frame.

“Leah-“

“No I do. I know I fucked up but I want to fix it. I love you, only you.” She looked at you like you hung the moon, as much as you still loved Leah, you couldn’t do that to yourself.

“I can’t Leah. You cheated on me, left me to have a baby alone. I know you’re sad and scared and whatever but I’m not the person to find comfort in. I’m sorry.” You tried to push past but she grabbed on your arm. In an instant her mouth was on yours, kissing you.

For a moment you let yourself melt into it. Forgetting what it was like to be kissed by here but then you realised what was happening and pushed her off. “Leah no.” It’s all you could muster before you headed back outside to collect Oscar.

After that night, something in Leah switched. She started to be more cruel, not just to you but everyone around.

You tried to co parent with her, but ultimately you had to take her back to court and get help. From that point on, all communication went through a parenting app. The lawyers and court could read it all and see what was being said.

The worst part of it all was watching the fallout on social media. Leah’s fans were coming for your throat. Everything was your fault, it didn’t matter that she cheated, that she ruined your family. To them, their favourite captain could so no wrong.

things changed when you met alexia. You were scared, nervous but mostly excited.

#leah williamson imagine #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #arsenal fc #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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