#cos she is just so proud of herself

[mooncrisisdepression]

The fandom collectively sort of agreed that Zelda was a bad cook without a lot of evidence

That was until Age of Calamity came along and actually proved the fandom right!

However, there is a side quest in Tears of the Kingdom that implies she can cook actually

And the only reasonable explanation to this is that Link taught her, obviously

[arachine]

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing. 

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks. 

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince: 

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’” 

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up. 

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad. 

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?” 

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there. 

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily. 

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy. 

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.” 

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level. 

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes. 

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him. 

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after. 

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.” 

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping. 

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner. 

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence. 

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question. 

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod. 

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement. 

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her. 

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul. 

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall. 

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat. 

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice. 

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed. 

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life. 

“You tried any dating apps?” 

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?” 

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?” 

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces. 

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes. 

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars. 

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!” 

“Right…” 

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too. 

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match. 

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace. 

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail. 

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’. 

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry. 

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch. 

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response. 

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”  

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself. 

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality. 

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.” 

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone. 

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type. 

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more. 

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit. 

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders. 

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it. 

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties). 

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile. 

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds. 

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are! 

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol). 

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so? 

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice. 

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say. 

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other. 

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it. 

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this). 

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too. 

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual. 

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago. 

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half. 

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’. 

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way. 

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult. 

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’” 

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call. 

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet. 

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body. 

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!” 

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother. 

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking. 

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention. 

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki. 

“Come in, hon!” 

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room. 

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception. 

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment. 

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time. 

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly. 

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana. 

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate. 

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you. 

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone. 

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue. 

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them. 

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here. 

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know. 

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–” 

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him. 

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it. 

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something. 

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder. 

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t. 

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact. 

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger. 

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?” 

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now. 

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway. 

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs. 

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’. 

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children. 

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep. 

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him. 

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted. 

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight. 

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity. 

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say. 

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date. 

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further. 

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now. 

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot. 

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first. 

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out. 

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch. 

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks. 

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?” 

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom. 

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you. 

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.” 

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation. 

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.” 

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting. 

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d. 

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness. 

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating. 

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?” 

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes. 

“I don’t know…” you trail. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow. 

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway. 

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you. 

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.” 

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?” 

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.” 

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter. 

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed. 

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate. 

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating. 

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed. 

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit. 

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental? 

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence. 

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver. 

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers. 

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door. 

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?” 

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time. 

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?” 

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?” 

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you. 

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?” 

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal. 

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly. 

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.” 

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat. 

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence. 

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water. 

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?” 

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows. 

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?” 

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?” 

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?” 

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly. 

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter. 

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?” 

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass. 

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased. 

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment. 

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?” 

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy. 

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed. 

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!” 

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.” 

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.” 

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song. 

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns. 

To fall in love 

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them. 

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame. 

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage. 

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do 

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems. 

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were. 

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down. 

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling. 

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful. 

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs. 

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.” 

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay. 

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles). 

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs. 

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.” 

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago. 

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.” 

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees. 

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound. 

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core. 

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love. 

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.” 

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you. 

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins. 

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?” 

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue. 

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit. 

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.” 

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor. 

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them. 

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.” 

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes. 

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone. 

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand. 

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you. 

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears. 

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers. 

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously. 

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.” 

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind. 

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.” 

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You. 

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally. 

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt. 

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give. 

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.” 

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium. 

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.” 

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days. 

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp. 

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration. 

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.” 

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you. 

Soon, that silence is broken. 

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads. 

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you. 

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages. 

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants. 

“Shit!” 

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you. 

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!” 

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom. 

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

© arachine 2023

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured X

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: You go back to ballet

Alexia doesn't know whether to be proud or horrified.

You've not even been out of the hospital for three days before she receives a text from Jenni saying that you're going back to ballet - by your own accord.

Alexia has been invited too and she fusses in front of the mirror, tugging at her outfit as she stares.

There's an extra training session tonight, taking penalties, and while Alexia would usually attend, she finds herself staring in her mirror as she contemplates putting her hair up or leaving it loose.

Olga leans by the door, Jaume on her hip. "You are seeing Bambi," She chides," Not going to a business meeting. A suit is not needed."

Alexia tugs at her blazer sleeve. Her slacks aren't buttoned up quite yet and her shirt isn't as crisp as it could be. "Are you sure?"

"Comfortable, Ale," Olga says," A t-shirt and some trackies. Jeans if you must but it's just a ballet class. You're not meeting investors. Change."

Alexia huffs but does as she's told, swapping her slacks for some Barcelona-issued tracksuit bottoms along with her white button-down for a plain t-shirt. Her blazer is taken from her in favour of a lightweight jacket and she's pushed out of the door in her trainers before she can contemplate other shoe options.

She's early for your ballet practice and she can hear you before you and Jenni even turn the corner.

You're talking animatedly to her, your little hand tight in hers as she looks down at you. Jenni's smiling at you, a big beaming smile that falls like a lance through Alexia's chest as she watches Jenni hang off your every word.

You stop in front of her, eyes wide as you shuffle a little closer like you're wary of her. "Hi, Mami."

Alexia smiles. "Hi, Bambi."

You very slowly shuffle even closer, looking like you're going to bolt back to the safety Jenni offers you before your little arms are wrapped around Alexia's legs in a hug.

Alexia's hand very gently runs through your unbound hair as you peer up at her with those same wide eyes.

"Come on, Bambi," Jenni calls and you immediately scamper back to her side," You've still got to change your shoes and gets your hair done. Inside, come on."

Jenni holds the door open for you and you hurry in, finding a place at a bench already crammed with parents and children as you begin to pull off your shoes.

"How is she?" Alexia asks.

"Sleepy," Jenni answers," Still a little emotional. She cried when I told her she should take another day off from ballet so here we are." She rummages around in the bag on her back. "Bambi, feet please."

You place one foot on Jenni's bent knee as she slips on your ballet flat before swapping to do the other. "When I'm eleven or twelve," You tell Mami," I can wear fancy pointe shoes and go up to tippy-toe!"

"Only if you keep practising," Jenni reminds you as she moves around the back to scrape your hair into a bun. Her hand skims your upper back and you flinch and Jenni notices instantly, freezing her movements until you fully relax again.

She doesn't touch your back again as she makes sure all of your hair is tied back in a bun.

"Alright," She says and you twist around to face her, turning your back on Mami as Ma-Jenni cups your face," What's the most important thing?"

"Having fun."

"That's right. Have fun. Turn on your listening ears and try your hardest."

You nod.

"And if you feel sleepy or tired you tell the teacher right away and they'll come and get me, understand?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

The door to the studio opens as students come out and your group goes in. You move with the crowd before stopping and turning around again.

You run back to Jenni, giving her a big hug before being released. You make an aborted movement to go again but stop yourself. In a few light steps, you're standing in front of Alexia.

"I'm going in now, Mami," You say," Bye-bye."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bambi," Alexia says," I'll be right here with Jenni when you come out."

You frown, head tilted to the side in confusion. "Why? Today's always penalty practice. You always go to penalty practice."

"Well, today, I'm at ballet practice. I'm staying here."

You look up at her, trying to puzzle out if she's lying to you and Alexia takes the chance to very carefully pull you into a hug. You're tense and rigid for a moment before you're fully relaxed against her, bringing your own arms up for a hug of your own.

You pull away and Alexia lets you, even though she desperately wants to keep you with her. So, she settles on walking you to the door.

Jenni's there too, talking with your teacher.

"-Just out of hospital. She might be a little woozy today or tired. I'm just outside if she needs a break or something."

You slip into the studio and get lost in the crowd of other kids as Alexia takes a seat on the bench with Jenni and the other parents. It's a little awkward.

Jenni knows everyone, greeting people casually and answering their small talk while Alexia awkwardly sits there.

Usually, she uses the time you're in ballet to run a few errands before going into an extra training session. Usually, she'd already be in the car and gone, picking up the dry cleaning from the fancy place down the street or getting the groceries done even though she could get them delivered.

It's odd to be sitting here.

Sitting here with her ex, staring through the glass walls to watch your session.

It's clear to Alexia that some of these kids are just here to have fun. They're here because their parents signed them up for this. But not you.

Even now, at such a young age, Alexia can recognise her laser focus in you, from the way you very slightly change your positioning or how you're always staring at your teacher, not letting your eyes stray through the windows to where you know Alexia and Jenni are sitting.

Your only focus is on your ballet and Alexia can imagine a grown up version of you in her head, with a proper outfit and pointe shoes and hair in a bun you've done yourself. She can imagine you on a stage with a full orchestra accompanying your dancing.

Alexia blinks and that image of you is gone.

It's just the you now and the way a tiny sliver of your tongue sticks out as you shift your foot further outwards.

"She's so talented," One of the other mothers says to Jenni, who beams.

The praise goes straight to Jenni's chest like this woman has personally complimented her. Your talent is obvious even at this age and Jenni knows under the right guidance, you're going to be great.

Her heart swells with pride as she watches you.

Your teacher has to adjust everyone's positioning but not yours.

You're a little prodigy and Jenni's so proud of you.

You're still a little tired, still have a sore throat from the tube that had been stuck down it but you're powering through it. Jenni would have preferred you staying home with her but you had been adamant.

You've gotten that from Alexia.

Jenni's never seen that level of focus on anyone who wasn't a Putellas. She's even seen it on Alba on occasion. Putellas girls grab what they want and they don't let it go.

Jenni sneaks a glance at Alexia, whose eyes haven't strayed from your dancing.

She knows that if Alexia wants to keep you, if Alexia doesn't want to let Jenni raise you then she won't get you - even if she's the right choice. Even if Jenni puts everything into raising you, if Alexia wants to keep you then Jenni will never get you.

Even if Jenni begs and begs, Putellas girls don't let go of what they want.

If Alexia decides that she can give you a better life, if she clings and clings and clings then you'll never be in Jenni's arms again and she doesn't know if she can cope with that.

Her only hope is that Eli can talk sense into Alexia, that Eli can see that Jenni is the best choice for you, the best choice to support and shape you into who you're going to be as an adult.

They sit in silence for most of your session, only exchanging a few words before you're released to them.

You're panting from exertion and you look so drained. You raise your hands up when you get close to them and Alexia's the quickest one.

She picks you up and settles you on her hip with ease. It's been a long time since you've been so comfortable with that. You're not completely comfortable just yet but you relax more and more until you're like you used to be.

Jenni trails after the two of you.

"How was dance, Bambi?" She asks and you peak over Alexia's shoulder to beam at her.

"Good! Fun!"

"That's excellent!" Jenni says," Do your feet hurt?"

You give her a cheeky smile and nod. "Mama gives me foot massages when they hurt!" You say to Mami.

"That's-" Alexia gets cut off by a loud, familiar voice from across the street.

"No way!" The voice says," Is that my favourite ballerina? It looks like it is!"

"Mapi!" You kick a little bit for Alexia to put you down and she begins to lower you to the ground but Jenni plucks you straight from her.

Alexia's in a little bit of awe at the way Jenni so easily swaps your ballet pumps for your trainers with one hand. She does it so easily and so naturally that it leaves Alexia wondering if she'd practised this or if it came automatically.

Once your outside shoes are on, Jenni releases you.

Thankfully, Mapi (and Ingrid) have already crossed the street so you can get to them without getting hit by a car.

"Hi, Mapi!" You chirp as Mapi reaches around to untie your hair from its bun, leaving it to fall loose down your back.

"What?" Ingrid chuckles," No hi for me?"

You suddenly turn shy, rubbing the tip of your shoe in the ground as you refuse to make eye contact, cheeks going bright red. "Hi, Ingrid." You shuffle into her arms and Jenni laughs, patting Mapi on the back.

"Better watch out," Jenni says," Or Bambi might steal your girlfriend."

Mapi rolls her eyes. "Only if she's into women years older than her."

"Well, by the looks of her crush, she might."

Jenni's clearly teasing but it still sends a bolt of lightning down Alexia's spine. She can't imagine you finding a partner one day. She can't imagine what you would look for in a partner.

Someone your age, Alexia reckons. Maybe someone you met through ballet. Maybe someone that has no association with football. Probably someone from Barcelona.

She's not really sure she can imagine you with someone. She can imagine you on stage. She can imagine you dancing professionally. She can't imagine you dating anyone.

She can't imagine you dating someone and moving away. She can't imagine you moving away as an adult. She can't imagine you moving away now.

She knows that if she lets you go with Jenni then you're going to Mexico. She knows that you're leaving Spain.

Alexia also knows that she's a Putellas. She knows that a Putellas doesn't just roll over and take the punches. She knows that if she wants something (if she wants to keep you with her) then she'll have to hold it tightly and not let it go (let you go) no matter what someone else thinks or says.

You're a Putellas too.

You're not a Hermoso - at least not legally.

You have Alexia's hyper focus. You have Alexia's genes too.

That has to count for something.

You came from Alexia. You grew in Alexia's womb. Alexia endured hours of labour to have you.

That has to count for something, right?

Right?

Blood rushes through Alexia's ears as she looks down at you, at how shy you still look while you stare at Ingrid, the tips of your ears turning pink just like Alexia's do when she's feeling shy.

Jenni's time in Spain is running out every day but for everything of herself she can see in you, Alexia can still aspects of Jenni in you. From the way you giggle and the way you smile and the way you hug.

Everything that used to be Alexia, is slowly changing into Jenni and you seem none the wiser.

"Bambi," Alexia calls and you turn to look at her.

You seem a little confused at being spoken to so suddenly but you're still smiling. It doesn't dim in the slightest.

"We goin' home now, Mami?"

Jenni freezes, whatever she's been saying to Mapi stops in her throat. You haven't called Alexia's house 'home' since Jenni's been with you. You've only called Alba's place 'home'.

Jenni doesn't know what that means. She doesn't know if you mean Alexia's place or Alba's. She doesn't know if you know which one you mean either.

She hates that stupid smug look on Alexia's face.

A look that Alexia doesn't even know she's wearing. She beams from ear to ear at your words. She wants desperately to say yes, to bring you back into the little family that you're a firm part of, to bring you back home to your room full of trains.

But she keeps herself calm.

She knows that she can't just sweep you away like that.

She needs to remain calm.

"Not right now, Bambi," She says," Listen me and Jenni need to go and see your Abuela. Do you want to spend the rest of your day with Mapi and Ingrid?"

You look at Ingrid, cheeks still bright red as you nod. "Yes, please, Mami."

Jenni takes the reins after that, giving Mapi orders on how to look after you and how in an hour or so you have your midday nap and to make sure that you have somewhere soft and warm to rest your head. She lays off orders that even Alexia hasn't thought of like how you should have a glass of water with a hint of lemon because it always wakes you up after naptime and how they shouldn't touch you because you're a light sleeper and you really need the rest after your hospital stay.

You curl into Jenni's arms as she says goodbye to you. You go all limp and boneless and somewhere along the way, your little fist latches on the front of Alexia's shirt, pulling her into the hug too. Just like it was in the Before.

With Mapi rolling her eyes and Ingrid promising to take the best care of you, Alexia and Jenni are at Eli's house within the hour.

Alba is there too, an ever-present figure of disapproval as she leans against the doorframe. Everyone already knows Alba's vote on this matter.

Her position has never swayed and Alexia can't look her in the eyes.

Alba wants her sister out of your life. Permanently if she could help it but at least as your main caregiver if she couldn't get permanently.

She has never been swayed. She has never thought any different. She doesn't care if she has to fly to Mexico to see you. She doesn't care if you never step foot in Spain again.

Alba thinks that's a better alternative than having you with Alexia.

Jenni's position is clear too. She won't say it out loud but everyone knows her position. She wants you. She wants you like she needs air to breathe. She wants you with every cell in her body and she doesn't think Alexia and Olga's home is right for you. It's alright for you but it's not perfect and Jenni thinks she can make you the perfect home.

Alexia's vote is cast in her own favour too. She's acknowledged what she's done. She's fixing it. She's changing how she lives her life so it can be better suited to you and your schedule. She's proving to everyone that she can still be a mother to you. She's showing that she loves you just as much as she loves Jaume. She's making a family for herself, a family that you deserve to be a part of.

But everyone knows where the decision truly lies.

It lies with the woman sitting at the head of the table.

She is not a Putellas. She does not cling to what she wants and refuses to let it go.

Eli is a Segura. She looks at both sides. She weighs up have-beens and could-bes and makes her decisions on that. If she thinks something would do better out of her grip then she will let it go. She will let it thrive and grow away from her even if it means never seeing it again.

She looks at her daughter and then to the woman that could have been her daughter-in-law.

The debates had been going back and forth for hours now, words bouncing off the walls of her house as she sat there.

Alexia made her case.

Jennie made her case.

Alba threw in her own opinions.

Then, Eli spoke.

She spoke for a long while and everyone hung on her every word.

"I cannot force you to do what you do not want to, Ale," Eli says at the end," She is your daughter. You have all the rights to her. Her future is in your hands right now-"

"Mama!" Alba cuts in," You can't be serious?! We all know what Alexia will choose! You cannot let her do this!"

"I cannot force your sister to do anything," Eli says," She is an adult and she holds all of Bambi's rights. None of us can force her to do anything." Her eyes flick back to her eldest. "But think about this carefully, Alexia. Do not make this decision with your heart. Make it with your head. Do what is best for Bambi."

Eli's words come back to Alexia a few days later at the park.

You and Jenni have met her, Olga and Jaume there.

Jaume is now strong enough to hold his own head up and crawl around, exploring the world with his hands and mouth.

He sits on the grass with Olga settled on the picnic blanket. He's crawling around, playing on the slight incline and Olga lets him, keeping half an eye on him and the other on her book.

You and Jenni are in the playground, playing on the slide. You're getting stronger and stronger every day. Your throat and voice are no longer scratchy and you've been given the all-clear from the doctor.

You're holding the new train that Jenni got you to celebrate getting out of the hospital. The usual train store has closed down now but Jenni managed to find another one. It ended up just you and her. You weren't sure that you wanted Mami to come with you. You turn your head a little to look at her.

Alexia sits on a bench, equal distance away from both you and Jaume, able to swivel her head around to see both of you.

Jaume tries to stick a flower in his mouth that Olga promptly confiscates.

You erupt into a fit of giggles as Jenni tickles your tummy.

Jaume tugs his shoes off.

You duck under the climbing frame.

Jaume babbles and claps.

You shriek with laughter when Jenni catches up to you.

Then the bubble bursts and all of the convincing Alexia has done to herself bursts. Every time she tells herself that she can make this work. Every time she tells herself that the decision she has made is the right one.

It's all ruined now.

Jaume tumbles down the incline. It's not a far fall for an adult but it's enough to shock a scream and tears from him. Olga's by his side instantly.

You fall off the slide. You land as a little heap on the ground and it's not a far fall either but you still cry as Jenni picks you up.

Both of you are hysterical, sobbing your eyes out and looking close to a breakdown.

"Ale!"

"Alexia!"

Alexia stands.

She looks between both situations and emotions she's never felt before surge through her system.

Jaume, her little football player.

You, her little ballerina.

Alexia must have glanced between you both countless time in the two seconds it takes her to react.

Her feet move on their own accord, carrying her towards one of her children.

The decision she previously made has changed. Alexia knows that nothing will be the same anymore.

The decision, this time, is permanent.

[mrchiipchrome]

Glass Child

W.C. - 6 k

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

The middle child. Often known as the “forgotten” sibling, the one who never gets enough love, never enough attention, the one who’s never enough. 

Never the one to blow out their own candles on their birthdays, never the one to get driven to their evening practices even when it was rainy and muddy. Never the one to get told they’re loved, nor that they’re enough. Never the one to be the favourite.

Yet always the one to listen to their parents argue late into the night, always the one to be blamed, always the one pressured to do great academically. Always the one who has to prove and find their place in the family, yet never actually finding it.

One older brother and one younger sister, that was what you had, one sibling on either side of you for every family photo but never for anything more. Your brother was out of the house before you could turn 6 and your younger sister was what your parents liked to call a rainbow child.

She had nearly died at birth after all, not enough oxygen going to the brain leading to slight mental disabilities and getting all your parents love. You weren’t even sure they had ever told you that they were proud of you. No, all their attention was always on Lila. 

No matter how much you vyed for their attention, no matter how many accomplishments you had, the trophies and diplomas you brought home, their attention was always on Lila. 

Lila, the golden child. Lila who could do no wrong. Lila who even after screaming and punching you, would get a hug and kiss on the head. 

You, who were left to raise yourself. You, who were never enough for them, never good enough to be loved and cherished like your sister or even your brother who had left you. You, who had the weight of the world on your shoulders with no one to help carry it.

Every footballing tournament you’d ever had would be about Lila, what did Lila want? Was Lila comfortable? Does Lila want to go home? 

Well that was when they actually made the effort to come, something you could count on one singular hand how many times they’d done. No, to sit through a few minutes of football for their daughter to feel needed and wanted was far too difficult for them.

Anything not involving Lila was far too difficult for them. Anything not revolving around herself was far too complex for Lila to comprehend, the second your parents looked away from her she was kicking and screaming and they were forced to look at her, whilst you were left unloved and unseen.

So when your brother started to visit once a month, you couldn’t have been more excited. There would finally be someone to be there for you, someone that would look at you for once, appreciate your existence. 

Well he started out like that. He’d come to your games and cheer you on, he’d take you out for ice cream after just the two of you. For the first time in your life you didn’t feel invisible.

But then as time started to pass, he came home less and less, until the visits were so few and far between that he practically disappeared from your life. Gone were the days of feeling wanted and needed, you were back to being a ghost in your own life.

Even coaches started to forget you, it was like you just blended into the background, like you were invisible.

Then slowly, your teammates started to ignore you too, barely even looking at the shell of a person you were during exercises. And slowly you started to accept it, the role of the ghost.

You put your head down, working even harder in school and on the pitch, only this time it was for yourself and not for anyone else.

Slowly it got harder for your coaches and teammates to ignore your ever growing presence, but it was made easier for them when you ignored them back. It might’ve not been the best coping mechanism, but it was one nonetheless.

When you got the offer to play at a big youth academy, you just ran home to tell your parents, purely by a combination of hope and excitement. It was in your excitement that you completely forgot who they were.

“MUM! DAD! I got into an academy in the city!” You shouted as soon as the door closed behind you, football bag with only the essentials in it dropping to the floor loudly.

“What is this ruckus Y/n. You know better than to interrupt Lila’s sleeping time. Pick your bag up and go to your room right this second young lady.” Despite her shouting louder than you had, you were still the one who got in trouble. 

“But I just wanted to tell you-” The words come out defeated, your parents not once being happy for you taking a toll on your entire being.

“But nothing.” She says sternly, pointing to the stairs. Head pointing towards the floor, you don’t let her see the salty tears forming in the corners of your eyes. She wouldn’t care anyway, not when her precious Lila still existed.

The walls shook with the amount of force you used to slam the door closed, the shouts of your mother lighting up the corridors like fireworks. The tears finally escaped when you were in the comfort of your own room, throwing your bag down to the floor harshly.

The bag wasn’t your source of frustration but once again it didn’t have any feelings either, it couldn’t see or feel, neither could it gain consciousness. So, it was the best thing to take out all your frustrations on.

But no matter how much you kicked and punched, no matter how many bruised knuckles you got from the hard materials inside the bag, it still didn’t get better.

Your parents weren’t going to magically start to care for you just because of some bruises, not when you had come home with far worse and they still hadn’t cared. You didn’t exist to them, their lives only revolved around Lila, the sun to their earths.

Picking up a plastic figurine from the ratty old desk you had inherited from your brother, you launch it across the room and directly into the wall. With a pop, the head of the Captain America figurine separates from the body, rolling across the hardwood floor almost mockingly. 

When the realization of what you’d done hit, you dropped down to your knees with a thud. Picking up the scratched and broken toy off the floor, you clutch the parts to your chest tightly like they would disappear if you loosened your hold ever so slightly.

How could you break the only thing your brother had ever given you? ‘Keep it safe for me, yeah?’ He told you when he left the house you grew up in the last time, he had said that he didn’t need it where he was going. You knew in the back of your mind that he wouldn’t care about the broken state of the toy, but the overwhelming and conflicting feelings waging a war inside you amplified your emotions tenfold.

You weren’t used to this, crying. No, it was much easier to compartmentalize your feelings, to experience your feelings rationally and not as emotionally as you just had.

But it seems like the feelings were far too strong this time, creating an earthquake of sorts in your mind that opened all the drawers of the imaginative dresser where you stored all your emotions. And so they hit you all at once, all the negative emotions and thoughts crashing into you like powerful waves.

Eventually there were no tears left to fall, empty sobs escaping your mouth every now and then, face buried in your knees with your back up against the wall. Breathing in deeply, you lean your head back against the colorless wall, wishing you could be anywhere but there at that moment.

Bringing your hands up to your face, they slowly fall back down to your sides, your muscles relaxing for the first time since you had come home. There was no point in just sitting there and sulking, the pitch not too far from your house calling your name.

Walking over to the bag, you open it up and pull out the old boots, they were falling apart at the seams but that didn’t matter. They would work another 6 or so months, as long as you stitched them back together.

The window creaked as you opened it up, throwing your now closed bag onto the bushes that lined your house. Climbing over the ledge, you sit down on the wooden lining, hands coming down to clutch the material tightly. Turning your body around, you lower yourself down until your arms are fully stretched out, pressing your feet to the wall and pushing your body away from the building.

Landing on your feet, you hurry to pick the bag up off the bush with calloused hands, the years of carrying the bag back and forth from training having taken its toll on your hands. Quick steps echo in the night air, nearing the uncared for pitch in record time.

Soon enough the thwack of your boot hitting the ball over and over is the only thing that can be heard, cleats ripping into the grass and pulling up the deep brown dirt underneath it. By the time you were done your knees ached and your feet were even worse, the boots not the most comfortable things in the world.

With some luck, you manage to find a ladder at the corner of your house, leaning it up against the brick wall of the house and climbing up it carefully. When you’re safely inside your room, you push the ladder away and close the window.

It becomes a routine of sorts, wake up, go to school, take the bus to the academy training grounds, train, go home, study and then go out to the pitch for another 2 or so hours of football. It was good, out there you could forget everything and just focus on getting better.

And that you did, quickly becoming one of the best youngsters not only in your academy but also in the country, much to your surprise. Life wasn’t slow and boring anymore, it was fast paced and fun for you.

Months passed by, a U-15 call up hitting your desk a single month before you turn 13, leaving you to celebrate your birthday alone in your hotel room. There was no way that you would tell a bunch of strangers of such a trivial thing, it wasn’t like they had even noticed you there, they already had their friend groups.

Thankfully, you seemed to have impressed the right people as you got called up time and time again after, showing everyone why you deserved to be there with strategic kicks of the ball and passes not even most professional players could make. It came naturally after so many hours of playing and subsequently watching people play.

Camp after camp you watched your teammates interact with each other, see them laugh and smile with their friends whilst you were on the outside looking in. It was no longer a problem, being alone, an expectation rather than a surprise.

Luckily enough for you, the senior call up happened only weeks after turning 16, leaving the older girls to take you under their wing. It was certainly…different, a completely new experience.

You had finally reached the top that you’d yearned for, getting recognised for being one of the best footballers in the entirety of England. The years of invisibility far gone, now praised enormously for the efforts you made during each and every game.

It got overwhelming quickly, all the attention from coaches and outlets alike only fuelling your need to perform, leading to countless hours spent out on the muddy pitch. Football, no matter how stressful, was your reprieve. Your savior of sorts.

You’d think after countless hours spent with your football that your passion for the sport would burn out, but in your case all it did was reinforce your spirit.

At 17 you got the option to either sign a professional contract with your youth club or go to America for college football on a full ride scholarship. Your decision to choose the latter of the two was less than popular with your parents.

“Mum, dad. Can you two give me your attention for once?” You question, sitting at the dinner table only meters away from where they’re washing the dishes.

“Why don’t you wait until the adults are done?” Your sorry excuse of a father shoots back, chuckling with your mother.

“I’m going away for college soon. In America.” The clanging of utensils hitting the metal surface of the sink interrupts the tense silence created by your statement.

“What did you just say?” Her tone was dangerously sweet and calm, almost trying to lure you into a false sense of security.

“You heard exactly what I said. There is no opinion to be had here, I was simply paying you two the courtesy to know.” Despite your tone being nonchalant, you were anything but. Leg bouncing up and down anxiously under the table, fingers fidgeting with each other.

“No. Y/n Y/l/n you are not leaving us to fend for ourselves, not like your brother. We need you here, Lila needs you.” Your mother basically pleads with you, reaching across the table to take hold of your hands.

Before she can even try to get near them, you pull them back towards your body harshly.

“Oh so now you need me? Now that I’m leaving you need me?” Your father has his arm slung around your mother’s shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down against her arm. “What about all the times I needed you two? All of the countless tournaments I participated in only for the coaches to ask me where you two were. You two have caused me so much pain and embarrassment.” 

“That’s unfair, your sister needed us more.” Your father tells you harshly, eyes drilling holes into the sides of your head.

“So? I couldn’t get one second of your time once a year?” You ask incredulously, their eyes widening in exasperation. “Me leaving for college isn’t even going to change anything, all you two do is care about Lila.” The last part comes out mumbled, so that the two adults in front of you couldn’t hear.

“I do not care for what you have to say, you are not going anywhere.”  

“And why not?” The card up your sleeve hasn’t been played yet, you wanted to revel in their expressions.

“Because we’re the adults here and we decide.” He responds lowly, as if trying to intimidate you.

“Oh but you’re forgetting something. As of an hour ago I am officially 18 years old and I get to decide whether I go or not.” You have to keep from laughing when their faces drop almost comically, eyes wide and jaws on the floor.

And so without much protest, they let you leave your childhood house only days later, getting on a plane out to North Carolina. It didn’t matter that the official season hadn’t started yet, you just wanted to get away.

Weeks passed by before any familiar faces appeared, the Brits you’d met during your stint in the youth groups of the national team. They were part of the main friend group, hugging and laughing with each other every second they got.

In reality, you had found them rather annoying at that age, shrill voices interrupting the otherwise peaceful environment. That’s why you could often be found in your hotel room, studying or messing around with a plushie football.

This time around you had been informed that you were to share a dorm with one of them, something you weren’t that opposed to. They were all nice after all, just a bit loud.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but we do in fact have another Brit here in the team, someone the two of you have probably encountered before.” The loud voice of one of your American teammates floats through the hallway leading to your room, the notes just about getting through the music streaming into your ears.

“Oh shit.” Rushing to close all the open books on the table in front of you, the light knock on your door is heard through the bustling. “Come in” You let out nervously.

“Alessia, Lotte meet our resident Brit, Y/n Y/l/n!” The jazz hands coming from the older American doesn’t hide the absolute mess of your room. Your suitcase was laying messily on the ground, your body the only thing in the way of the war stricken look of your table.

Sticking your hand out towards the women, there’s a slight crash behind you, face scrunching up in a way that suggests that you were uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry for the mess, I completely forgot about everything I was supposed to be doing today.” They both shake your hand, the brunette taking a firm hold of your hand whilst the blonde grasps your hand lightly with her much softer one.

The blonde looks around the room, a bed on either side of the room, one looking occupied and the other one bare.

“So Y/n, Alessia here is going to be sharing this dorm with you, plenty of time to get to know each other before the season starts.” All the American accents were hard to get used to, often quite startling.

You both nod your heads, not finding much to say regarding the arrangement. Alessia gets a pat on the back from the older student, letting her suitcase drop to the ground carefully.

“Come on then Lotte, let’s get you situated!” As soon as they appeared, they disappeared out of the messy room, Lotte following after the American like a duckling would its mother.

As the door closes behind them the room gets covered in a thick blanket of silence, Alessia still standing where she stood coming into the room and you with your back now turned to her, picking up the papers. 

“Please excuse the state of our room, I completely forgot that you were coming.” The words fall out of your mouth clumsily, your social skills still not up to par.

“Oh I understand, don’t worry.” Her voice is honey-like, smooth and sweet, almost like a Disney princess. When you turn back around the first thing you notice is her incredible beauty, something you didn’t exactly see before in your nervosity. 

“You’re in the senior squad right?” She asks, looking back at you with her baby blue doe eyes. Her intense gaze leaves you to clear your throat loudly, eyes blinking vigorously.

“Yeah I am.” The pitch of your voice peaks up at the end, leaving your statement to sound more like a question than anything. Her melodic giggles fill the room, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs at the sound.

“Are you asking me?” Her hands come up to tuck the hair that’s fallen in her face back behind her ears, her eyes scanning over your pajama clad body.

“Yeah I am.” You say more confidently this time, trying to right your earlier wrong. “Wait, wait, no” Her laugh mixes with yours this time, Alessia’s adorable expression lighting up the room. When the laughter halts, she stands up more straight with her hand out towards you, ready for you to take with your own.

“Come on, take my hand.” The forward urges you playfully, her head tilting a fraction to the right. Her hand feels warm in your own when you grasp it, a soft smile sent your way by the older girl making your insides all warm. “Hi, I’m Alessia Russo but my friends call me Less.” Alessia decides that the crease that appears between your eyebrows is adorable, her eyes flitting over your face.

“We’ve already been introduced?” This time the questioning tone is meant, genuine confusion plaguing your mind.

“I know, but just humor me for a second, okay?” The warmth flooding from your hand up throughout your body seemingly gives life to the butterflies fluttering their wings in your stomach. An unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.

“Hello, I’m Y/n Y/l/n but my teammates call me Ghost or some variant of it.” You reply cheekily, hand coming down to rest at your side. 

“Why is that?” She speaks up, a confused tone lingering in her voice.

“Because I’m a ghost from the 1700s that’s haunting this college.” Raising your hands up above your head, you let out an ‘ooo’ sound imitating a ghoul.

Her giggles start back up again, the midday sun peeking in through the blinds, leaving pale stripes on the dark floor. The comfortable silence between you two stays for a while, neither one of you really moving from where you’re seemingly glued to the floor.

Eventually she turns back to her bag, starting to unpack her luggage tentatively, not really knowing where to put her things.

After some thinking she seems to get a bit more comfortable, throwing her stuff here and there still making sure to keep to her side. The headphones resting over your ears play no music, allowing you to hear her humming under her breath, singing softly to the tune.

In the months that passed after your official introduction quite a lot happened. For starters, the college season started after a lot of struggle on your and Alessia’s part, Lotte fitting in with the other girls almost immediately. The blonde had a sense of protectiveness over you, the clear lack of social skills on your part making her pay extra attention to you to make sure that you weren’t alone.

Though there was that awkward moment when the striker asked you where your parents were after the first game, because surely it was too important to miss. The worried glance she shoots you when you make up a half-assed lie about them not getting enough time off to fly out and watch you. 

Needless to say, you spend the rest of that day in the library so that she can show her parents around the campus. And like the very mature 18 year old you are, as soon as you hear the sweet accented voice of your teammate in the quiet library you shoot up from your place on the old bean bag, weaving through the rows of books in order to escape your roommate and her happy family.

It wasn’t your fault per se that you were slightly jealous of her having parents that cared for her, and it sure as hell wasn’t her fault that yours were the way they were. It was better to just stay out, so that you wouldn’t get attached to a family that wasn’t your own.

Later that night, when her parents had left for their hotel, she questioned you intently on where you were the entire afternoon. Another lie followed, you telling her that you just had things to do, things that you couldn’t tell her about. 

She eventually let it go, but not before giving you a suspicious glance through the corner of her eye. You clearly weren’t good at lying, something she could see rather easily. 

“So, Y/n, do you wanna have breakfast with me and my parents tomorrow? They’ve been dying to finally meet you.” She asks, sitting down on your bed, her legs dangling off the end. Her hand comes up to lay on your leg, goosebumps rising on your skin whereupon her hand rests.  

A blush rises on your face, both at the question and her hand. You hadn’t even realized that she’d told her parents about you, but now it was obvious, parents in the movies always asked their kids all about college.

“Oh uhm, you know, I don’t want to intrude on your time with your parents.” Lifting your hand up, you make the motion of waving her off, not expecting her free hand to take yours.

“You wouldn’t be, they asked to meet you since you were so ‘busy’ today.” Her eyes stare into your soul, still soft and caring. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Alessia’s baby blues look down at the pattern on your blanket, her hand on your leg tracing the patterns into your skin.

“NO, no, believe me Alessia, I would love to go…” Your voice trails off softly, looking for the correct words so as to not reveal exactly why you were hesitant.

“But…” She continues your sentence.

“But I’m not good with people, and I don't want to give them the wrong impression of me. Family’s important for you, from what I’ve heard, and I just want yours to like me.” Somehow her eyes soften even more, the blonde girl moving up the bed to settle beside you, her arm snaking over your shoulders. Your head lands on her collarbone, one hand still holding onto hers tightly.

“Don’t you worry, if I like you, which I do, then they will like you as well.” She smiles down at you, faces inches from the other’s.

A knock on the door interrupts the moment, the loud noise making the two of you jump apart. The door opens with a creak and Lotte pops her head into the room, a large smile on her face at your and Alessia’s seeming closeness.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” She asks teasingly, Alessia immediately shooting her the meanest glare she could muster up, though that was like being glared at by a marshmallow. Your face on the other hand was redder than a tomato, the insinuating words making you nervous.

“No not at all, I was just about to leave for my evening run, I’ll see you both later!” You basically sprinted out of the room as soon as you had shoes on your feet, taking to jogging your normal round more than once. 

By the time you were back in the dorm room, your feet were aching unpleasantly and your blonde counterpart was asleep. It was a begrudgingly difficult task to tiptoe around the room without waking the blue eyed girl, but in the end you managed not to wake her.

Though she’s not nearly as careful the next morning, stomping around like a maniac and making a bunch of noise for you to wake up to.

“Less, what are you doing? Let me sleep.” The last word of your sentence was drawn out thoroughly, groaning as you stretch out your body.

“Nope, no time! We’re meeting my parents in 20 minutes at the cafe.” She comes up and boops your nose before letting you spring up from the bed, rushing around the room at 100 km/h, gathering up all your nice looking clothes and letting Alessia choose the optimal pairing.

All the way to the off campus cafe you were stressed, but the way Alessia’s hand fit so snuggly in your own was a little comforting. She knew about your anxious nature around new people, even if those people were the least judgmental ever.

“It’s going to go great Y/n, my parents already love you, trust me, there’s basically no way that you can make them hate you.” Her words soothing you more than she’ll ever know, your shoulders feeling like they’d had a massive weight lifted off them. 

With newfound confidence, you get through the breakfast like a champ, even enjoying the entire thing. Alessia’s parents were everything yours weren’t, they were kind and generous, loving and sweet and all around great people. You wondered what it would be like to grow up with parents like them instead of yours.

And it seems like you made a good first impression on them too, because as you and Alessia said your goodbyes they gave you the warmest hugs you’d ever gotten paired with a big kiss on the cheek.

Alessia couldn’t understand why you burst into tears as soon as the two of you were in the comfort of your own dorm. It came so suddenly, the tears that seemed never ending and the sobs that echoed around the small room.

As soon as Alessia heard the first sob escaping your throat she turned around, being met with the sight of your hands covering your face, trying to subside the tears streaming down your face.

“Hey, hey, what happened love? Why are you crying?” Her voice grows worried quickly as her hands take hold of your forearms. She tries to remove your hands from the premise of your face, thinking that you’d hurt yourself.

“It’s nothing, it’s just…your parents are such wonderful people and I guess I just wish that mine were the same.” You regret the sobbed words as soon as they exit your mouth, of course you would be so stupid as to tell her about your parents. Now you’d have to tell her the truth about them, there was simply no avoiding it.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean?” Her voice is softened, like when talking to a baby, and her arms hold you tight against her chest. Alessia’s hands move from your forearms and down around your back, rubbing her hand up and down softly. 

You’d known each other for months yet the topic of your parents hadn’t come up once. It was funny really, the way that they’d destroyed your childhood.

Inbetween a couple sniffles you begin the whole story, speaking slowly so as to not burst out in tears at every broken memory, every missed game, every single thing they’d not done for you.

“Uhm, I don’t really know where to start, but I know it all started with the birth of Lila, my sister. She was a…difficult pregnancy for my mom and uh when she was born there were complications. She didn’t get enough oxygen to her brain and uh that led to her being disabled, not enough for it to impact her life but enough for my parents to uhm…get attached to her. She’s their ‘rainbow baby’ and it seems like everything she’s ever done overshadows any of my or my brother’s achievements. It’s like as soon as they brought her home from the hospital both me and my brother were invisible. But he was lucky, he got to go off to uni within a year of her birth, me? I had to wait 14 years to get out.” You let out a humourless laugh at the end, not even looking the blonde in the eye after she tried to get you to.

“They never came to a game, no matter how big of a deal it was, they always let my sister blow out my candles on my birthday cake and they gave her more gifts on MY birthday than they did me. You want to know what they did when I told them that I had been recruited by an academy? They told me to shut up because my sister needed rest. On my senior team debut they left early because my sister wanted to get ice cream, it was the one moment for me to show them that I didn’t need them to be great, do you understand how embarrassing it was to look around for your parents after scoring twice on your national team debut only to see that they’re not there? The embarrassment of being asked why you’re not celebrating with your family? Of being worth so little to the people who made you that they couldn’t even be assed to sit for ninety minutes for their daughter? All I’ve ever wanted was for them to notice me, love me, care about me, but all that wishful thinking went away that day. I no longer cared for them or anything other than my teammates and footy. So yeah, that’s the entire story.” You didn’t even notice that you’d been talking for the past 30 minutes nor that tears spilled out of both you and Alessia’s eyes. When you finally looked up and in her eyes, they were filled with salty tears just like your own, tears that fell quietly and slid down her face peacefully.

Bringing your hand up, you quickly wipe her face softly, her baby blues enhanced by the layer of tears over them, slight redness to the whites of her eyes.

Alessia’s eyes bore into your own, her eyes expressing hundreds of feelings, everything from sorrow and empathy to love and kindness. It’s not until she looks down at your chapped lips that you finally understand what it is you’ve been feeling since you first met her again after so many years. 

It wasn’t nervousity or stress, it was love. Pure, genuine, unconditional love. You were utterly in love with the striker. And by the way she was inching her face closer to yours, she was pretty in love with you too.

Your lips meet hers in a soft and innocent embrace, all your emotions spilling into the kiss. Her lips were soft and they tasted of strawberries, her favourite chapstick the same taste. 

Your lips moved against each other’s softly for just a moment shorter than you wanted. Her eyes were closed as you opened yours just a sliver, observing the way one of Alessia’s hands comes up to touch at her kiss swollen lips softly.

When her eyes finally do open, they’re met with still tear stained cheeks and a big happy smile. The baby blues meet yours and they instantly see the love and adoration in them, it’s so obvious that she nearly starts crying again.

“Okay love, before we talk about what just happened i want to say that your parents missed out on the best person I’ve ever met. You are so wonderful and beautiful and you have so many wonderful people who love you to death, me being one of them. During the last few months that you have been apart of my life you’ve showed me that it’s possible to love someone more than anything. You have endless passion for football and for your friends, you’ve inspired me to become a better person simply by being you and that’s one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever witnessed. You’ve done a better job at raising yourself than most parents do with their kids and I want you to know that I’m so proud of you. I can’t comprehend how they could be so blind that they missed what a wonderful person you are. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you, your hair a mess from pulling at it and books scattered all around the room. I love you so much that it feels like I’m going to burst whenever I’m around you.” You can see the sincerity in her eyes as she looks at you, smiling ever so slightly.

“I love you too Alessia. I’m so in love with you that I’m going mad.” The way she picks herself up from the floor has you convinced that she’s going to leave you there where you sit on the floor, all alone. Only that’s not what she does, instead she holds out her hand for you to take.

“Come on love, go get cleaned up so I can take you on a date.” Her hand playfully taps your behind as you walk away towards the sink to wash the tears off your face, and you turn around to glare at her playfully.

5 long years later and you’re lifting the Euros trophy alongside your co-captain and subsequent maid of honour Leah and your longtime girlfriend soon turned fiancée. 

All you could think after she said yes was how incredibly lucky you were to have someone like her in your life.

[adventuringblind]

Rest

Norlestappen X Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: Reader is struggling badly with a flair up but doesn't want to admit it.

Warnings: unspecified chronic illness, collapsing in exhaustion, worried boyfriends

Notes: another Nonny request!! Love this one so much! (Comments feed my praise kink and give me motivation to write... if anyone was wondering...)

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The heat had been driving her insane. Qatar is a nightmare. It's so humid that it's difficult to breathe.

Her body despises the heat. It pulls every ounce of energy from her system. Make the pain soar to ungodly levels.

But she's not the one racing.

Max, Lando, and Charles are the ones racing. It's not fair to them that she needs their help when they have to endure whatever hell this is in a death machine for two hours.

She forces her mask back on and pretends she's fine despite her protesting body.

She checks on Charles first. Max and Lando are on the podium, so it gives her some time to see that he's alright.

Which, truth be told - he doesn't look. He's drenched in sweat mixed with cold water. He's panting and trying to peel off his fireproofs.

"Charlie? Are you okay?" She peeks her around the corner, and he shakes his head no.

She helps him get out of the drenched clothing and into a shower. Her phone buzzes violently in her pocket as Charles steps out. She kisses his cheek and dips out to see Lando, the culprit of calling her non-stop.

She drags her body to McLaren. Aching bones won't give her any reprieve as she walks. The heat is unbearable, smothering her mind in a deep fog she can't escape.

The McLaren staff barely bat an eye in her direction. Most give her pitiful looks, probably whispering about how she looks like a zombie.

She'll rest later. Her boys need her right now.

She taps Lando's door with her knuckles. He looks bright-eyed when she opens it. Smells of champagne sweat nearly knock her over. She has to bite back a gag.

Instead, she returns his smile and throws herself at him. "I'm proud of you!"

"Was a good race, wasn't it? A but jealous of Osc and proud at the same time."

She hums and closes the door behind her. Immediately going back to draping herself over the Brit. Effectively using him to help keep her upright.

"Are you alright, love? You look a bit out of it..."

"I'm fine, Lan, just been a long day, is all. Had a lot of cheering to do, you know!"

Lando manages to run around the small room, tugging off his wet clothes, rinsing his hair, and throwing on his team kit.

She grabs something to style his hair with, Lando will be in shambles later if he sees his hair looking wrecked.

She swears they both almost fall asleep to the repetitive movments. A small intimate thing shared between the two of them.

A much louder knock then her earlier one hits their ears, startling the two out of whatever trance they’re in. “Lando! You’ve got interviews to do!”

The Brit groans in disappointment, but gets up regardless. “Thank you, love.” He leans down to where she is still sitting and kisses her forehead. “Will you be alright?”

“I’m going to see Max next, I already saw Charlie.” She throws him a reassuring look. “I’ll be okay, promise.” She even holds out her pinky finger for him to wrap his own around.

That promise, however, is getting harder and harder to keep as she drags her weary bones to Max. Her body is screaming at her to stop moving, find somewhere to sleep for a couple of years before it goes back to making life difficult.

She shakes her head. No, she wasn’t the one driving in the hell today. She can wait until her partners are squared away.

Max greets her outside of the energy station. His face drops when he sees her. Her smile, although genuinely happy, is lopsided. Even the muscles that show her happiness are tired. That should be a red flag, but she continues forward.

Her and Max make their way to his drivers room. His arm wrapped around her waist in much ended comfort and support. She hopes he hasn’t caught on to the way she’s leaning into him to keep herself up.

they flop onto the couch together. “Lando told me you were on your way. He’s a bit worried about you.”

“I told him I’m alright, I promise. The heat is just difficult.”

“Tell me about it.” Max rolls his eyes.

Max’s presence and her comfortable position on the couch do nothing to help her fatigue. The drowsiness is slowly taking hold and she’s not sure how long she can hold it off for.

“You can sleep now, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She hadn’t even noticed she was asleep, slumped against Max’s body. Not until she cracks her eyes open and sees her lovers laying spread out across the room.

Ice packs are strewn across their bodies. Lando is drooling on Charles’ chest, Max has a hand dangling of the side of the sofa that looks like it was previously in charles’ hair, and Charles is sleeping with his body sitting upright.

She wants to giggle at the sight. They all look comfortable despite the chaotic positioning.

Her body moves on its own accord. the ice packs should be refrozen and she might be able to get her hands on some new ones while she’s at it.

She gets nowhere as Max’s arm wraps around her, pulling her back down on top of him. Lando and Charles stir awake from all the movement.

“Nice try, but you’re not going anywhere.”

She pouts at Max. “But I’m fine now. Just needed a nap, is all.”

Charles turns enough so that both him and Lando are able to see her, even if it’s not well. “The circles under your eyes say otherwise.’ He reaches up to hold her hand. “Thank you for taking care of us, but now it’s your turn.”

She would probably be crying s she had the energy to. The compassion they all have for her, even when she lacks it herself. It’s overwhelming at times. especially when she feels undeserving, like she hasn’t earned it.

Lando shimmies his way out of Charles’ hold and fixes himself. His arm coming up to wipe away the trail of drool. “Now that we’re all awake, I’ve tasked Oscar with bringing us popsicles, anybody want ‘em?”

A course of happy cheers fills the room at the mention of a cold treat.

Her smile doesn’t feel tired this time.

[agendabymooner]

"slut" ! charles l. x ofc (filo!celebrity!ofc)

"we'll pay the price, i guess."

summary: charles leclerc's ex trashed on his new girlfriend, who was his friend first before she became a lover. charles and the fans didn't stand for that kind of behaviour.

OR his ex tried to compare herself to louella lourdes villar, but even charles knew that no one could compete with her. after all, he wouldn't write songs with anyone unless the melody fit perfectly with his rhythm. (based on this request)

content warning: use of explicit language, ofc's discography is based on taylor swift, toxic!fictional ex (maddie lisandro) is not a girls' girl, hateful comments from ex, charles and ofc being each other's "homie hopper", wingman!arthur mentioned

note: i've tried my best anon 😭 it's my reading week so i'm gonna get one more homework out of the way and try to write as much stuff as a girl can do!! enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

i. "homie hoppers" but it's just a vice versa thing

ii. charles the muse

iii. haters gonna hate, shake it off

iv. made in monaco

tagged charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, estebanocon, arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc when the songs aren't depressing and not charles-coded >>> liked by louellalourdes

lorenzotl congratulations ella bella!!! i hope you do well in the job! ❤️ liked by louellalourdes

louellalourdes merci enzo!

pierregasly new best friend on the grid 🤩 liked by louellalourdes

estebanocon see you soon mon ange! liked by louellalourdes

user1 she's doing side quests what-

user2 how tf do you go from being an actress in the philippines to writing and making songs to working for formula one? 😭

user3 connections. connections we don't have

user4 if girlie is a barbie she'd be a "you can do anything" type 😕 liked by louellalourdes

alpinef1team have fun controlling those two 😩 i believe in you lou! liked by louellalourdes

louellalourdes i already got them on a leash don't worry admin! 🥰

alpinef1team stan lou villar for clear skin 🙌

charles_leclerc glad to work with you, bebe ❤️ liked by louellalourdes

louellalourdes my favourite co-writer 💅

[translation: i'm very proud of my darling.]

tagged louellalourdes

liked by lorenzotl, arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1

user1 CHARLOU ERA 😩

user2 my guy went from wanting to hop his homie to writing love songs with his homie-turned-lover ❤️

arthur_leclerc too many Ls and none of them belong to ella bella 😩

user3 it's okay you can say maddie lisandro

arthur_leclerc hehe

user4 BRO WHY YOU BEEFING WITH THE EX ARTHUR 😭

landonorris tell her that i love her new album please 😳 liked by charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc she said she can also sign the vinyl

landonorris can she give me new merch too?!!!

louellalourdes how much money do you earn per year again landonorris?

user5 YES BBY HUMBLE THEM

alex_albon i just want an autograph 👉👈

charles_leclerc since you asked nicely 🤩

maxverstappen1 charles stop exploiting her

charles_leclerc she has all of the clout 😕

user6 these millenials are making me cringe actually stfu charles 😭

user7 no deadass i'm actually physically cringing- don't say "clout" ever again

louellalourdes merci my love ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

[luveline]

i think alternate versions for roan calling reader mom would be fun since there are so many ways it could happen !! personally would love it to happen after the last convo with eddie seeing how roan just says the silliest shit it wouldnt phase me if she just started calling her mom directly after that convo

I thought so too! much pressure to pick just the one scenario and why bother!!! plus I love this idea. the ficlet anon mentioned. ♡ roan calling reader 'mommy' for the first time ♡ fem!reader [4k]

Eddie had made the decision to ask his daughter, Roan, for permission before he proposed to you. He thought it might be best for her to get a say and that by including her any future transition would come smoother, softer.

He hadn't anticipated this.

Roan practically writhes in her car seat to be released. She hasn't stopped singing since he told her his plans.

"I'm gonn'have a mommy, I'm gonn'have a mommy," she repeats, a saccharine sweet tune that makes his heart thrum for her.

He hadn't realised how badly she wanted this.

Because Roan loves you. Has loved you since she met you, has grown to love you like any kid loves a parent. She's infatuated with you and, Eddie's proud to say, you adore her in turn. He can't believe that fate would work like this, that he'd find you — someone who could love both him and his daughter with an intensity he melts under and a tenacity that scares him.

You're a fixture in their lives. You're forever. Eddie knows that and he thinks Roan had known it some. His admission that he has plans to marry you had seemingly sealed the deal.

Though he feels that may be a bad analogy. Whatever's happened to his daughter, 'sealed' doesn't apply; she's become usntoppered. All her mountains of love and affection for you have appeared and they cannot be tamped down.

Believe him, he's tried.

"Roan," he says, very carefully and with all of his parenting might, "what's the rule?"

She's still in her dress she wore to daycare with Teddy, her one-eared stuffy, clutched to her chest. He watches her beam to herself and sing to the bear through the rearview mirror.

"Roan," he says again.

"What?" she asks, looking up.

"What's the rule, sweetheart? What did we talk about on the way here?"

Roan whines to be let out of her car seat. "We talked about big questions," she says.

"Right, babe, we did. But what did we talk about after that?"

Roan stares at him, dumbfounded. After a couple of seconds she nods, bunches messy from all the excitement. "Oh! I can't tell Y/N about the-" She stops dead, the word sticky like honey in her mouth. "Puh-postal. Posal. "

"Yes, the proposal. Because?"

"Um, 'cos it's private?"

"Yes," he says gratefully, dragging both hands through his hair. He's far from ready to propose tonight, covered in oil and grease and dirt from a long shift. He needs time, and he's worried Roan might force his hand. He wouldn't have come at all if she hadn't wanted to see you so badly.

She would be my mommy? she'd all but-screamed, more excitement on her face than a Christmas morning when she'd realised the enormity of his admission.

"We don't want to spoil the surprise, okay? So we aren't going to talk about the 'puh-posal', we're gonna talk about other things, yeah?"

"Yes, now let me out!"

Eddie bites his lip at her lack of manners. It's his own fault.

He gets out and releases Roan, slinging her hastily packed backpack over his shoulder and locking the car as she sprints to your front door. He wouldn't normally let her run off by herself but it's a short distance that she clears in seconds.

She hammers at the door, and Eddie means hammers. Both fists and her teddy's glass eyes slamming into the wood.

He catches up with her and pulls her back before she can smash something, whether it be her plushie's face or her tiny fists. She fights his hold.

"Baby?" he calls loudly, face angled toward the grain of your front door. "It's us."

"I'm coming!" you yell.

Roan squeals. It's extremely heartwarming. Eddie's sure he'd be beaming if he didn't suddenly feel sick with nerves. He might not he about to propose, but he'll have to eventually. Have to sum up every feeling he has for you, and ask for something huge from you. He'd been so caught up in Roan's acceptance of his decision that he'd forgotten there's a future where you don't say yes to this. Irresponsible, that he hadn't considered that happening.

He can survive your rejection. (He would literally be in agony, but he would survive.) Roan might get permanently hurt, though. He hadn't thought about it.

Nausea climbs up like a wave. It spikes as you open the door in your pajamas, a t-shirt he'd got for you and a black pair of slacks. Your hair's slightly messy but your face is clean, a water droplet dripping down the curve of your neck. You must've been washing up for the night.

Roan squeals again and launches herself at you. It's not unusual behaviour for her — she loves you, seriously — and you giggle infectiously, sticky thick and sweet with fondness.

"Oh hi, princess," you say with equal enthusiasm, pulling her up easy. It had taken you a while to master the parent hold. Now you're a champ. "I didn't think I was gonna see you tonight, wow!"

She looks like the happiest little girl on the planet. "Daddy said we could come because I answered the big question and I wanted to come really badly," she explains in a rush, smiling as wide as she possibly can.

You laugh again and look up from her to raise your eyebrows at Eddie. "Big questions, huh? Sounds like daddy was proposing to you." You've made yourself laugh.

Eddie could keel over.

"He said not to talk-"

"I said-" he interrupts loudly, mouth moving before he can really think about it, "not to talk about-" and he really can't think of anything, he's flailing, he's hopeless-

"The postal!" Roan says helpfully.

"Postal," you echo quizzically.

"I missed you so much," Roan says.

You forget very quickly about the 'postal'. You're as gone for her as she is for you. "Aw, babe, I missed you so much too. I'm so floppin' happy you're here."

You reach your hand out toward Eddie to pull him inside. He closes the door behind himself and drops Roan's bag by the door, following his two lovely girls down the hallway and into the living room. You flick the light on and drop Roan into her special designated seat, pausing with your hands on either side of her face to ask a familiar question.

"Can I give you a kiss, princess?" you ask.

Roan doesn't usually say no, only when she's really cranky, and today isn't an exception. "Yes, kisses."

You kiss from temple to temple and then ruffle her hair. Your fingers get caught in her bunches and you give her another kiss, murmuring into her skin, "Can I take those hair ties out? I bet you have a hairpin headache."

Roan doesn't know what a hairpin headache is but she's taken on an almost delirious pleasure from being so loved on and lets you remove her hair ties without a single sound.

"Mm," you hum, threading your fingers into her curls. "Tell me how this feels, baby."

Roan closes her eyes as you massage her scalp, encouraging her tangled curls apart with gentle, carding movements.

You're being especially tender, like you somehow know how important this moment is in Roan and Eddie's minds.

"Feels nice, huh?" you ask when she shivers.

"Feels nice," she confirms giddily, leaning back into your big throw cushions.

"How could daddy leave them in all day?" you chide. You're clearly joking, sending him an apologetic pout. He gets it. Part of your bond with her is picking on him.

"He was being grumpy on the couch."

Your pout turns authentic.

"What?" you ask, lowering your voice. "Are you okay?"

Eddie smiles, crosses your rug, takes your shoulders into both hands. "Perfect," he says, and kisses you soundly.

You pull a hand carefully out of Roan's hair and lay it flat over his chest, straight into an oil stain. It's greasy against his skin and under your fingers, and your slightly disgusted reaction stops his adoring kiss short.

"Still in your work clothes? Are you sure you're okay?"

His hands rove slowly up the slopes of your shoulders. "I'm fine. I'm a busy guy, you know? Haven't had time to change with trouble running me ragged."

"Who, this precious angel? For shame, Munson. Like I'd believe it."

You emphasise your point by leaning down and away from him, back into Roan's bubble. She responds like a moth to flame, her small hands quick to screw into the fabric of your sleep shirt and anchor you in place so you can't escape again.

"You're the sweetest baby I've ever met. Your dad's telling me white lies, I know."

"I brought a tiara for you," Roan says, mind on one thing.

"You did? Is it time for a princess party?"

Eddie wouldn't be surprised if Roan burst into tears any second now.

She runs off babbling happily to grab her bag and you turn back to him and stand at full height. You're really pretty, and he loves you, and he's told you so many times now and it still feels urgent to tell you again.

"I love you," you both say at the same time.

You spend a handful of seconds sharing a smile.

"How's your fish?" he asks.

"Still super alive." You drape both arms over his shoulders like you might slow dance with him. "You should shower. I washed your navy pajamas earlier, they're clean."

"I'll just get changed, I'm too tired to shower."

More like, if he leaves you and Roan alone there's no way he can possibly keep this situation under control.

You shake your head. "Don't be silly. Me and Roan'll start our party without you. I'll make samdwhiches and snacks and stuff, don't worry about it."

He really wants to reject your offer.

"Baby, you have to take care of yourself," you murmur, stroking down the hill of his cheek with your pinky finger.

He couldn't be more in love.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be really quick."

"Take your time." It's obvious that you're confused. Long passed are the days where Eddie had worried Roan might be a bit much for you. He's usually got more trust in you. "You know I love her, right? I don't-"

He kisses the stricken look off of your face.

You lean into it, like you'd been waiting for it. He supposes it's a reassurment, and he offers you more, "Of course I know that. M'just tired, and she's excited tonight. Don't want you to stress."

"I'm not stressed. Now go shower, you're getting oil on me."

-

Eddie is an extremely physically expressive person and as a result has created and extremely physically expressive child. Roan doesn't just feel emotions, she experiences them. Excitement for her isn't a feeling but a mode, in which she sings and dances and climbs in and out of your lap citing a thousand different reasons.

"I'm straightening your crown," she informs seriously. It falls off of your head and onto the couch. She doesn't seem in any hurry to retrieve it, choosing instead to play with your hair.

"Did daddy give you candy for dinner?"

"We had chicken and waffles."

"Oh, nice. Did he leave any for me?"

She thinks about it, socked feet digging into your thighs. "I think he left chicken wings for you and then Rufus was by the porch."

"I see how it is. I'm gone for one day and he starts giving my dinner to the strays."

Roan's fingertips are warm where they explore the skin beneath your ear. "What did you eat for dinner?"

"Well," you say, wrapping an arm around her until she collapses into your lap, "I didn't have your dad around to cook for me so I had a sandwhich and chips." You feel bad for being a poor role model.

"Chips," she says, eyes widening.

"You want some? I got lots left."

You and Roan head into the kitchen. You get her some chips and start to make sandwiches with the scraps you have left for her princess party.

"You want crusts?"

"No," she says. You really love the way she says it, like she's being super cheeky even though you really don't mind cutting them off.

"So what's up with you, Ro? Was school okay today?"

Roan's bag of chips rattles as she flounces toward you and raises her arms to be picked up. You're mid-sandwhich, so you raise her up onto the counter top and stand half in front of her to account for the low possibility that she might fall off.

"Stacey P.," she begins, somehow managing to fit two chips in her small mouth at the same time, "she got a new bike that she was riding to school, and she got a basket and it had a flower."

You cut the sandwhich into four triangles. "That sounds fun. Did dad let you ride yours too?"

"Yeah but he makes me get off at the hill."

"Your legs will get tired trying to bike up that hill, babe. I's like a mountain."

You smile at the mental image of it, Eddie in his work uniform, a pink sparkly bike under one arm and Roan's hand in his. Sometimes, you're genuinely shocked you managed to nab him before somebody else did.

"I can do it," she says confidently.

You slide the plate toward her. "Sandwhich?"

Roan ends up disassembling a triangle to shove chips inside. You laugh under you breath at her antics. She reminds you of her dad all the time, and he reminds her of you. They're intertwined completely.

"Roan, you won't think I'm a weirdo if I give you a hug, will you? I really missed you and dad."

Roan drops her sandwhich instantly and opens her arms up, grinning. "Dad says being a weirdo is cool."

"Being a weirdo is cool," you agree, bundling her up into a very close hug.

Her hair is soft as silk pressed to your cheek, sweet curls crushed against your skin.

"You know I love you?" you ask her.

Being close to her like this has you thinking extremely selfish thoughts. You're not naive, you know you do lots of things that mom's do. You know you look after her, that you love her, that you want to be her mom forever. It kind of feels taboo to think it. Do I have the right?

By the time you'd met Roan she was barely a baby anymore. Eddie's her dad, he did and he does all the hard stuff, but you've slowly earned certain gifts. You love to make her dinner, and get her dressed, and help her in the shower when Eddie's busy — all the basic stuff that doesn't feel basic at all. And you get to do more. You sit with her during tantrums, you cause tantrums. You kiss her scraped knees and let her nap in your lap, you answer her unending questions with patience and you spoil her when you can. You take care of her like she's your own.

She feels like your own.

But it's terrifying to presume.

The thought of one day losing Eddie is striking. He's your favourite person in the entire world (along with his daughter, of course). You love him and everything that comes with him, the oil stains and the bad jokes and the nerd games, the thousands of cuddles and his eager kisses. Losing Roan at the same time would be a death sentence.

"I love you too!" she says. It's like she'd been waiting all day for you to say something and now's her time to shine. "I love you so much and dad told me not to tell you 'bout it but I love you so I want to."

You frown into her hair. "Dad told you not to tell me you love me?"

She giggles. "You are trying to trick me."

You giggle in reply, willing to run with it. "I'm not trying to trick you, baby. I'm just confused."

"Dad says it was private."

You encourage her face back to meet her eyes. "I don't know what daddy's been telling you, but if you love me it's okay to tell me. I love you."

You rub her cheek with your thumb as she nods a voracious agreement. "And you're gonna be my mom," she says, beaming. It's casual. She doesn't realise the bomb she's dropped.

Lips parted, you stare at her. Roan goes shy, the obvious beginnings of rejection on her face.

"Baby," you say quickly, ignoring the trembling in your own hands as you stroke her hair from her forehead and cup the back of her head, "I think that's something me and your dad have to talk about first."

"But after the pu-postal you'll- Dad said-"

"What did I say?" Eddie asks, brown eyes wide as a deer in headlights.

Roan falls silent.

You look between the two Munson's. Your heart pounds with anxiety.

Eddie stands in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas with a towel around his neck, curls sopping wet and leeching into the white fabric steadily. He smells distinctly like conditioner even from a couple feet away, the fruity sleekness of jasmine tickling your nose.

"What has she told you?" Eddie asks, scratching the back of his neck.

"What's a 'postal'?"

You're ashamed to admit you're on the edge of being upset.

"It's uh- a code word," he says. "For a secret."

"We're keeping secrets?"

"No?"

"You don't sound very sure."

"It's just- It's- It's hard to explain, baby."

Roan's hands covet your arm. You let her pull you toward her and hug you, still so confused by everything that's being said, and you're conflicted about what she's told you. Honestly, you're a little bit hurt.

"Roan said... Said you told her that she shouldn't tell me she loves me because it's private?"

Eddie pulls at both ends of the towel, looking conflicted. "It's not that."

"It's okay," Roan says softly, resting her face against your arm.

"I just don't get what-"

"It's okay, mommy," Roan says, lifting her chin to smile at you.

"Roan," Eddie says, devastated.

You press your lips together hard and turn to her, the prick of tears sudden and effective as a thorn. It's okay, mommy.

You get your arms under her armpits and pull her up into your chest before she can protest one moving to behind her butt and the other her back as her knees dig into your waist. You know if you look at Eddie you're gonna start crying for real, hiding your face in her hair and taking a shaky breath.

You always say the same thing when Roan is unhappy. Why are you sad, babe? It's okay. You can cry if you want to. Do you want me to do something?

Roan doesn't remember the words, but she tries.

"Why are you crying?" Roan asks. Clumsy, earnest, lovely.

"I'm not," you deny.

"It's okay to cry when you have to."

Eddie joins her reassurance. "Babe, it's alright. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, I promise. I'm not keeping secrets from you. Please don't be upset."

"I'm fine," you squeak.

Neither Munson believes you.

"I didn't tell Roan she couldn't say she loves you, okay? It was something else I asked her not to tell you."

You blink quick and dispel tears. It's a silly thing to cry about. You can't understand it, and you're embarrassed. You're perplexed by Eddie's sudden opaqueness but thrilled and aching at Roan's calling you 'mommy'. You can't get the words out to tell him.

Roan called you mommy.

"I love you," you say tearfully, squeezing Roan tight enough to make the poor girl groan.

"You're suffotating me!" she laughs, squirming.

Her dad finally comes up behind you and spreads his hand over your shoulder. You raise your gaze to his, find his lovely features lined with a strange kind of stress. He dips his head toward your ear.

"If you don't want her to call you mom, that's okay," he says quietly, seriously, "I didn't know she was going to."

"I know, Eds," you say, relaxing as his hand climbs to your neck.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he reaffirms.

You understand what he's trying to say. All these conversations can be had privately if you want to have them. But Eddie doesn't realise that he doesn't need to worry, he never has. You love them.

"If it's okay with you," you murmur, staring at the soft 'V' shapes of his bottom lashes, "she can call me mom."

It feels like an admission. Is there any other way he can take it? Yes, Eddie, I plan on being here for a long fucking while.

It's a huge thing to admit that you want, and to promise that you'll live upto.

Eddie encircles the two of you in his arms. As Roan rests her head against your chest, your rest your head against his collar. He lifts his hand to wipe away the small shock of tears lingering in your eyelashes and then kisses the top of your head three times in a row.

You understand what the secret had been, suddenly.

The pu-postal.

Your heart jackhammers. You cling to Roan, unsure how long you stand there being hugged and hugging.

Roan breaks first. "Sam-widges," she whines, wiggling.

Eddie pulls away. You set Roan on the counter and she continues to eat her sandwhiches, legs kicking against the dishwasher.

You collect yourself before you turn to face Eddie — and his secret — head on. You can tell he knows you know.

You sniffle under his adoring gaze.

"Love you," he says, leaning down for a kiss. He stops before his lips can reach yours, the tip of his nose whispering against yours as his hands explore your abdomen.

Waist, ribs, the small of your back.

You stare at his closed eyes.

"I love you," he says again.

"I love you, Eddie."

His eyes open and he catches you watching him.

Eddie doesn't kiss you, only stares. You nod almost imperceptibly and he chucks under your chin with his knuckle before he gives you some space, moving to stand by Roan where she's lounging on the counter and picking apart a sandwhich to fill with chips.

He kisses her cheek. "Got one for me?"

Roan holds her sandwhich up to his mouth. Eddie takes a huge bite.

"Dad! You almost ate my fingers!"

"Not my fault your hands look yummy."

You hold your own face in two hands and feel the blistering heat of your cheeks seep into your hands. How can two people make up so much of your life?

"I think we should move in together," you say.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled.

"You and Roan. You should come and live with me."

Eddie's barely smiled when Roan shrieks at the top of her lungs.

"Yes!"

-

more eddie and roan

there's an eddie and roan masterlist available through my navigation but the link is temporarily not working here ♡

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (27)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: fingering, masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk, kissing without consent, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When her uncle decided that they would spend the night in Dragonstone for a moment she thought she had overheard herself − she was unable to contain her delight and outburst of joy at his words, feeling that he had somehow rewarded her for her efforts.

Or at least she thought he had.

His sudden change of plans was unlike him, and she was aware of that, knowing his nature.

He detested deviating from the plans he had previously made for himself.

However, she recognised that perhaps he wanted to show her and her family his sincere intentions, to prove that she was not just a prisoner in his eyes and that he, as her husband, could also sleep under their roof without being one.

She wasn't sure if she had ever been as happy in her life as she had been the moment she flew through the sky next to Vhagar, Caraxes and Syrax; her heart was filled with heat and hope, her uncle's words echoing in her mind like a sweet whisper.

I am proud of you.

Those words meant more to her than any of his other confessions.

Of course, his confession of love was a wonderful thing, but she had always been waiting for him to appreciate her as a person, not just a woman he saw by his side.

With this, she finally felt equal to him.

Her optimism extinguished as quickly as it had appeared as soon as she crossed the walls of the family fortress. Although her heart screamed with joy at the sight of familiar rooms, smells and sights, the faces of her brothers left her with no illusions.

She swallowed loudly as she saw the hateful look on Jace's face; she knew him and she knew that he was hurt.

He was disappointed and heartbroken, he felt humiliated and, deep down, betrayed by her, even though she never meant it.

Luke clearly didn't know what he felt himself, because he just lowered his head, unable to look into her eyes.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the sight, a discomfort in her stomach that told her that perhaps this wasn't her home at all anymore.

She was no longer welcome here.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Rhaena − her step-sister was the first to approach her, warmth and longing in her gaze, some kind of understanding from which she felt tears under her eyelids. They hugged each other tightly, though they had never done so before − her words made her feel a tightening in her stomach.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice, and she smiled involuntarily at her words.

"Me too."

As Baela approached them, also enclosing her in the tight embrace of her arms, she thought with a shrug that even though she hadn't let them into the depths of her heart for so many years, they truly cared and worried about her.

At the very end Joffrey ran up to her, sobbing loudly.

"− why have you been so long in King's Landing? − why did you leave us? − Jace wouldn't read me my favourite book −" He mumbled cuddled into her belly, her hands combing through his dark curls with the calm motion of her fingers.

"− forgive me − I'm here −" She said softly, looking at her older brother and swallowed hard, seeing the murderous glances they exchanged over the table with her husband.

She looked at her mother, who nodded, understanding what she wanted to convey to her.

"You are certainly exhausted. Take up your old quarters, daughter, I will immediately command them to be brought to order and prepared for you." Rheanyra said calmly, and she bowed before her.

"Thank you, my Queen." She said softly, looking into her eyes. Her mother swallowed hard and nodded, allowing them to leave.

As they stepped inside her chamber, she felt a squeeze in her heart and some kind of elation; all her belongings were in their places exactly as she had left them, as if no one had been allowed in here since she had been forcibly held in the Red Keep.

She shuddered, snapped out of her reverie when her uncle moved ahead of her, strolling around the room with his hands folded behind his back, intrigued.

It seemed to her that some part of him wanted to understand what her life had been like and who she had been for the eight years during which they had been separated.

She saw him walk over to her old oak desk and run his fingers over its top, thoughtful.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually.

She felt heat in her lower abdomen at the thought that he meant the place where she had written letters to him.

"− yes −"

She swallowed quietly as he hummed at her words, watching as he sat in the chair where she sat many times leaning over the parchment, scribbling words on it meant only for his eyes. He tapped his finger on the armrest, turning to face her in profile as he gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in memories.

She thought that although her return home had proved more uncomfortable than she had thought, she was grateful to him.

Whatever decision he had made that morning had led them here and was proof of his intentions.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said quietly, smiling at him, wanting him to know she wouldn't force him to sit at the same table with her family.

She thought she would spend the evening with him, give him the feeling that she was not speaking with anyone behind his back, and perhaps in the morning, before they flew away, she would ask him so that she could speak to her mother at last in peace and solitude.

Comforted by this thought and the fact that it looked like all was not lost, she began to tell him about her life in Dragonstone, to show him the books she had written to him about in her letters, the places she had flown to on Larax.

It seemed to her that her husband was only partially listening to her; his gaze was thoughtful, his face expressed weariness and discouragement. She knew that something was making him uncomfortable and she suspected that it was about the place they were in; however, she did not know how to help him, to give him the feeling that neither he nor she was in danger here.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −" She finally made an attempt to find out what had been on his mind since the morning. He shuddered at her words and looked at her with a horror as if he was about to faint.

"I'm tired." He replied quickly, without thinking, as if he wanted to answer her anything just to end the subject. She sighed quietly, recognising that she couldn't push him too hard.

Not after what they had managed to accomplish.

"Let's go to bed."

She felt a squeeze in her throat as, already lying on the bedding, she watched as he took out his dagger and tucked it under his pillow; she looked at him and met his calm, impassive gaze.

She decided not to say anything, understanding where his caution came from, not wanting to discourage or frustrate him.

She smiled involuntarily, content as his body clung to hers as soon as he lay at her side. She heard him murmur as she snuggled his face between her breasts, felt his arms embrace her waist and tighten around the material of her nightgown on her back.

She loved it when her mother sang lullabies to her when she was a child; it always calmed and soothed her. She had never dared to sing to him when they were children, fearing that her voice was too squeaky and unpleasant, but now she decided that maybe that was just what he needed.

So she sang, humming softly, once in a while placing a warm, lingering kiss on the top of his head − she felt his embrace slowly growing weaker, his muscles relaxing, his breathing quiet and even.

She sighed quietly feeling him fall asleep.

Someone's jerking and growling roused her from a deep sleep; when she opened her eyes for a moment she didn't know where she was or what was happening.

She recognised her chamber but did not know what her uncle was doing in it, convinced that he still had not answered her letters, as he had not done so for eight years.

After a moment, however, her mind seemed to regain focus and she remembered that she was his wife after all, and that his silhouette lying beside her was not a figment of her imagination.

She raised herself up on her elbow seeing that his body convulsed once in a while, as if he was trying to break free of something, whimpers and grunts came out of his throat, however, his mouth did not open, tears began to fall from the corners of his eyes one by one.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!" She called out, grabbing his arm, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She was frightened and jumped back as his eye opened suddenly, his figure rose to sit up, and he began to pant like a wild animal, quivering all over. She looked at him in disbelief, horrified to hear that he was struggling to catch his breath.

Was he having nightmares again?

Was he dreaming again of the night he lost his eye?

"− easy, my love − breathe −" She whispered tenderly, gently touching his back; he flinched all over and looked at her as if he didn't recognise her − his eye was wide open, his nostrils twitched in accelerated, heavy breaths.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled like a small, terrified child and fell into her arms, bursting into a sob so loud that the voice stuck in her throat.

She embraced him immediately, letting him find protection and comfort in her arms, stroking affectionately his hair and back, placing warm, soft kisses on the top of his head in an attempt to reassure him.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She mumbled, feeling that the fabric of her nightgown was all wet with his tears, his hot, broken breath enveloping her skin.

She felt like he wanted to melt into one with her, to hide deep inside her from whatever it was that scared him.

He was silent for a long moment, trying to calm himself; she hushed him tenderly, whispering that he was safe, that she was by his side, that all was well. She finally heard him swallow hard, his voice trembling and uncertain.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −" He muttered. She blinked, twisting comfortably in her seat, feeling her heart begin to beat faster.

"− I'm listening to you, my love −" She whispered, stroking his hair. She released him from her arms when she felt him wanting to rise.

He sat on the bedding with his side facing her, running his shaking hand over his face, his healthy eye closed as if afraid of what was about to leave his mouth.

"− I − fuck −" He began, swallowing hard − her hand rose to his back, stroking it reassuringly.

"− easy − take your time − start from the beginning −" She encouraged him softly, not wanting him to fall silent again, seeing that he wanted to throw off whatever had been weighing on his shoulders since they had left Harrenhal.

"− you may remember − Lord Strong wanted to speak with me soon after we arrived in Harrenhal −" He said uncertainly, and she nodded, reminding herself that this was indeed what had happened.

"− yes −"

Her uncle swallowed hard, drawing in air loudly.

"− he told me at the time − that my grandfather had no intention of letting your mother and Daemon leave the Eyrie alive if it turned out they wouldn't accept our terms − but now I think they wouldn't have left alive anyway − Larys had his spies there −" He muttered and fell silent, freezing completely as she did, her heart beginning to pound like mad.

My grandfather had no intention of letting them leave the Eyrie alive.

"Will you be by my side even when all is lost? Even if there is nothing left but darkness? Is that what you had in mind then?" She mumbled out in pain, feeling that there was a complete void in her mind. "Will I be there for you even if your grandfather kills my mother?"

"− n-no −" He began quickly. "− will you be there for me even if I fail to prevent it knowing that I didn't tell you −"

She felt a constriction in her throat and lower abdomen, felt tears of disappointment and sadness flowing into her eyelids − now it was her body that trembled in convulsions, his gaze full of shame and horror directed at her.

She sucked his cock, she let him take her, and he knew that the next day her father and her mother could be murdered.

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head and laughed low.

"− you will betray me − you will run away − those are your words, aren't they? − you were always the first to accuse me − was it because you were trying to cover up your own conscience? − you wanted me to let you down so that you wouldn't feel guilty about doing it over and over again? −" She asked with a cold mockery, from which he bowed his head in embarrassment, in a subconscious reflex he had inherited from his mother plucking the cuticles around his fingernails.

He did not answer.

"− what should I do now? − divorce you? − say I won't come back to King's Landing with you? − not speak to you for eight years? − tell me, uncle, what do you think you deserve? −" She asked dispassionately, feeling the tears of rage and grief one by one run down her cheeks.

She saw him tremble at her words and curl into himself, as if he were again the same little boy who had cried in her arms when his mother had reprimanded him for inappropriate behaviour.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as he hid his face in his hands and wept helplessly, as if his whole person, everything he had built around himself was just falling apart in front of her eyes, showing him his insides, what was left of him.

He was vulnerable.

"− fuck − I − I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you'd change your mind − that if you warned them they'd see it as a betrayal and wouldn't want to pact − that's why I didn't let any of us stay in the Eyrie − I −"

"− because my mother agreed − but what would you have done if things had turned out differently? −" She asked coldly, and he swallowed hard, covering his eyes with his hand, as if he could not bear what he felt or this conversation.

"− I don't know − I don't know how I could have protected both you and my family then − what decision of mine would have saved you from death −" He muttered and she pulled herself up from the bed, recognising that she didn't feel like listening to this, that she had had enough of him and his guilt when it was always him, him, him disappointing her.

From the first night she had returned to him, when he had closed her cheeks in the brutal grip of his fingers she had seen in his eye what had now become clear to her.

He was weak, and when he was afraid, he resorted to violence.

She heard him stand up behind her, panting heavily, wiping his tear-wet face with his hand.

"− no − don't leave − I told you because −"

"− because your conscience didn't give you peace − because you didn't want to carry your guilt alone −" She hissed, turning towards him with furrowed brows.

She felt that fury, not blood, was flowing through her veins now.

He swallowed loudly at her words, looking at her wide-eyed.

"− if you've never hidden anything from me − you've never concealed anything from me for fear that I might react impulsively, leave − but if you did, come back to bed − I won't touch you −"

She pressed her lips together in fury, recognising that he must have been mocking her, but then she felt an unpleasant sting in her heart that proved she had doubts.

She heard again the words of one of her servants in King's Landing whispering in her ear that when the time came, Prince Daemon would help her escape; she heard again the words of Alys speaking of the prophecy she had not shared with him for fear of his reaction.

Had she really never hidden anything from him?

Her whole body screamed for her to leave; she wanted to do it, but felt that if she did, she would be lying to herself and to him, creating an image in which she was without flaw.

She could say that she had the right to do it, that she had good intentions, but didn't her uncle think the same about his decisions?

She glared at him and let out a loud breath, returning to the bed without a word, sinking into the soft sheets, turning her face away from him. She heard him breathe heavily, and after a moment, the bed creaked under the weight of his body settling against her back.

"− tell me −" He whispered.

She sighed heavily and grunted, recognising that her faults were less than his anyway.

So why did she still feel shame and a squeeze in her gut?

"− after I tried to take my life I was told that my father could help me escape − don't ask how − I also didn't tell you about the prophecy I heard from Alys −"

"− that fucking witch is a liar −" He growled, and she let out a loud breath, impatient.

"− it is possible − but I also heard this prophecy from your sister's mouth − both of them spoke of two rivers of blood merging into one, taking the shape of a dragon's crowned head −" She choked out finally, her husband stirring beside her in his place, surprised.

"− what could this mean? −"

"− I don't know − I was afraid that when you heard it, you would want to give up on the negotiations and return to King's Landing − Alys warned me, so she probably knew what your grandfather was planning to do −" She said regretfully, thinking that strange woman was more concerned for her safety and her family than her husband.

She heard him swallow hard, letting the air out loudly.

"− forgive me −"

She lay in silence for some time, feeling anger that he expected her to simply forget everything, understand his reasons and forgive him as always.

No.

"− I will forgive you, but I have my conditions − we will stay here longer − for a week or two, I will decide in the morning −" She said coldly.

"− but − my mother will be convinced that they are holding us by force −" He began, but she would not let him finish.

"− you will write a letter to your brother informing him that my mother has accepted his terms, but is also setting her own − that we will stay here to discuss all the details, show our goodwill − if your mother wishes, she can travel here in her own person − you can leave Dragonstone when you wish, but I will stay here as long as I desire, and you will show no opposition −" She said impatiently, feeling her heart pounding like mad, her hands clenched into fists.

Her husband swallowed loudly at her words, tense.

"− I − very well −" He muttered finally, knowing that any other words would forever cross him out in her eyes.

She hummed under her breath, covering herself tightly with the bedding and closed her eyes, figuring she wouldn't turn towards him for the rest of the night.

"− don't try to take me or embrace me −" She commanded and he sighed quietly.

She swallowed hard when she felt him place his large hand on her head and begin to stroke her hair exactly as he had when they were children.

She felt furious that it was so pleasant, so soothing, that he knew she loved it.

"− my Rheanys −" He whispered tenderly. She pressed her lips together at his words, feeling a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

The next morning she was awakened by a rustling noise and the sound of a quill scratching on parchment; she lifted her sleepy eyelids and saw his silhouette sitting behind her desk, bent over a letter he had apparently just written.

She felt strange at the thought that he was sitting in the exact place where she had spent years writing him messages that had never received a response.

She knew, however, that she now had the upper hand over him and that her word was an order to him.

She was not going to imitate his cold nature and not speak to him − they had to maintain a semblance of at least a warm relationship so that the image of their marriage, on which the whole agreement between the two parties was supposed to be based, did not begin to crack.

He lifted his gaze to her when she stood up, but they did not exchange a word between each other.

He did not know what to say.

Her maidservant walked in at her summons and bowed before her, bending her head humbly.

"− my Lady, will you have your morning meal before your travel? − your mother would like to speak with you before you leave for King's Landing −"

"− we will have a meal, but convey to my mother that there is no rush − my husband and I have decided to stay here for a few weeks as an expression of our sincere intentions − my husband is in the process of conveying this message to his brother − my uncle is in need of new garments, provide them for him without delay and bring them to my chamber −" She said calmly; her servant blinked, shocked and nodded, immediately disappearing behind the door.

Despite what she had learned and the rage she felt, she was pleased − the roles had been reversed and although her husband was not her prisoner, he was attached to her and was forced to stay in a place that disgusted him.

Good, she thought.

She wanted him to feel what she had felt during the month she had spent in King's Landing, imprisoned by his mother and grandfather.

"− I wish to spend this afternoon with my mother − if you so desire, I can show you in which chamber the library is located −" She said lightly, without looking at him however, taking a bite of bread spread with confiture. Her husband rolled his eyes, displeased.

"I have no intention of leaving your quarters." He replied indifferently.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement at his words.

"You are not my prisoner, uncle. You can walk and fly wherever you please. Holding someone by force is not in my nature." She murmured softly − her husband gave her one tired look.

She smiled at him in a way from which he swallowed hard and looked away, sighing heavily.

He knew she was enraged and he wasn't going to get in her way.

One of the aspects she enjoyed upon returning home was that she had finally retrieved all her robes; her uncle looked at her from the side, watching as her servants helped her put on a golden gown with long black sleeves that reached the ground.

"− make braids around my head − my husband adores it when I wear this hairstyle, is he not? −" She sneered, glancing at him over her shoulder. She only saw him roll his eyes, running his hand over his face, not saying a word.

He knew he had to endure everything she was throwing at him with humility if he didn't want to make his already bad situation worse.

She had no idea what he could do to regain her favour, her trust, the respect she had for him.

"− have a pleasant day, husband −" She threw over her shoulder, leaving him alone in the chamber, recognising that she did not care what he did.

As she stepped into her mother's quarters, Rhaenyra rose from her seat, putting down the quill she held in her hand, approaching her with surprise and uncertainty written on her face.

"− is it true? − are you planning to stay in Dragonstone? −" She asked in a trembling voice − she smiled and nodded. Her mother sighed in relief and walked over to her, embracing her tightly with her arms, snuggling her head into her neck.

They pulled away from each other after a moment, her hands gripping her cheeks, her thumbs stroking her skin as if she remembered a time when she was still a small child.

"− let's sit down −"

Being in her chamber again was like a dream to her − she couldn't believe she was sitting at the same table again, surrounded by the same furniture and bed with a red curtain, with the windows open to a view of the great sea.

"− does he treat you well? −" She asked suddenly, taking her hand in her own.

Her mother's question surprised her, but it also filled her heart with warmth and emotion.

"− I − yes − despite his harsh, difficult nature −"

"− so how did he let this happen? −" She asked, exposing a part of her wrist with her thumb, where her pale scar was clearly visible. She swallowed loudly, not knowing what to answer her.

She wanted to tell her about the moon tea, but hesitated.

She didn't want her to think that her husband knew about it, that he was a worse person than she assumed.

It devastated her to think that she still had to tell half-truths.

"− I did it as an act of desperation − when he found out he wouldn't leave my side for weeks − he wouldn't let anyone but himself, Helaena and the maester cross the threshold of my quarters − he let me see Luke −" She muttered, looking at her at last. Her mother lowered her gaze, sighing quietly, tired and pale.

"− when Daemon passed on your words to me, I was furious − I didn't understand how you could do this to me −" She began and fell silent, closing her eyelids for a moment.

She felt an all-consuming shame at the thought that she had failed and disappointed her as a daughter.

"− forgive me − I would never question your rights if it were only about you − but you know very well that it is not −" She said cautiously − her mother lifted her gaze to her and nodded.

"− I know −"

They fell silent for a moment.

"− can I trust him? − your husband − and my brother −" Her mother asked coldly; she raised her gaze to her, surprised to feel that her lips involuntarily parted.

I don't know.

"− yes −" She muttered. "− he refused Maris Baratheon to take her as his wife − he himself proposed a form of compromise, and his elder brother supported him − Aegon is not a good man, but he cares about his children − he knows he will not leave them a secure, safe throne − just as you would not leave it to your sons −"

They said no more.

She spent some more time with her, just holding her hand, wordlessly trying to comfort her, thinking with weariness that she had to give up everything that was rightfully hers.

She finally decided to take pity on her husband and return to her chamber, not wanting to leave him alone for so long in a state of anxiety and uncertainty.

She felt her heart stop as she stepped into her quarters and saw no one inside − a cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him leaving her.

He had returned to King's Landing without her.

She pressed her lips together, involuntarily feeling her heart begin to pound like mad with pain and sadness, her eyes glazed over with tears that she was ashamed of, thinking it shouldn't hurt so much, and yet it did.

She looked around the room quickly, looking for a letter or anything else that might say he had left her some word, but found nothing of the sort; she shuddered when she heard someone's dim voices in the distance and walked over to the window.

Her father and her uncle stood facing each other on the beach with their hands folded behind their backs, discussing something animatedly, a clear tension between them.

She felt regret towards herself, her body filled with an overwhelming relief that he had not left her, that he had not betrayed her again.

She thought the gods had been cruel, allowing her to love this man so deeply.

She blinked, startled, when she heard the door from her chamber open; she turned and saw the figure of her eldest brother, who only spoke up when they heard a loud clatter of wood behind them.

"− how could you do this? − choose him over us? −" He growled with regret, resentment and disappointment, his big brown eyes filled with anger and pain from which she felt a tightening in her throat. She furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"− we both know what the truth is − you can't rule with lies −" She replied, shrugging her shoulders; Jace moved towards her and she flinched all over, surprised at how pale he was, his lips tightened into a thin line − she had the impression he was trembling all over.

"− this was my inheritance − my throne − my crown − and you chose him, a man who did not write back to your letters for eight years, who humiliated you by calling you a bastard, and you shared a bed with him the first night you saw him, like some... −" He didn't finish and fell silent, the word he wanted to say stuck deep in his throat. She felt her lower lip tremble at his accusation, her eyebrows arching in pain and anger, her eyes red from tears of shame and humiliation.

"− say it − you've already spoken the word in your mind −" She sneered, lifting her chin higher, challenging him.

"− I won't call you an unworthy name −" He muttered lowly, and she laughed involuntarily at his words, shaking her head.

"− you think that makes you a better man? − look at this −" She hissed, lifting her hand up, exposing her wrist tugging impatiently at the material of her black sleeve. "− here is what I have done for you and for your crown − should I do it again? −"

She swallowed loudly, surprised when she noticed that something in her brother's expression had changed − Jace had grabbed her wrist and locked it between his fingers, but there was no aggression in the gesture, his thumb stroking her smooth, bare skin.

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing loudly; she felt that there was a kind of tension between them from which her heart was pounding like mad, but she wasn't sure what it was caused by; something in his gaze, in his brown, misty eyes and parted lips, made her feel hot.

"− do you love him more than our mother? − than Luke, than Joffrey? − than me? −" He asked in a trembling voice and she shook her head, not understanding what he meant.

"− Jace − it's a different kind of love − I −"

"− what kind? −" He hissed. "− the kind where you're constantly betrayed? − in which someone mocks your parentage? − locks you up like some prisoner? −"

Gods.

"− Jace −" She gasped, feeling that something in his questions, in his gaze, in what he wanted to hear from her had broken her down, her whole body began to quiver.

She shuddered as he approached her suddenly, as his free hand cupped her warm cheeks, as his forehead pressed against hers, his voice trembling as the words left his throat like a river.

"− I am your oldest brother − you were born to be mine − I would be good to you − you know I would −"

"− brother, what are you saying? − you had no objections when my mother decided to marry me to Ronnel −" She said disapprovingly, furrowing her brow in anger.

"− it was our mother's decision − how could I oppose her? −" He asked with a frown, as if he really believed what he was saying, a cold shiver ran through her body as his thumb ran over the soft skin of her cheek, hot with emotion.

"− you have never loved me − not in this way, we both know it well − you have always preferred to lie to yourself rather than face the truth − you do not look at me as the woman you desire, but as an inheritance that was taken from you −" She said with pain, feeling that what he was saying was not due to any deep feeling he had for her, but to his anger that she was not waiting for him docilely like his throne and his crown.

Her brother swallowed hard at her words, his hot, ragged breath enveloping the skin of her face.

"− when you were born, our mother told me that you might be my future wife − and I always, always saw you this way −"

"− you mocked me with Aegon −"

"− I craved his attention − he was older and impressed me − didn't you do anything you regretted as a child? −" He muttered wearily; she felt her heart stop at his words, a drop of cold sweat run down the back of her neck.

What was she supposed to answer him?

"− brother − I am married to another man − of my own free will −"

"− you are a traitor −"

"− how dare you −"

"− you are a traitor, but I still am unable to hate you −"

A squeal of terror stuck in her throat, her body froze completely as his lips pressed against hers in a greedy, hot, sticky kiss, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, refusing to let her move away.

She cried out and pushed him away − before he could make any move her hand slapped him in the face so hard that he took a few steps back, clutching his red cheek, panting heavily.

"− get out −" She muttered, placing her hand over her heart, feeling as if it was about to burst out of her chest. "− get out of my chamber, brother − I'll forget this...conversation ever took place −"

Jace swallowed hard, horrified and ashamed, as if it had only now occurred to him what he had actually done.

What would Baela say if she saw this?

It seemed to him that they both couldn't believe he had done it − Jace had turned and walked out, leaving behind an open door and a complete blank in her mind.

She thought he wanted to take it out on their uncle, to take away something that belonged to him.

That she was just an object for him on which he had decided to vent.

She thought with pain that he, unlike her husband, had never tried to truly understand her.

When her uncle returned to her chamber they did not exchange a word − he seemed distracted and frustrated to her. He took one of the books from the bookshelf and sat by the fireplace, pretending to read. She lowered her gaze, playing with her fingers, thinking only of the fact that if she hid it from him, she would be just like him.

She didn't know for a long time how she should put it into words, but she figured he'd be furious either way.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −" She muttered, glancing at him fearfully − his eye opened wide, looking at her in disbelief, his jaw clenched in such a way that a shudder went through her.

He was silent for a moment, as if he had run out of words, which frightened her even more.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, closing the book with a loud slam, pulling himself up from his seat like an enraged bear.

"− he kissed me − grief and humiliation took his mind away − I − wait − gods −" She muttered, standing up as soon as he headed towards the door, which he opened with a loud clatter, running out into the corridor after him.

"− Aemond − no, no, no − stop! −" She hissed, grabbing his arm, but he pulled away from her, opening door after door until he found himself in the right room − Jace and Beala were sitting together at a table, apparently discussing something.

Her older brother rose from his seat and turned pale at the sight of them, horrified.

Her husband walked into his quarters with a wide, menacing smile, exactly the same one he bestowed on him and Luke when they saw him duelling with Criston Cole in King's Landing. He put his hands behind his back, shifting his body weight to one leg, cocking his head.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −"

"− Aemond −" She said warningly, but her uncle didn't listen to her, his healthy eye wide open, as if he was just waiting for this.

An opportunity for confrontation.

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered amused, revealing his teeth in a wide grin full of feigned recognition.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela thundered.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that she knew nothing.

She moved ahead and stood in front of her husband, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"− we are leaving −"

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −"

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He murmured in a voice filled with poison, from which a strong shiver ran along her back.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela hissed, furious that her betrothed simply looked at their uncle and remained silent, unable to get a word out.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He directed his words to her, to his sister, sadness and regret in his gaze, from which she involuntarily felt sympathy.

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" Her husband hissed, gripping her cheeks in his hand − her voice stuck in her throat as his fleshy lips clung to hers in an aggressive, loud kiss, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat.

She sighed as he turned her back to him, pressing her brutally against his chest and grabbed her neck − she grasped his wrist as his free hand slid down her lower abdomen, his fingers dug into the material of her gown beneath which her womanhood lay, she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out into her ear and she closed her eyes, feeling with horror and disbelief that her nipples had hardened, that her walls had clenched around nothing at his embarrassing words, feeling his finger tease what lay between her thighs despite her resistance.

"− u-uncle − stop −" She muttered, a moan stuck in her throat as she felt his erection behind her throb hard at her words, pushing against her buttocks, his fingertips dug deep into her folds hidden beneath the fabric.

Gods, he wanted her brother to watch this.

Baela looked at Jace as if she suddenly understood everything, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief.

"− what did you do? −" She asked quietly, her older brother shook his head, all red, turning his face away, unable to look at it.

"− I −" He didn't finish; her uncle let her go immediately, panting loudly as she did when Daemon walked into the chamber, looking at them, then at Jace and his daughter.

He grinned.

"− what is the meaning of this...commotion? − hm? −" He asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement and mockery; she looked away and glanced at her uncle, shaking her head with furrowed brows, letting him know that he was to remain silent.

Her husband pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not utter a word.

They stood in awkward silence, with only the quiet fizzle of the blazing fire in the fireplace around them.

"Mmm." Her husband hummed and turned away, heading for the door. Not knowing what to do, she simply moved after him, casting only one apologetic glance at Baela.

When they finally returned to her chamber she let out a loud breath.

"− what was that supposed to mean? −" She asked in frustration, wondering what had possessed him.

She tried not to think about how embarrassingly wet she was now.

"− I don't know what you're referring to, wife − I've merely shown my nephew the depth of my understanding as to his desire −" He grinned, grabbing a jug full of wine, pouring himself a full cup of it.

She licked her lower lip in impatience, standing still and watching him − their gazes met as he raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep sip from it.

"− what − are you wet now? −" He sneered and she felt a hot wave of shame surge through her body − she felt like her cheeks had turned scarlet.

"− don't mock me − this was humiliating −" She growled, furrowing her brow, a smirk on his face that she didn't like.

"− if you say so, wife −" He muttered, approaching her lazily, playing with his cup in his hand, raising it to his lips again "− I, however, think you'd rather I did something else −"

He said and took another sip of wine, swallowing it loudly, towering over her with a look from which a pleasant shiver ran through her core.

"− I think you'd rather I fucked you good in front of him − for me to slip my fingers under your skirt and sink them into your leaking cunt −" He murmured, leaning over her so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, her walls swelling all over at his words − she felt a drop of her own wetness run down her thigh.

"− am I wrong? −" He asked, cocking his head curiously, taking another sip of wine from his goblet without taking his eyes off her.

She drew in a loud breath as he set his cup down on the table standing beside them with a loud clang of steel, taking a step towards her, his lips parted in desire.

Gods, no.

"− don't touch me −"

She saw him squint his eyes as he hesitated, his nostrils flaring in accelerated breath.

She knew he was hard.

She knew he wanted to soften her up.

"Mmm."

She immediately summoned her servant wishing that she would help her pull off her gown and let her hair down. After this, she lay down in bed, covering herself with thick furs, not looking at him or speaking a word to him. She swallowed hard when she heard him lie down right next to her and closed her eyelids when she felt his hot breath on her neck.

She thought he would try to touch her, embrace her and give her a reason to push him away, but he just lay behind her back, driving her crazy.

She waited for some time, listening to his quiet breathing, and decided that he was surely asleep by now; her hand slipped silently into the material of her nightgown, lifting it up. She swallowed quietly, tightening her lips as her fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood begging to be fulfilled, teasing and squeezing the bud between its fleshy folds.

She felt herself grow hot, her heart began to pound like mad at the indecent idea that these was his hand touching her in front of Jace, making him watch, wanting him to see what her fulfilment looked like.

She felt her walls clench greedily around nothing at the thought, her fingers teasing the spot between her puffy folds with circular, intense strokes.

Involuntarily, her hips began to rock softly to the rhythm of the flicks of her own fingers, she felt that she was wonderfully close to fulfilment.

"− what are you doing? −" She heard his low, cool voice and froze completely. She swallowed hard, sliding her hand, sticky with her own moisture from between her thighs, and remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

"− go on −" He said in a hoarse, deep voice from which a shiver went down her spine. She heard a rustling behind her and then the sticky sound of skin slapping against skin − his hot breathing quickened, heavy and ragged. "− come on −"

She couldn't help herself; his fingers dug into her swollen folds again causing a wave of heat to pass through her body − she felt pleasant tickling sensations in her lips, fingertips and nipples. She moaned quietly when she felt his nose pressed against her hair, her hips involuntarily began to rock when she heard him begin to pant, the splats behind her getting louder, louder and louder.

"− fuck − you know I'd lick you good there − hm? −" He sighed and she felt her whole body quiver, her fingers teasing her puffy pearl all sticky from her own wetness.

"− mhgm −" She whined, tilting her head back, feeling his hot, uneven breath on her ear, his swollen, wet lips run down her neck.

"− are you leaking? − are you leaking at the thought of how good I would make you feel? − at the thought of your brother watching me fuck his little sister? −" He breathed out, and she moaned loudly as she felt a wonderful, relieved sensation at his words, her fulfilment shaking her like a hot, tickling wave.

Her slit pulsed all under her fingers as her own moisture leaked out of her, she shuddered when she felt his warm, rough tongue run across the bare skin of her neck, leaving a slick, wet mark on it.

"− fuck, Rheanys −" He muttered and after a moment he gasped − she felt something sticky and warm spurt out onto the back of her nightgown.

His seed.

Gods.

She closed her eyelids, trying to calm her breathing, furious at herself and her weakness.

"− let me embrace you −"

"− no −"

She heard him huff, sighing heavily, his face still sunk into her neck.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, thinking with frustration that she hated him with all her heart.

[watermelonsugacry]

You know this thing that Taylor does where she sings a surprise song at every show? but in this case it's her own song, what if yn did the same thing but with songs by other artists

Just A Girl

A/N: this is honestly just a 1d!YN appreciation post

SINCE 2010 masterlist

It’s officially her thing to sing a new cover song for each of her shows! 

Sometimes it's a One Direction song, an unreleased song, or just a song from an artist she liked. 

Every one of her old band mates’ has an unofficial claim to a cover they do/did on their solo tours: Harry’s is The Chain, Louis’s is 505...

But if there was one cover that’s her cover, it’s “Just A Girl” by No Doubt.

To introduce the song, she’d make a little joke about reminding the audience that even though she’s dancing and prancing around the stage, that doesn’t give them an excuse to look at her chest as she does so. She’d even pinch the top of her corset top—an outfit to pay homage to the cover art of her third album—and tug it up with a cheeky shake of her chest...all before openly pushing up her breasts from underneath. 

She’d wink at a fan in the crowd before letting out an innocent, “What?” at the fans’ excited response. She’d put a satin gloved hand over her chest, pushing a shoulder to touch her ear and shyly say, “m’just a girl after all.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, a smirk spreads across her lips when the sold-out stadium of fans go into a frantic frenzy when they hear the iconic beginning guitar of the song. She makes a slow spin on her heel to walk to her band behind her, looking off to the side where her husband stands with a proud smile in the wings.

This song perfectly encapsulates YN’s upbringing in the music industry: her frustration of being treated lower than her co-workers, band mates—any male just because she’s of the opposite sex. 

In a way, it's her Kiwi: a song she can complete and utterly go crazy with. It’s Harry’s turn to sit back and admire the way his spouse can draw in an audience with her stage presence and charisma. 

'Cause I'm just a girl, oh, little old me

Well, don't let me out of your sight

Oh, I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite

So don't let me have any rights

For a long time, she’d listen to this song and view it as a cry for help, a way to express herself in the best way she knows how—through music.

This is one of the few songs that YN likes to bring back a couple of times as her surprise cover song—it even showed up once or twice at her last world tour. With that being said, a couple thousand fans were lucky enough to say that they were a part of the few shows where she performed it. 

And on the opposite end, it’s her favorite cover to sing. Especially since she likes to get a bit theatrical with it. 

They love to see after she finishes the line, “Oh, I've had it up to here...” YN cheekily bends over, a flattened hand comes up to her forehead to mimic the way someone would physically show their annoyance level. She bites down on her lower lip, bobbing her head to the beat of the music as she walks backwards across the stage. 

Or when she dramatically bats her lashes or cheekily drops her jaw in faux offense. Or as she jumps about the stage, hyping up the sea of fans with her stage presence. 

She’d be at the end of the massive heart-shaped catwalk, clasping her hands together in front of her after bouncing around the stage, slyly singing, “I'm just a girl.” She twists the tip of her heel into the stage as she pouts. “I'm just a girl in the world. That's all that you'll let me be!” 

And the crowd lives for when she feverishly pumps her arms in front of her, dropping down to her knees as she sings, “What I’ve succumbed to is making me numb!” Her mane of curly hair bounces back and forth, following her movements. 

The audience is split between standing as still as they can to record the iconic performance while others join YN by jumping up and down, dancing crazily, and being completely enveloped in the moment. 

YN mentioned in an interview once how much she feeds off the energy her fans bring to the shows. Similarly to her husband’s tour, the audiences have created a safe space for her to be herself on stage. There’s no sense of judgment and everyone can enjoy themselves freely—whether that be dancing like nobody's watching, standing there with their eyes closed to feel the music, or following the dress decorum of wearing corsets and long opera gloves, everyone is welcomed with open arms.

By the end of it all, she’s a bit out of breath and her hairline glistens with sweat. She stands at the end of her catwalk and looks out to the sea of fans, raised hands and lights. 

In a moment of overwhelming gratitude, she tugs off her in-ears and takes a moment to fully hear thousands chant her name in unison. She huffs out a knee-buckling smile and it only makes the fans scream louder. 

YN had mentioned to Harry a few times already about how the feeling of appreciation and love for her fans can get a bit overwhelming. Sometimes it hits her like a bus—strong, impactful, and head-on. If she could, she would hug each and everyone of her fans. She would take the time to tell every person individually how much they mean to her.

Even in the midst of the deafening sound, she lets out a chuckle when she can hear the loud whistle piercing its way from the wings. 

Never in a million years would she ever think that she’d be here, standing on stage, performing at sold out stadiums almost every night, doing what she loves. 

With that, she blinks away the on-coming watery eyes and puts her in-ears back in. 

“Alright, London. Let’s continue this dance party,” she’d say before the familiar beats on Nonsense sounds through the stadium. 

Yeah, she’s definitely meant to be here. 

[wol-fica]

-ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕦𝕝-

pairings - jennaortega x gp!reader

summary - “Can you write Jenna x gp!reader where Jenna and y/n being risky and almost getting caught (maybe on set)” - Anon

warnings - public sex, rough sex, oral, teasing, angry sex, exhibitionism, choking, p in v, breeding kink, hand covering mouth(???), overstimulation, percy being a dick :/

an - i got suuuuuper bored today and i was reading a suicide_wolf alpha!amberfreeman fic on ao3 and WOOOOWEEE i’m tempted to write one for jenna now :/

—————————

“Yikes…that doesn’t look good.” Georgie said from your right, eying you while you stared daggers at your co-star Percy.

He was flirting with your girlfriend, his hands brushing her arms and his body leaning way to close for your liking. Preferably, you would like him to be at least 6 feet away or more, and facing away from her.

You knew how he felt about her, since he came and told you and Georgie that he was head over heels for her. Now normally, you would have corrected him and told him that she was taken, but Jenna had begged you to not say anything as she wanted to keep your relationship as private as possible.

That was a bit concerning for you, but she reassured that it was just because her last relationship failed from being too much in the public eye. She had no privacy or stability because the internet was up her ass about the guy she was with, so she vowed to make sure her next relationship would be sealed off for just her and you to enjoy.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You said calmly, standing up and starting towards him.

“Woah now!” Georgie said, grabbing your arm to hold you back, “That’s probably not smart.”

“He’s way to close to her, I don’t care if it ain’t smart or not.” You growled, trying to tug your arm away.

Georgie pulled you back, putting himself in front of you, “Getting into a fight on set is definitely going to get you kicked off and sued.”

You stared him down, breathing heavily. He was right, even if you did was him away from Jenna you couldn’t just start throwing punches. You valued your job and your role in the show, jeopardizing that just because you were jealous was a dumb move.

“You’re right.” You relented, relaxing when he let go of your arm, “I just don’t like him doing that with her.”

“I know.” Georgie put a comforting hand on your shoulder, “You should go ask to talk to her privately, that’s the best way to get her away from him.”

You nodded in agreement, pursing your lips before shuffling past him and walking towards your girlfriend. She was laughing, her head thrown back while she bellowed at Percy’s joke. He was smirking, condescending and proud while you seethed. As you approached, Jenna’s eyes found yours, her face lighting up instantly at the sight of you.

“Y/N!” She yelled, turning to run and meet you halfway.

“Hey Jenna.” You replied, catching her in a hug when she launched herself at you, “How are you?”

She pulled back, looking up at you with those brown eyes that you fell so hard for. You shamelessly scanned her face, taking in her natural beauty that stood before you. Her freckles, her dimples, everything that made your heart go thump thump thump.

“I’m doing good!” She said cheerfully, pulling back to slide her hands into yours, “How was filming with Emma today?”

“Pretty great, our scenes were super smooth.”

“Jenna, do you know when our kiss scene is?” Percy interjects, trying to gain her attention back.

Your eyes snapped to him, a scowl appearing on your face. He was trying to push you, clearly attempting to get under your skin. Percy never liked you that much, being that Jenna always raved about how great of a ‘friend’ you were and would constantly bring you up in conversations.

“I’m not sure, probably tomorrow though.” Jenna replied, turning to him, “Why?”

“I just need to know when to vasaline my irresistible lips.” He joked with a wink, “Maybe we should practice or something?”

“Actually I have to talk to Jenna ‘bout something.” You quipped, dragging her away from him, “Bye!”

You pulled her along, ignoring the huff of irritation that Percy produced, and made your way down a long hallway and into a deserted work room. Jenna followed quietly, watching your tense shoulders and how your jaw ticked with each step you took.

You were mad, she could tell that, but she didn’t know what you were planning with taking her this far away from set. You pushed the door open, letting her walk past you before closing it and locking the door. It was currently lunch break, meaning the cast and crew had a few hours before they needed to get back to filming.

Jenna walked to the empty table in the middle of the room, hopping up and sitting on it to watch you pace back and forth in front of her.

“Baby.” She said, her eyes following your every move, “C’mere.”

You turned, moving towards her and taking your place in between her knees. Her legs went around you waist, pulling you in close so she could grab your face and kiss you.

Her lips were soft, tasting of vanilla and honey from the lip balm she uses. Your hands found solace on her waist, using her body as leverage to lean yourself into her. She parted from you, but you chased her lips and pulled her back in, relishing in her plump lips.

“Y/N.” She mumbled against your mouth, moaning softly when you chose to kiss down her neck, “Can…can you talk to me?”

You hummed against her skin, peppering her neck with small kisses that had her heart running a mile a minute. Her hands clawed at you, trying to pull you back up to her face.

“I’m angry with you.” You finally said, sucking a small hickey on her pulse point, “And I’m gonna show you how mad I am.”

She shuttered under your hold, turning her head to the side to give you more access to her neck. The fabric of her skirt was riding up, revealing her soft, tanned thighs that made you drool.

“I’m…I’m not sure why you’re mad…” Jenna murmured, sucking in a breath when your hands moved to squeeze her thighs, “But…I’m sorry for it…”

You chuckled, pushing her legs apart and getting down on your knees in front of her. She watched you with wide eyes, scanning your face before following your hand that went to push her skirt up. You gasp quietly, seeing the patch of wetness on her panties that had formed moments before.

Your pointer finger hooked on the hem of Jenna’s underwear, pulling the garment down and off of her legs and throwing it behind you somewhere. Turning back to the task at hand, you nudged her legs farther apart one last time before looking up at her for consent.

She met your eyes, her face softening into a smile as she cupped your cheek. A nod was all she gave you before you moved in, a gasp leaving her lips when she felt your hot breath on her center. Her fingers wound into your hair, her other hand going behind her for support.

You wanted to start slow, choosing to do small kitten licks on her slit to work her up. She groaned from above, pushing your face into her and bucking her hips, looking for more. You hummed against her, getting a small squeak of shock, and decided to suckle her clit into your mouth.

She moaned softly, her grip tightening while you sucked and licked at her clit. Your lips wrapped around the small bud, forming a deep suck to distract her from your hand sneaking in between her legs.

Jenna whined your name, hips tilting towards you when a finger swiped through her folds. You were playing with her, she knew that, and you were definitely not going to be nice in the long run. She moaned loud when two of your fingers slipped inside of her, her eyes rolling back when they rested knuckle deep.

You sucked harder, moving your fingers back and forth with the rhythm of your mouth. Your digits curled, causing her to cry out, and you suddenly felt a gush of wetness on your hand and chin.

Jenna tugged at your hair, trying to get you out from between her legs but with no success. You kept at it, slipping a third finger in while rolling her clit on your tongue. She was seeing stars from the overstimulation, her back arching at the feeling.

“F-Fuck…Y/N it hurts…ah!” She stuttered out, trying to get away from your death grip.

You hummed on her clit, making her cry out your name again, before pounding your fingers into her at a fast pace. She came again, bucking her hips pathetically at the feeling of her second orgasm. You finally pulled away, giving her bud a quick kiss before standing up.

“Jesus, babe.” She mumbled, looking up at you with hazy eyes, “Did…did that help your anger?”

“Oh Jenna…” You said, stroking her cheek while your other hand unbuttoned your slacks, “Far far from it.”

She gulped, glancing down at you pulling out your hardened cock before you pushed her to lay on her back. Your member stood tall and proud, veins pulsing and precut dripping out of the tip from arousal.

You leaned over Jenna, pressing one final kiss to her lips. She stared back at you, cupping your face and stroking your cheeks before you stood up. Your hands grasped at her thighs, pulling them apart and pushing them up on her chest. She sat herself up on her elbows, watching and waiting for your next move while you let your tip poke at her entrance.

“This…is how angry I am…” You stated before shoving yourself inside of her.

She cried out, letting her head drop at the intrusion. You quickly filled her up, for fully parting her walls open and penetrating her insides. You were deep in her, her walls fluttering around your shaft while you stretched her open.

“O-oh god…” Jenna moaned, feeling each vein on your cock when you dragged yourself back out so only the tip was inside of her.

After giving her a second to catch her breath, you began your assault of her pussy, thrusting back and forth at a fast pace. Your cock soon became covered in her slick, her arousal causing your member to look shiny and wet.

“So fucking tight.” You growled, holding her thighs for leverage to fuck her harder, “Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?”

She moaned, body rocking up and down with each sharp thrust you gave. You leaned over her, finding a deeper angle that made her wince, and grabbed her jaw to make her look at you.

“Answer my question.”

She whimpered, trying to find the right words to say, “Y-yes!”

“Good girl~.” You praised, pounding your hips harder.

You pulled her legs up, throwing them over you shoulders and pumping your cock into her at an aggressive pace. She was drenched at this point, her wetness dripping down the table and onto the tiled floor.

Her walls started to tighten and pulse, the telltale signs of her approach third orgasm. Pushing yourself a little harder, she came abruptly with a moan of your name, her walls clamping down on your dick.

Her cum splattered onto your shirt, but that didn’t make you stop. You trusted through her orgasm, bringing her straight to another. She screamed at the familiar feeling of overstimulation, reaching a hand out to press against your chest.

“W-Wait! Please!” She cried, attempting to get you to stop, “I…I can’t!”

You growled, leaning down over her again and caging either side of her head with your forearms. Your thrusts turned into deep, fast pounds, your hips slapping against hers with each heavy movement.

“Y/N!” She sobbed, yet another orgasm crashing over her.

“Fuck…” You said through your teeth, resting your forehead on her shoulder while you pumped yourself deeper into her, “You’re so fucking wet.”

Jenna moaned loudly, hips bucking uselessly while you split her apart. You glanced down, sighing at the sight below. Her folds were puffy and swollen, pussy wrapped around your cock perfectly while it disappeared repeatedly inside of her. Ignoring her cries of pleasure, you slid one of your hands down to toy with her clit.

“FUCK!” She yelled, feeling herself squirt onto you.

You moaned at that, eyes rolling back at the feeling of her wet, warm walls encompassing you. She hadn’t squirted in a long time, so for her to do that now was incredibly arousing to you. The feeling of your impending orgasms grew larger, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Fuck baby…I’m gonna fill you with my cum.” You moaned, thrusting your hips harder, “Your gonna be full of my kids…”

She came in response, her eyes rolling and a moan tumbling past her lips from your statement. You placed firm pats to her clit, causing her to cry again, and your other hand found solace with pressing on the moving bulge in her stomach.

Her head shot up, your name being screamed from her lips before being silenced by your hand. You pushed her back down, meeting her wide brown eyes before pushing yourself as deep as you could go. The knot snapped, your cum pumping inside of her against her cervix. Jenna’s moan was muffled by your palm, her eyes falling shut at the feeling of your warm semen filling her up.

“Shit.” You mumbled, collapsing on top of her, completely spent.

You both laid there for a moment, breathing heavily in sync while you attempted to regain your composure. You felt her hands slither around your shoulders, rubbing on your tense muscles to soothe you.

“Baby…” Her voice sounded distant, so you turned your head to meet her gaze.

“Hey.” You mumbled, a dazed smile on your face that made her laugh.

“Goofball.” She muttered, scratching your scalp gently, “That was so-.”

A knock on the door was vaguely heard, causing you both to snap your eyes to the locked door. The world seemed to freeze, and you slowly moved to hover over Jenna as a means to cover her if necessary.

“Jenna? You in there?” It was Percy, which made you roll your eyes.

“Goddammit he always has to be with you.” You grumbled, cracking your neck before standing up properly and moving to pull out of her.

She whimpered softly at the loss of you, but sat up nonetheless, blinking the grey spots out of her eyes while you pulled up your boxers and pants. You went towards the door to grab her panties, eying it while you picked up the clothing.

“I guess she’s not here.” Percy said to someone, his voice muffled behind the door.

“Shame, I wanted to practice some lines with her.” A girl, Emma, replied, their voices growing distance as they walked away.

”Emma wants to practice lines with you.” You mumbled, handing Jenna her panties and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I heard, I’ll catch up with her after I fix this mess of myself.” She replied, pulling the article on and standing up.

Her legs were shaky and weak, causing her to stumble into your arms. You caught her easily, setting her back on her feet with a giggle.

“Clumsy.” You murmured, kissing her cheek softly.

“Shut up.” She said with a smile, hitting your stomach, “Let’s get back to work dumbass.”

——————————

taglist: @cartierdreamx  @tundra1029 @red1culous @vorsdany @andsoigotabutterfly @theafterofnevermore @yomomisgay @house-of-lovin @slvt4lanadelrey @thenextdawn @nepobaby08 @dunohilly @somekindofpoet @alexkolax @cinffy23 @pedrosprincess @amberfreemansburntface @myfturn

[maarigolds]

Lucy, Lockwood and George, after everything.

(show edition. I'm not going by book canon for this one, so don't worry about spoilers)

At 21 or 22, Lockwood is the first of them that starts to lose his talent.

Which makes sense, since he's the oldest. At the beginning he refuses to even acknowledge it, but Lucy and George figure out what's happening soon enough. For a while he's just ashamed and angry and sad all the time. Then it gets better: Lucy and George get him trough it. He also calls Kipps, and they talk for hours, both coming out of it feeling almost at peace (Kipps has gone back to school and is talking about wanting to become a teacher. Which Lockwood feels like should surprise him, but actually doesn't). 

Lucy is next. It breaks her heart a little (because of skull and all other type 3s) and it scares her a lot. But then she realizes how soothingly quiet the world can be at times, and lets herself think that maybe she will be alright. 

George is last. And the thing is, even though it saddens him to lose the one thing that connected him to ghosts, mainly he's relieved. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while, and now that it has, he's ready for whatever may come next.

The jobs get more and more rare as they hear, see and feel less and less. Lockwood knows he could hire new kids to replace them, but in truth he doesn't really want to. Perhaps Lockwood & Co. can be laid to rest at last: after all, they've already achieved more than he ever dreamt. So the next time a client calls, he informs her they've shut down and gives her the name of an up-and-coming independent agency he's heard great things about. He only feels mildly guilty about it. 

Even if they're technically not his employees anymore, George and Lucy stay. They don’t talk about it, but the idea of moving out of Portland row and living lives that aren't intrinsically intertwined feels wrong to all three of them: they're a family, after all, and nothing has to change about that.

Still, they need to make money somehow. So they muse about going far away from London, opening a bakery, living in a small house by the sea. But in the end they stay, both in the city and line of work they're used to. Because they do belong there, it's undeniable. George, of course, goes into ghost research and becomes a leading voice in the field, discovering new ways to help agents all over the country. No one is surprised, but everyone is proud. Lucy one day shows up at Barnes' office to ask him about becoming an inspector. It's the last thing either would have expected, but when he asks her why, she says it feels like the best place to be to help kids like her. To stop people like Jacobs. So he gives her a job. She's determined to change things from the inside. Barnes thinks that if someone could, it's her. And Lockwood... well, it takes a while for him to figure it out. But one evening Lucy comes home talking about a kid left deeply traumatized by a job gone wrong, and suddenly he knows. The next day he calls the bank to open up a pro bono clinic for agents and ex agents in need of psychological treatment. After less than a week they already have their first client. 

Slowly but steadily, it becomes their new normal. 

Lockwood sets up a study in the room on the stairs and works mainly from there. George, on the other hand, works at a lab in the City: he is the first to leave in the morning, but he always comes home soon enough to cook dinner. Lucy keeps slightly more irregular hours, and sometimes her job keeps her away for longer than she'd like. But then again she occasionally gets to come home to the adorable view of the boys fast asleep in front of the tv, so that's good.

One day Flo brings them a stray cat she found while working: they name him Donut and spoil him way too much.

Lucy starts gardening. George grows a magnificent beard (Lockwood is not jealous of it). The fridge breaks down and they have to buy a new one. Airf's son replaces him at the shop. They put up a hammock in the backyard, and spend their vacations piled into it. Mrs Burke from across the street knits them all hats for Christmas. Lockwood adds new framed articles on the walls and new knick-knacks on the bookshelves. 

He's not sure when, but one day 35 Portland Row stops being the home his parents left behind and becomes his home. Their home: his, and Lucy's, and George's (and Donut's. And Kipps' when he comes over for lunch on Sundays. And Flo's when she swings by using her own keys. And Barnes' when he stays for tea after long work days).

So they keep going as they have, day after day, year after year, slowly growing older. Wounds heal and scars fade. The sun shines through the kitchen windows on summer mornings. The smell of persian food fills the air every evening. Old rapiers get dusty in the umbrella stand. There aren't any ghosts between their walls, both real and metaphorical.

Everything is alright.

[grapejuicestyless]

Burn Out

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n was often labeled, “the gifted kid.” She can’t help but feel like she’s falling behind when everyone’s suddenly leaving her behind

link to request HERE.

She’d heard it her whole life. From the day she could walk to her first report card with letters on it, her mother always threw the term around to all her friends. She bragged to her relatives, boasted to her co-workers. It felt nice to be good, to get good grades, to do well in activities after school. But with each passing year, Y/n grew up wanting to be great.

She was tired of her mother raving to Susannah about how good at writing she was for her age. She didn’t want to be good for her age. She just wanted to be great. It seemed that no matter how much she excelled, she was forever bound to that boundary that left her feeling less than.

Being good for her age didn’t feel like a compliment after she reached double digits. She felt stupid. Why couldn’t she be more? Why was she subjected to only be allowed to succeed within the group of individuals who all shared the same birthdays, birth years? Why wasn’t she ever compared to the big kids? The varsity athletes who complimented her and the art prodigies who urged her to pursue it for longer. Why couldn’t anyone see how hard she was treating to be the best she could?

It was obvious she was going places. How while Conrad and Steven ran around throwing footballs and splashing around in the pool, Y/n was curled up in the grass reading best selling novels and scandalous news stories. She was set on being great her whole childhood, never enjoying the simple things. But her love for reading and writing that developed in her tween years is what started her spiral.

Y/n was set on being a journalist. She had her future planned out. She wanted to go to an Ivy League. The state or the name didn’t matter. She wanted something she could put on her work resume to show everyone what she could do. She worked for it. She dropped all of her sports, all of her art classes. She was set on this career path she wanted so badly. She wrote for the school newspaper, the yearbook, the town paper. She did it all. Even without the early morning wake ups in the summer, her eyes carried heavy eye bags from her obsessive work ethic. She sat at the desk Susannah and Laurel had built for her by the bay window. She wrote and she wrote until her palms were grey with graphite and her fingers calloused and aching.

They all said she would outgrow it. The desire to be the best, the competitive nature she had. When she didn’t, they began to realize their mistake. Y/n never saw her peers as her biggest competitors, but herself as her biggest threat. She wanted to out write herself, make everything she could the best possible so even when she was old she could smile and say she was proud of it. To everyone, it seemed that with her obsessions and excessive efforts, she was headed right where she wanted to be.

Y/n’s mother always believed she wouldn’t have to put any money away for Y/n. Surely, she would be able to manage a full ride somewhere wonderful. A penny wouldn’t be spent on anything more than the books and the comforter for her dorm room. The added pressure to Y/n’s already rotten mind tainted with the intense pressure to remain as gifted as her mother had always convinced everyone she was.

Quickly, it built. Her hands still ached and she still spent hours at her desk, but she couldn’t write anymore. It all came out in short sentences that led her no where. There was no connection to make it make sense. She couldn’t think of ways to out do herself, ways to reinvent the greatness she knew she had within herself. She couldn’t spend every hour studying until her eyes drooped and the pages were stuck together with her drool. She couldn’t do it anymore.

The only way to describe what Y/n felt was burnt out. Sluggish. She moved through the days just the same, but they dragged. She wasn’t productive. She laid in bed eyes crusty and dry from all of her tears being wasted on her pillows.

She was failing. Not only in her head now, but now everyone else knew it. She was barely passing English and now calculus and physics seemed like too much to juggle. She didn’t feel wise beyond her years anymore. She felt right where she started, bound to the boundaries of her own age. No matter how hard she tried, her motivations were gone. She wasn’t a prodigy, she just tried. She wasn’t gifted, she was simply obsessive. She had little friendships left, no boyfriend. Her own dreams got in the way of her childhood.

When the letters came in, she watched how everyone around her rejoiced, basking in their victories. Steven was going to Princeton. Jeremiah to finch and Belly would surely follow him. The one that stung the most was Conrad. He’d already managed a spot in Browns pre-med program. Not that Y/n wanted that for herself, to be a doctor that is. No, but to have to ability to show everyone from her small hometown she had the brains to escape, be known. But Brown was never enough for Conrad. How could one of the hardest Ivy’s to get into ever be enough for the overachieving blonde? The boy who never really had to try in order to be great. He had to rub salt into the wound by getting into Stanford the following summer.

Y/n never hated Conrad for it. It wasn’t his fault he was just naturally better than her. But it stung that the only college that she could afford would be the safety state school. Her mother was partially to blame. Even though Y/n had gotten into some of the hardest schools to attend, none came with the financial aid she needed. She was good, but not enough. Without any savings from her mother, the money she had saved was not nearly enough to travel the map for school. She would forever be stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be.

It wasn’t like she cared the most, less work in some senses. Yet, the pounding headache that constantly beat at her self esteem screamed at her. How the voices that taunted her for all these years had finally been proven right.

Y/n would always be good, but she could never be great.

Careful of the heaviness of it all, Conrad treaded lightly to her slumping frame.

Sitting in her room, shadows casted over her quilt, her eyes stared blankly into the old oak desk she once considered something short of an oasis. Her papers were neat, pencils dull. Used up from pointless ideas and messy attempts to grasp at her lost talents.

Holding the letters, detailing how much she owed to prove herself, the debt she ultimately couldn’t afford, she began to grow resentful. How she had wasted her best years on something she couldn’t afford to achieve. While everyone else had memories of beach volleyball and sandcastles, Y/n had paper cuts and tired eyes. It was all so defeating to realize.

While many could brush her off as too sentimental, too emotional over something so small, Conrad knew her better. He saw the way her eyes dimmed, her heart stuttered. She died just hours ago in that once lively kitchen when reading the news.

“I’m a failure.” It was all she could manage. Three shaky words that broke between, her breathing coming out in quiet gasps. It was like a knife to the heart, realizing someone so persistent was finally giving up. Crumbling.

In her mind, she had made every mistake possible. She’s given up something so important, risked the loss of her childhood all for some dream she herself couldn’t even achieve with all the hours of work she forced upon herself. Yet, to Conrad, she hadn’t failed in the slightest. Y/n was wise well beyond her years. She had a mind like no other, a way with her words but also reasoning behind each sentence that made even the most outlandish claims seem more truthful than a defined fact. To him, she was the definition of greatness.

“You have your whole life ahead of you.” He’d tried to reassure her, words muffled against her hair. She smelled of coconut and fruits. Freshly washed hair as clean and neat as her mind once was. Still, his touch and his words held no weight in Y/n’s racing mind.

How could she explain to him each detail of the situation, each complexity that made her so distraught, so self destructive? Not only had she failed, but in all her efforts, she’d missed out on the best years of her life. She wondered if she would have to live with herself, from now for eternity wishing she could go back? Lay out under the stars and watch as satellites became mistaken as comets by her friends.

“Will it feel like this forever?” She’s asked almost too innocently. It was a genuine question. Would the stabbing pains in her heart, the throbbing inside of her skull ever full into an ache she could ignore for her own good? Would she ever stop living in regret and just be able to live her life without her own fears of missing out, of falling short?

“It’s gets better.” He’d promised her. Truthfully, there was no way he could’ve known. He was blessed with the ability to be effortlessly great. Always at the top without any struggle for the power that came with it. All while Y/n had to fight for even a spot on the podium.

Conrad only had one regret then. That he hadn’t been quicker to stop Y/n from falling so far, so hard. He knew it better than anyone, he lived and breathed burnouts. He crashed constantly, falling flat on his face. Yet, somehow he never slipped from where he stood. He wished that she could see just how amazing she was.

“What if I don’t?” It was a double edged sword. Both a question of mentally and physically. Would the pain ever ease? Would the slump fade into a distant memory of her teenage years? Would her skills resume into a climb of greatness as Y/n developed into something just short of Shakespeare? She still longed for that sense of accomplishment in her life. She still strives to be at the top and it was killing her. The fact that in her constant need to get better, she had fallen into a state of panic when she saw no progress. She feared that in her best efforts, she’d already given up all the best parts of herself, to no avail.

Conrad couldn’t promise her that she would. She had worked so long, fallen just short of what she deserved, all at the faults of the pressures of her youth. All responsibilities she never deserved to have to carry in the first place.

Placing a kiss to her temple, he held onto her like a promise, keeping her locked away in his heart. Silently, as her eyes settled back on the old oak desk, Conrad prayed. He never did that. He wished that there were some alternate universe. One where Y/n could live in peace, free from the restrictions and pressures of her childhood. A life where her future wasn’t something she had to know so early. He hoped that somewhere in that universe, she realized just how important she was, at least to him.

He swore then, even in her darkest hours, despite what the world thought, he would always love her. He only wished that she could see what he thought of her. That she was the greatest thing to ever happen.

[blues824]

Once Upon A Dream

Gender-neutral reader, a tad self-indulgent. References a train, but could reference a dress, tailcoats, a cape of some fabulous sort, etc. 

Use of the word officiant, but I meant it in a way where he marries the two of you, and I did not use any religious traditions; just headcanon fae traditions. Also uses the word bridesmaids, but I did not describe reader as a ‘bride’.

Pricking of fingers on a spinning wheel, blood.

Malleus Draconia

It was a joyful day within Briar Valley. Everyone was rushing to put the finishing touches on their homes and stores, decorating with the most beautiful flowers anyone has ever seen. The whole town was bustling with excitement and magic. Farmers from the outskirts of the land were coming in on their wagons filled with even more flowers so no one would worry about running out.

You looked outside of your window in your silk pajamas to see all of the preparations being made for your big day. You took a huge whiff of fresh air, and you could smell the freshness of the floral arrangements. Someone then knocked on the door, and you smiled as you gently opened the door to reveal a maid and a manservant holding your attire. Just seeing the outfit brought joy to your heart and a smile to your face.

For years, you had been imagining this day: your wedding day. 

The maid helped you bathe and moisturize and spray perfume on, before helping you into the wedding attire. It had a bit of a train in the back, so she had to call over the manservant to help hold the train in place. Your hair was arranged with a crown of blossoming flowers, and you were given a bouquet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a gasp at how different but similar you looked.

The servants who were helping you get ready were all very friendly and excited, despite you being human and they being fae folk. Actually, a lot of the citizens within the town and all of the land of Briar Valley thought you were beautiful and kind, just like your friends back at NRC did… just like your fiancé did as well. 

Oh yes, everyone was making a big deal of the wedding that day because you were marrying Malleus Draconia, the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley. Queen Maleficia herself approved of this match, as she had never seen her grandson so in love and so happy with someone by his side, and said that after your wedding ceremony, she would relinquish the crown to the prince so that he would be King and you would be his Spouse and Co-Ruler.

Unfortunately, your bridesmaids would be some of the ladies you had made friends with here in Briar Valley. All of your family were still back in your world, a place you still couldn’t get to yet. It didn’t sadden you too much, though, because you could start a whole new life here in Twisted Wonderland.

You had already been through the training and lessons on how to be both a person of the court and a ruler. However, you did not see your fiancé for much of that time. Instead, you became quite close to both the current Queen and Lilia. You went through a lot of harsh history lessons, mostly consisting of the disagreements between humans and faes.

Your marriage would be one of genuine love between human and fae kind, not one of convenience or alliance.

The sentence was heavier on your head than the floral crown you were wearing, probably because of the truth it held. You loved Malleus with all your heart, which is why you dealt with walking with books on your head, with sword fighting, with saying hello to multiple different nobles within the kingdom, with not seeing him as you were in training…

You had no magic, and you were fully capable of doing all of this to prove your love and dedication not just to your husband-to-be, but the kingdom you were going to rule. It was enough for the people and the Queen to be proud, because you cast aside your differences and tried to learn.

Eventually, the maid that made her appearance this morning led you by the hand out to the castle’s entrance while the manservant followed behind, holding up the train of your outfit. The other servants were all at the sides of the corridors and halls as you made your way, congratulating you and wishing you good fortune. You would see them later, at the actual celebration once the ceremony had commenced.

One thing that was part of fae culture, specifically with weddings, was that the newlyweds had to prick their finger upon a spinning wheel so as to bind their beings together as one whole. You saw a wagon being loaded up with such a wheel. It was going to be the front of the procession, as you made your way to the meadow where the wedding was taking place.

The maid helped you onto the unicorn (yes, a unicorn), as it would have been a bit of a walk in the shoes you had on. You let out a gasp at how beautiful it was, and you ran your hand through its soft mane before you were joined by Sebek and Silver (dressed in the groomsmen attire) at your sides. They were on horseback, and they were there to make sure you made it to the altar safely. After all, Malleus and Maleficia would have their heads if you were kidnapped or harmed at all.

You looked and saw that Sir Zigvolt was close to tears, and you, with a smile, asked if he required a handkerchief. This just made a hint of a smile appear on his and Sir Silver’s face as he wiped away his tears. No matter how much pressure you were put under, you always managed to put your friends first as well as maintain a sense of humor. 

Lilia rode up next to them and told them to straighten their posture. He was in his more mature form, taking you a bit by surprise. In all of the years you have known Lilia, you would never have described him as serious. But here he was, in his general’s formal attire, hair long and tied up in a ponytail, commanding a small battalion to trail behind you.

This was a bit much, wasn’t it?

Well, it was too late to ask, since now your handmaidens and manservants had taken their place right behind you and in front of the battalion. Then, the procession started. The castle gate rose to let you and your parade through, and all of the citizens of the town were making their way to the same meadow you were going to right now. All of the decorations upon the houses and stores were so beautiful up close, rather than when you saw them on a balcony.

Looking forward, you saw that you were coming upon the gates of the actual city where the castle resided. You forgot how big the entirety of Briar Valley was. It hit you extra hard when you realized that this meant that the lords and ladies would be there as well. Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and even the common folk. The entire land would be there and attending the festivities that would come after you and Malleus pricked your fingers.

On the side of the road, there was a little child who pulled at his mother’s skirt and pointed at you in amazement. You gave a small wave and he squealed in excitement, making you smile. But, you continued onward through the main street. It wasn’t too long before you reached the edge of the forest.

Inside the forest, there would be a green meadow where everything should be set up, aside from the spinning wheel. You’ve been there when you and Malleus were planning the wedding, and it was one of the few times you were actually able to see your fiancé. He looked very happy to hold you in his arms again… even if it was just for about five minutes.

Yeah, they were very strict on you both not seeing each other too much, as it could cause a distraction for either of you. You slept on entirely different ends of the castle just so the two of you wouldn’t be up to anything suspicious. However, you were able to dine with each other in the dining hall, as there were servants who were monitoring the both of you. It was very annoying, but once you and him were joined in matrimony, you would see each other much more.

The trees were beautiful, and covered with moss. The sun shone through the leaves in little patches of sunlight on the ground. Whenever you passed through the rays, it made you feel its warmth upon your skin. Seeing all of the green made you feel more and more excited about what was to come in a few short moments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malleus had to admit that he had never been more nervous than how he was now. He was standing, awaiting his fiancé at the altar. Everyone was making their way to their seats, excited for the reception after the ceremony. None of them could see how sweaty the prince’s hands had gotten in the short amount of time he had been there.

Perhaps you had second thoughts? It was understandable, considering this would be a huge responsibility placed on your shoulder as a magicless human, something you were kind of used to but also very tired of. But you expressed such excitement when he proposed to you, so that wouldn’t be very reasonable.

What if you were kidnapped or hurt on the way here? Oh, if something happened, someone would die. Whoever would have been audacious enough to rob him of his wedding day to his beloved would pay the hefty price. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his grandmother looking up at the sky to see a dark cloud that was forming. Malleus shook his head to snap out of it, when he heard the ‘all rise’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You took a deep breath and stepped forward into the meadow from off of the path. The sun was shining bright, and you were fighting for your life to try and see where you were stepping. There were gasps as you got to the row furthest from the altar, which is when everyone stood up. The spinning wheel went first down the aisle and was placed on the left side of your groom. The wheel was followed by the groomsmen and bridesmaids. 

Speaking of, your heart fluttered upon seeing Malleus waiting for you. You could feel yourself tearing up as the realization hit you once again: you were getting married. Suddenly, all of the eyes on you didn’t matter. All that mattered was Malleus, since you both would be bound together as one for all of eternity.

Then, you started walking down the aisle. More gasps sounded, and you laughed while tearing up even more. Your fiancé also started tearing up a bit, smiling. Queen Maleficia thought the scene was absolutely adorable, reminding her of her wedding to her husband oh-so-many years ago. She wished you both the same amount of happiness in your marriage that she had with her true love.

Once you made it to your spot at the altar, your very-soon-to-be-husband whispered to you that you looked like you were getting married, trying to distract you from the tears that were swelling up in his eyes. You giggled as you said that yeah, I’m getting married to you. His smile said a million more things than words ever could portray, and the officiant started performing the ceremony.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Crowned Prince Malleus Draconia to Y/N L/N, for the betterment not only of themselves but also for the Kingdom of Briar Valley. Now, without further ado, Your Royal Highness, if you wouldn’t mind taking off your gloves and pricking your finger upon the spinning wheel.”

You watched as the dragon fae removed his black gloves and leaned over to prick his finger. A spot of blood remained on both the wheel and his finger, and he brought his digit to his mouth to lick off the blood. He saw you watching him and gave you a wink. 

“Y/N L/N, if you would please prick your finger now.”

Your hand was shaky as you reached it to the wheel. Memories of a certain film you watched in your childhood flashed in your mind, and you smiled as you recalled what happened to Princess Aurora when she pricked her finger. However, the two of you were living two completely different fairy tale lives. You see, your knight in shining armor was the dragon.

It brought a bit of a sting to your finger, but nothing absolutely painful. You also brought your finger to your mouth, before denying Malleus any look at you (with love, of course) as you turned back to the officiant. 

To anyone else in the audience, you both were taking this relatively well for a couple who was about to be married. However, both your hearts were pounding against your chests. This was the most excited either of you have been, even more so than when Malleus first asked to court you and then proposed to you years later. 

“This spinning wheel is magic, and it turns typical wool into gold. This is a metaphor for the memories you both will make from this point onward. Any injustices suffered before you pricked your fingers shall be washed away and never repeated as you go forward in your marriage and make golden memories. May your happiness and love be eternal.”

At this point, Sebek and Silver lifted up the spinning wheel and walked back down the aisle to load it on the wagon before going back to their spots behind Malleus. At this point, there were a few stray tears running down your face and your husband gently wiped them away. You then turned back to the officiant so that everything could be wrapped up.

“Now, you may kiss your spouse. Congratulations.”

Malleus wasted absolutely no time in dipping you down and kissing you with such burning passion, it left you breathless after. The fae folk and your former peers from NRC all cheered in absolute excitement before he pulled you back up and helped you stay balanced. Then, he offered you his arm for you to wrap your own around before he gently led you back down the aisle.

You were followed by a procession of people; Queen Maleficia was first behind the two of you, then the bridesmaids, and then the groomsmen. Everyone headed to the reception area, excited to dance, party, and eat. You were excited to have a dance with your new husband, and to see him dance with his grandmother. You would be dancing with Professor Crewel, since he was a close father figure to you.

However, once you reached the area, Malleus pulled you to the side to kiss you again. The excitement and pure adoration in his eyes made your heart melt, and you couldn’t help but kiss him back in return. 

“My dear, I have waited many years for this. I’ve foreseen this once upon a dream, but I had no idea that it would come into fruition.”

“As have I, my love. Now, I believe everyone is waiting for us at the banquet table,” you giggled before you both made your way to your spots at the dining table.

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

'It Couple'

masterlist

note: my first andrew ask!!!

warnings: none!

word count: 850~

♡ summary: Where Andrew and Y/n are the 'it couple' of Hollywood

♡ Andrew Garfield x actress/director!reader

request ✓

The loud clicks as well as the bright flashes only got louder and brighter after Andrew and Y/n stepped out of their car, heading into the venue. It was understandable, both were up for very prestigious awards tonight, Andrew for best actor and Y/n for directing as well as writing. But of course paparazzi didn’t care about that, they wanted what sold, and pictures of the couple sold.

The couple was also making their first appearance since their ten year anniversary, they had co-starred in Spider-man together. They were twenty-eight then and both in that place in life to settle down with someone, while still putting their best foot forward for their careers. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, like she was the espresso and he was the milk to a cappuccino.

It took them a while to get married, only being three years of marriage in a ten year relationship, many people at the time pushed for them to take that step. But they knew what was right for them, and they both grew tired of saying ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ when they could be saying ‘husband’ and ‘wife’.

It took them a while to get married, only being three years of marriage in a ten year relationship, many people at the time pushed for them to take that step. But they knew what was right for them, and they both grew tired of saying ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ when they could be saying ‘husband’ and ‘wife’.

Throughout the carpet they whispered sweet nothings and little jokes only they would understand. It was something the internet loved, how, unlike some celebrity couples, you could see the love in their eyes. After ten years it has never left, forever stuck in the honeymoon phase while knowing each other like the back of their hand.

After what felt like an hour, they finally made their way into the venue, venturing out of their seats to mingle, but mostly enjoying the night out together in peace. Not trying to think about the awards they were nominated for.

-

It was now the end of the night, both a little tipsy, Y/n already won for best original screenplay. But now was for the big awards, two of which the couple were nominated for, only making it all the more nerve racking.

“And best directing goes to…” The booming voice on stage spoke, of course stalling as they always did for dramatic affect. It was as if a Y/n was no longer there, like she was merely watching at home on a screen, dreaming she was the director to win.

The only indication it had been announced, is the warm and firm hug Andrew brought her into. Leaving a kiss on her forehead in congratulation, but also of pride. His wife won best director.

“Love, I am so proud of you. You deserve this.”

His words brought her back to life, as they always did, looking up at him she left a kiss on his lips, herself and him whispering ‘I love you’s against each other's soft lips. They didn’t care that they were on live TV, they were celebrating. After quickly getting hugs from the cast and crew that were there, Y/n made her way up the stage, accepting the award.

“I truly just had an out of body experience. This has been a dream since I was- god like thirteen, when I took my first film class. Mrs. Goldstone, thank you for fighting for that class to be given at my school. If it wasn’t I wouldn't be here. And to my husband, Andrew, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t push me to pursue directing six years ago. I love you.”

After thanking the cast and crew, as well as the academy, Y/n made her way off the stage. Only to run backstage to her seat, not wanting to miss the best actor award.Coming back to her seat she was huffing and puffing from all the running, “What? Did you run here?” “Yes, actually.”

Turning his head, left another string of kisses from the woman’s forehead to her check, “I’m so proud of you.”

“And the nominees for best actor!” The camera panned to the respective actors as the man on stage read off the names, “And the award for best actor goes to… Andrew Garfield! Tick, Tick… Boom!”

Both rose from their chairs, smiling widely, and bringing each other into a tight hug, “My turn to be proud. You deserve this, I love you.” “I love you.”

Andrew made his way to the stage this time, accepting the award, shaking the hands out everyone on stage before he made his way to the microphone, “I just can only say thank you. I know everyone says it, but I did not see this coming. I want to thank every member of the cast as well as the crew, you made this movie possible. And Lin, thank you, I love working with you. And my wife, who lied to Lin when he asked her if I could sing. Without you immediately lying for me, this wouldn’t be possible. I love you.”

[futfemfantasies]

failed \\ sam kerr x reader

TW: injury (the dreaded 3 letters), fluff

2023 World Cup. Home soil. Co-captain with the love of your life. Playing in your hometown Stadium is one thing but playing a World Cup there? It's a whole other dream come true.

Sitting next to Sam, your knee is bouncing uncontrollably. She put her hand on your thigh and gives it a light squeeze, silently asking if you're okay. You nod and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. The starting lineup including you and Sam start to walk out to meet your mascots. You look around and everyone has theirs except you. A small tap on your thigh forces you to look down at your mascot. It’s none other than your mini me aka your niece Athena. You pick up the smiling and now excited to-year-old and kiss her squishy, chubby cheeks.

"You win Aunt y/n/n?"

"Not yet princess, Aunt Sammy has to score some goals first"

Sam turns around before giving your your niece multiple kisses.

You nudge Sam to start walking out and the roaring of the fans brought a wide smile to your face. Lining up, Athena starts bouncing on your hip in excitement. After the national anthem, you give Athena back to your sister and start to get prepped for the game. Your job back to the team just in time to hear Sam's pep talk.

"1...2...3... TILLIES!"

You and Sam do your quick handshake before you jog to midfield alongside Katrina and Kyra. The whistle starts and the battle for third place begins. Sweden have come in strong but you and your midfield trio have held your own. So far, Rolfö and Asilani have been targeting you and every time you get up, Sam looks more pissed than before. Around 30 minutes into the second half is where things went wrong. Recovering the ball from Stina was fine, it was the popping sound in your left knee that wasn't.

Screaming as you went down immediately saw the ref blow her whistle. Medics rushed to you, only for Sam to beat them. Same place your head in her lap as the medics touched around the rapidly swelling area.

"Even if it is what we think, I'll be there every step of the way"

Sam helped you off the field, with a standing ovation from the crowd and players. Sam turns back to the game and stomps over to Stina.

"What the fuck is your problem huh? She's injured because of you. You injured your teammates and the best midfielder in the game! I hope you're happy with yourself"

Stina looks visibly scared and your teammates push Sam away before she got herself carded. Sam made at her personal mission to win this game for you, even if that meant doing a few extra slide tackles and shoulder pushes. The final whistle blows after extra time and Sam is speechless. You watch on the small tv as Sam is in full blown tears and the medic said you can go out to the field.

Hopping down the hallways, you see the familiar entryway to the field. Taking your time, you finally get to the grass and you start looking for your short ponytailed beauty. Stina notices you looking around and decides to quickly apologise before Sam scares her off again. The poor girl was on the verge of tears until you reassured her it was nothing she did. You lock eyes with Sam and said your goodbyes to Stina.

You both meet halfway and Sam pulled you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. Crutches dropped to the floor, you gave back and even tighter hug as you hear what Sam's mumbling.

"Hey, look at me"

You almost whisper, holding Sam's face in your hands.

"You gave it your all and that's what matters. I love you through all the wins, losses, draws, fourth places. We've done this country so proud okay?"

Sam looks down at your knee and nods slowly.

"I love you too, I'll be here through it all. I'll take some personal leave"

You argue back-and-forth but decided she can take two weeks off. Sam turns around and squats down a little picking up the crutches.

"Jump on. I think there's some fans that want to say thank you to their hometown hero"

You roll your eyes and hop on the slightly older girls back.

You see your teammates first before doing a lap of honour. Right at the end, Sam stops just before a little boy with your jersey on. You direct Sam over and hop down, still leaning on Sam.

"Hey buddy, cool jersey you have on there"

"Y-you my favourite. I wanna be you when I’m older"

You pout at the cuteness at the boy who couldn't be older than 4. You decide in the moment to give the boy your jersey. You take it off and someone gives you a marker. You write a sweet message on it before giving it to him. His mum asked for a photo and of course you say yes. The boy thanks you numerous times and you give him a hug before leaving.

Sam comes back and put a jacket on you before carrying you to the locker room. She said she down at your cubby, which is next to hers, and gives you a look.

"i'm fine babe, really. Are you okay?"

Sam shrugs her shoulders and looks at you.

"I dunno. I wanted to win for you and I failed"

Sam hangs her head, looking at her boots. She hold back tears and you scoot closer to her the best you can.

"You didn't fail me baby. Every game you play for a club or country makes me so unbelievably proud of you. You can never fail in my eyes Sam"

Without warning, Sam pulled you into a bruising kiss, with your teammates wolf whistling and fake gagging.

"Marry me?"

Sam whispers as your foreheads touch.

"A million times yes my love"

“Now let’s get that knee better Mrs Kerr”

“MRS KERR?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

liked by samanthakerr20, stephcatley, leahwilliamson and 89,064 others

ynyln: 19.08.23 ✨ the worst day became the best ✨ can’t wait to do life with you 🥺😍

view all 42,689 comments…

stephcatley: she’s growing up!! Happy for you boo xx

↪️ ynyln: ❤️❤️ love you my steffy

samanthakerr20: Mrs Kerr has a nice ring to it I think 😉

↪️ ynyln: 🙄🙄🙄

leahwilliamson: big sis is getting married!! I’m so happy for you 😁 love you always xx

↪️ ynyln: 🥺 lil sis, love you xx

[ystrike1]

You're the Cutest when you're pathetic ~Dru**ed S*x with Co-Dependent Chiaki - By Umekoppe (8.5/10)

The title says it all. A handsome, codependent yandere barges into our main characters life. He makes it better in every way. He is a devoted and kind boyfriend, who she genuinely loves. Their relationship gradually slides down a slippery slope, towards toxicity and substance abuse. This one is a sad and scary read.

She's the ugly twin.

The fat twin.

The dumb twin.

Aoi stays out of the way. Her sister beat her at everything. She didn’t enjoy her childhood, and now she's a lonely adult. She doesn't get bullied. She gets used and critiqued constantly at work. Her boss does it to push more out of her. She also works for an abusive company in general. She has an office job, but she is severely underpaid. Even more so than her coworkers, because she gets saddled with helping everyone else.

Chiaki saves her when she's getting harassed on the train. He's been watching her for a while. He sees what she can't see. She's a kind person. She's too kind. He wants her to give that kindness to someone who cares about her, instead of strangers.

Specifically, him.

Chiaki is a record producer and songwriter. He's the rare kind of artist that makes alot of cash. I like the hint here. Producers are notoriously exploitative. They are literally known worldwide for taking advantage of naive dreams, and discarding artists that are no longer needed. Aoi just thinks he's cool and talented, but nice people don't usually succeed in the music industry.

He says weird things sometimes, but he is the best boyfriend she has ever had. There's a timeskip. They are a real couple. After two years Chiaki starts to get impatient. He wants Aoi to rely on him more. Aoi is pretty uncomfortable with being spoiled though, even after two years of gentle love.

Gentle love didn’t work. Aoi still sees herself as an unworthy, lucky person. Chiaki choosing to date her is a miracle in her opinion. She can't see why he was attracted to her kindness. He is naturally colder. Aoi is, despite all of her insecurity, a kind and hardworking person. That's even more admirable than it usually would be in this case, because Aoi isn't popular or successful. She's a kind and caring girlfriend, even though her life is hard.

Chiaki starts to push. He wants to live together. They're in an apartment now, but he has money. He wants a big house and privacy. He wants Aoi to quit her job and marry him. He is a rich man, and she hates her job anyway.

It's a win for both of them.

Aoi starts to get conceited. One of her coworkers has been using her as an errand girl. That coworker lost her boyfriend of four years, and she's been bumming around mixer parties looking for a new one. A handsome rich one. A guy like Chiaki. Aoi looks down on her, and she thinks she'll be ok no matter what, because she has a capable man.

She freaks out. She doesn't like what she sees inside herself. She doesn't want to live off Chiaki's money. She wants to value him as a partner, because he treats her so well. She doesn't want to waste her time being angry at coworkers. She doesn't want to hate her life.

She wants to be good.

Chiaki has been doing his best to get what he wants. He knows how to put on a show, and he loves Aoi very much. When a cute fangirl starts following him he handles it in seconds. He shows Aoi how capable he is whenever he can. He thought being the perfect boyfriend would be enough.

....but now Aoi wants space. She wants a career. She doesn't want her only accomplishment to be dating a rich guy. She wants to feel proud of HERSELF. It doesn't matter if Chiaki praises her daily. She needs to love herself too.

He kidnaps her(?). They move into his dream house after he manipulates her. He tells her he's not nice, and he loves her very much. She quits her job, and she becomes a wife that doesn't go out much. Someone who exists to be loved by her husband.