#she loves it here she was born and raised but. she left for a reason. and now she's forced to be back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seosracha · 6 months ago

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⸻ SOUVENIR - park jongseong

SYNOPSIS ⸻ getting into your dream school, far away from the place you are forced to call home, in a romantic place like Paris has always been your dream. Even more dreamy is your fathers best friend, Park Jonseong, who just so happens to be a well-off lawyer in the heart of France.

PAIRING ⸻ dads best friend!jay x fem!reader

GENRE ⸻ strangers to lovers, smut, angst?, fluff

TAGS ⸻ power imbalance, age gap (jay is 38, reader is 20), daddy issues, multiple mentions of parental death, rich lawyer!jay :3, descriptions of France/Paris/New York that might be inaccurate, making out/kissing, f!ngering, slapping, dacryphilia, unprotected s3x, 4nal, plot with p0rn, lmk if I missed something!

FEATURING ⸻ enha hyung line + jungwon, aespa (-winter..), (briefly) riize's anton

WC ⸻ 17.5k

PLAYLIST ⸻ souvenir by selena gomez, paris by sabrina carpenter, je me souviens de tout by tayc, sad girl by lana del ray, dear god by tate mcrae gibson girl by ethel cain

MDNI. This is a work meant for entertainment purposes only. References to places are imaginary and not meant to deprecate their image.

There’s one thing about people who weren't born rich- they’ll tell you about it.

Inherently, not bad. The right situation sometimes requires those exact words that make every head turn. For Park Jongseong, it made a great sob story. Especially the stories of Hewes Street and his mothers tragic passing.

He was raised by his single, overbearing father who worked as a French teacher in a low income high-school. Their apartment in Brooklyn, New York was falling apart day by day. Sometimes, he’d even have to skip brushing his teeth because today might be the day their old, rusty pipes explode right in his face.

His mother passed away shortly after he was born, leaving his dad crushed. In a way, he was the only tangible evidence of her existence. Pictures, videos, letters- none of that mattered when at the end of the day, his son was the only piece of his wife that was left on this cruel earth.

At 15, Jay got a job at a restaurant near his school. That’s where he met your father.

At first he was envious of him. Not because of the stupid reasons most people his age back then fought over- but because your father wasn't working at that restaurant to survive the next month, but because he was forced to by his parents for misbehaving.

For him, it was just another month, another day. For Jay, it was all he worried about. Winter, summer, spring, autumn-all the same for someone who doesn't need to think about how they’ll heat up the apartment enough to get by and not freeze to death.

Eventually, they got close. Really close.

Your father would help him sneak out leftover food. He thought it was gross at first, and it wasn't hard to make that deduction, judging by his expressions and remarks. Jay knew it, and honestly all he could do was sigh. Soon enough, the boy understood that it wasn't really a choice for his friend, but an attempt to get himself and his dad through the day.

3 years later, Jay got a scholarship from one of the best universities in France. This was his chance, his lemon that he’d squeeze every last drop out of. And so he did, even managing to stay in touch with your dad through it all.

Life in a foreign country was fucking hard. Being treated like an idiot and broke scholar, was even fucking harder. Thank God the older people who employed him later on had a soft heart for those who didn't grow up in the land of prosperity.

He was already three months into his new life when you were born. Jay never got to meet his bestfriends little girl. Well, until today. 20 years later.

Jay remembers it so vividly- the phone call from his dearest friend, who could barely get those two words past his lips- “She’s dead”. The love of his life, the mother of his two precious children was gone. And even though Jay’s mom was no longer here, he didn't really know what they felt, because he wasn't old enough to remember his own. He didn't know what to say, how to comfort him.

That was 10 years ago. Today, it’s your father who's getting married again. Now, he’s finally back to see how everything has changed, even when it didn't seem that long ago when he left.

…

It’s never too late to find love again, but Jesus Christ, why did the woman have to be only 7 years older than you? You really hated your father for moving on because to you, your mother was still here. You could feel her, and maybe if you reached out far enough, at the perfect moment, maybe then you could touch her too.

Lee Ann was your fathers optometrist. He was her first long term patient after she finished school. They dated for 2 years before he finally asked her to marry him. She loves your father, she really does. And even if you wanted to deny it, you simply cannot.

“He forgot all about mom” your younger brother, Jungwon, sighs, twirling the wine glass that you sneakily passed him in his hand.

A weak smile forces itself upon your lips as you grab onto his hand “It’s not like that, Wonnie” he nodded his head, scoffing under his breath “As long as we’re here, he’ll never forget her. And she’d want him to be happy, you know that” you added, and he just hummed in approval, the sound forced.

“I can’t wait to move out” he says, his eyes lighting up just a bit at the mention.

It’s been a year since you moved out of your father’s house. The decision was a hard one to make- leaving your brother in a home that only reminded him of the mother he barely got to know terrified you. But when your best friends, Ningning and Sunghoon, offered to move in with them, you knew it was for the best.

“I told you you can stay with us” he shook his head at the words, a small laugh escaping his parted lips.

“Ningning hates me” you chuckled, remembering how the two would always bicker whenever your brother visited.

“She doesn't hate you. And even if, Sunghoon loves you, so who cares?” you remind him, and he smiles.

Park Sunghoon, your best friend, ex-boyfriend, your little brothers ‘older brother’- he’s been there. Jungwon absolutely adored him, and so did you.

You two met in high-school after he moved to New York in his sophomore year. He was absolutely terrified, growing up in a small village in Wisconsin where the kids weren't even comparable to the ones he encountered on his first day in New York. It didn't take him long to blend in though. Now, he is studying Fine Arts at Juilliard.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you two” a voice beams from behind you, and it doesn't take you long to figure out it’s your drunken father. You can hear Jungwon sigh, before turning around.

He stands there, a half empty champagne glass in hand. Next to him, a tall, sharp featured man stands, smiling brightly as he looks at both you and Jungwon. You don't recognize him.

“This is Jongseong, do you remember him? He flew in all the way from Paris to be here today for me! Isn’t that incredible?” your father beamed excitedly. It almost made you think it’s his friend who he was more happy about on this day, than his now wife.

The man looked at you, sticking out his hand to greet you “It’s great to finally meet you two. I’ve heard only good things” he waits for you to return the gesture, and after a moment of silence and intense staring, you finally do.

Jay thinks you really do look like your mother. He’s only seen the occasional picture that his friend would post on Facebook, but he never saw the resemblance. Well, until now.

The softness in your features, the color of your lips, the mole he swears your mother had too- he feels his chest heavy uneasily as his eyes just can't seem to leave you.

“Nice to meet you, Sir” you nod, releasing his hand. No wedding band, you note.

He smiles with a chuckle before shaking his head “Just call me Jay” he corrects and reluctantly, you mumble an ‘Alright’.

Jungwon’s gaze switches back and forth from Jay to his father “Can’t believe you're actually his friend” the jab seems to make your father laugh, and it confuses the both of you.

“That’s harsh” he chuckles awkwardly, forcing a smile on his face as he doesn't seem to understand the sudden hostility “Your dad has always been good to me”

Jungwon just nods, unamused. He doesn't seem to believe that the man that has never been a good father to him could possibly be a good friend to anyone.

“Paris, huh? I heard the women are the prettiest over there, right?” Jungwon asks, and Jay’s expression seems to change at the switch of topic.

He looks at you for a brief moment before answering the question “I guess, yes, you can say that. Haven't found one though” he smiles, and it doesn't look like he’s saddened by the fact.

Jay takes his job very seriously. Working hard is the reason he has what he does now, not taking shortcuts. It took reading between the lines and actually making a fucking name for himself to get here.

He remembers his first years at university- he’d get out of class and not for a moment would he close his book. In the crowded metro, he’d revise and revise, and even when he got off, the disgusting smell of piss marinating in the underground, he still kept studying.

“I heard you want to study abroad in Paris, hm?” his head turns as he asks you. His eyes move up your figure as he awaits your answer.

It takes you a moment to reply “Ah, yeah- yes. I applied for a scholarship last month” he nods.

Jay’s hand lands on your shoulder, slowly moving down your back “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you” he smiles. You watch his hand on your skin, only looking away as he retorts it back to his side “And if you have any questions, don't be scared to ask”

You honestly didn't care what life was like in Paris. You already knew it wasn't nice. Especially as a woman- something he’d probably never tell you anyway. Nonetheless, you mouth a ‘Thank you’ and bow appreciatively.

“I still don't get this whole ‘Paris Phenomenon’, she can't barely speaks French! You should talk her out of it, Jong” your father comments.

You’ve heard his disapproval many times- from the moment you found the school, to last month when you applied. Maybe he was embarrassing you, but you can't expect the old fashioned man to understand the simple concept of studying abroad.

“I don't think that’s a problem, eh? I’m assuming it’s an international program” he looks down at you with a comforting smile. Your father seems taken-aback by the defense on his friends’ side.

You nod in agreement, and your father seems to give up on his attempts to talk you out of it yet again.

Aunt Lu walks up to your father, eloping him in a hug, spilling applause at how beautiful the newlywed couple is and so on. Noticing Jungwon, she cups his cheeks, and with a sweet tone praises him for God knows what.

Jay once again turns to you, and leaning down whispers “Don’t mind him, yeah? I’m rooting for you” a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

Your head turns to look at him, the proximity of his face thrilling. With widened eyes and parted lips you nod, even attempting a smile. He chuckles at the reaction, moving away from you and joining your father and aunt.

The older woman beckons them to join her at another table, smiling brightly “Leoni wants to play you a piece, come!” (Leoni, your cousin who cut off your braid when you were barely 5 years old. Fucking bitch)

Before parting, Jay bids you two a quick farewell, your father leaving with him.

“If you want him, at least don’t make it so obvious” Jungwon snorted, his eyes following the two men, as he pressed his lips together to prevent himself from laughing out loud.

“That’s gross. You’re gross, Won” you shake your head.

…

Early in the morning, Sunghoon kicks your door open, toothbrush in his mouth as he throws mail on your bed “It’s from IFA. Open it” he stands in your doorway, waiting for your next action.

You look down at the envelope studying everything- your name, the address. “Maybe I should do it with my dad?”

He removes the brush from his mouth “Are you seriously gonna make me wait? Jeez, woman” he tries to be serious, but a chuckle escapes him as he walks out of the room, and into the living room.

You didn't know if Jay had already gone back or not. Your father had scheduled his honeymoon two weeks after the actual ceremony for reasons you weren't quite sure of (maybe because of his friend, you note).

You still think about the look on his face when he spoke to you, a hint of something inexplicably kind in his voice. His figure, the faint outline of his chiseled body on the light blue dress shirt. The slicked back blond hair, the pathway of veins on his arms- it’s all you can think about, really.

And it doesn’t necessarily make you feel good about yourself either. What the fuck are you doing thinking about a middle aged man in ways that are far too perverse for comfort, truly? But you can't help it- it’s almost as if it comes naturally. Especially at night, when you feel the loneliest.

You place the letter next to your bag, dialing your fathers number.

…

He holds the letter in his hand as you continue to usher him to open it “Just do it Dad, I told you already that I want you to do it!” he sighs again, and starts ripping the envelope open.

Jay turned out to be staying for the two weeks that led up to the honeymoon. Your room, turned guest bedroom was where he was staying.

Today he looked even better, if that’s even possible. Comfortable attire is definitely his look, you note.

Taking out the letter, your father reads through the content, his eyes soon landing on the bold, ‘ACCEPTED’. His expression doesn't seem to change, a whirlwind of thoughts passing through his head. He knows that you won't change your mind. He knows you’ll leave as soon as he tells you.

“So? What does it say?” Jay perks, setting down his coffee mug, and scooting closer to your father. He smiles as he looks down at the paper. It brings him back to when he was in a similar position, asking your father to open the acceptance letter for him too.

“Did I get in?” you ask, your hands going up and down your thighs as you await the answer.

“What do you think it says?” Jay tilts his head, a smirk on his lips as he teases you. You bite down on your bottom lip anxiously and shrug.

“Accepted” your father finally speaks, as he looks up from the letter. He doesn't seem as excited as you are at the words. You try to hold back, but the wide smile involuntarily appears on your face.

“It’s great news, really” Jay beams, grabbing the letter from your father to pass it to you as the man still seems to be in disbelief.

You look at it yourself and it feels unreal. A scholarship that’ll cover all three years of tuition- it almost feels like you don't deserve it.

“What; what now? Are you actually going to go?” your father speaks up, his tone surprisingly stern.

Your smile drops as you fold the paper, placing it back onto the coffee table “Of course” you manage to utter, your voice unsure.

Jay’s face twists in confusion as he looks back and forth between you and his friend. You can’t seem to understand your father’s reaction either.

“Yeah? And where will you stay? How will you pay for the living cost in a country like France? Have you thought about these things, or did you just stupidly apply out of curiosity?” he rambles, and his friends' presence doesn't seem to hold him back.

You scoff “I’ll get a job. Ever heard of that one?” he doesn't seem to enjoy your attitude, his jaw clenching in annoyance.

“You think a job at a café or restaurant will pay for that? That would be nice, wouldn't it?” he sneers.

Jay sits up straight, reaching out to grab your fathers shoulder, an attempt to calm him down “She could stay with me” he suggests.

There’s a puzzled look on your face as you take in his words. Does he actually mean it? Or is he just trying to save himself from a fight between you and your father?

“Don’t be silly, Jong” he chuckles, shaking his head in bewilderment.

He looks at you for a sign of discomfort. He can’t seem to find any “I’m serious. It’s the most I can do to repay you for what you did for me before I left”

Jay remembers that day very well. He was at the restaurant when his father called him. “They cut off our power and water. I’m so sorry, Jay” he tried to calm his dad down as the man kept repeating endless sorry’s. He was two weeks away from his paycheck- Jay couldn't do anything. He was helpless.

Your father witnessed the situation unfold, he saw how panicked Jay was, as he hurried to grab his wallet. With a bit of reluctance, he walked up to him after he ended the call “Stay at my place, Jong. Seriously”

“I don’t know” your father mutters, rubbing his temples.

“Would you like that?” Jay turns to you, letting the man next to him consider the proposition.

It’s confusing to you how with no second thought he invited you inside his home. It’s so effortless and it doesn't seem forced- it’s almost like he wants you there. Almost like he wants to take care of you, give you a good environment to study in, and have you close.

“You could stay until you find a stable job. Or longer. I don’t mind” he adds after your silence.

You take a deep breath and nod “If it’s okay with you, of course”

“I’m the one offering, sweetheart” he chuckles.

Your father leans back on the couch, exhaling slowly “I know you’ll go anyway. And It’s not like I want you to end up homeless on the streets of Paris”

____

Shortly after, Jay returned to France.

You spent most of your time with Ningning, Sunghoon and your brother during the rest of summer. You didn't know how long it’d take for you to see them again and that killed you.

You and Jay exchanged a few messages during this period- he’d confirm if the packages with your belongings had arrived or send pictures of the room he’d begun renovating for you.

You told him he didn't have to, feeling a little flustered by his kindness. Yet every time, he’d tell you it’s nothing. “I’ve been meaning to renovate it anyway.” he messaged you after you said it really didn't matter to you how the room looked.

You wondered where his effortless helpfulness came from. Of course, you were his best friend's daughter at the end of the day, and that’s a good enough reason. That still didn't keep you from feeling like a stranger to him. Because well, you were.

He knew about your existence while you weren't really even aware of his. You could never tell your father's friends apart, so that made Jay just another piece of his endless stories. And at times like these, you regret not listening. Maybe then you’d at least have a vision, idea of the man you’ll be living with for at least the next 6 months. Apart from being fucking hot, there was nothing that accompanied.

“Still don’t understand why you chose Paris. Isn’t Parsons equally good?” Sunghoon asks, his hands folding your clothes as he helps you pack the last of your belongings.

You chuckle “You’re only saying that because Niki goes there. And that girl you’ve been hooking up with” he looks at you with mock offense.

New York had good fashion schools. Great, even. But you were too young to not go and explore the world. Staying in one place, never trying out new things sounded like a nightmare.

“That’s a lie. It’s a good school, seriously” he defends and you nod, because there was no denying it “It doesn't matter though. Paris will be fucking dope. You better send us postcards with the Eiffel Tower on it”

Ningning, Sunghoon and Jungwon see you off at the airport. All the way there, your little brother and Ningning argue, the younger one beating her to the passenger seat. It’s endearing, even if normally you wouldn't enjoy listening to it. Your father, too busy with yet another vacation, doesn't get to be there for your departure. Maybe you’d feel disappointed- the difference is that it isn't the first time, and it surely isn't the last time.

“Visit me, mmh?” you mutter into Jungwon’s sweater as he hugs you tightly. You can feel him nod “Okay”

___

Jay, who was always a clean person, seems to be even cleaner over the past week. He ferociously scrubs at the bathroom tiles, cleaning in between every crevice as if you’d even notice his hard work. He washed his windows on Monday, but on Friday, the day before your arrival, he feels a sudden urge to do it again. And the amount of money he’d spent on accessories and other decorations for his apartment that was already beautiful before that- he’d rather not say.

Jay had texted you early in the morning “Work today. Left the keys in the lobby under your name”

A hint of disappointment flashes across your face as you read his message. You don’t really know what causes the reaction- perhaps the letdown, as you were undeniably excited to see him again (who knows why, really?).

You take the RER B train, the ride excruciatingly long as you wonder just how large the city must be. Navigating New York suddenly seemed so easy, as you try to figure out how exactly you should get to the apartment itself.

At the reception, with the help of your broken French and a translator, you managed to convey to the old man that worked there that you were indeed the one Park Jongseong left his keys for.

Jay lived on Rue Vaneau, close to Les Invalides, in a sunny corner apartment with east and south exposure. It had an impressive ceiling height, all the old elements on it and on the walls have been beautifully preserved. There was an entrance gallery, a dining kitchen, 3 bedrooms, one bathroom and a laundry room right next to it.

Shelves with stacked up books were absolutely everywhere, and you use the opportunity of his absence to sort through them, see what the man does in his free time. You're shocked at how well he takes care of his plants- they all seemed so healthy.

And the room he prepared for you was beyond perfect. He left it perfectly clean prior to your arrival, making sure you would be comfortable putting away all your things. The boxes you sent out through the entirety of summer sat in the corner of the room, along with fresh, new sheets he’d bought for you.

In a way, this is exactly how you imagined him to live.

It still felt extremely odd to be in his space all alone. This wasn't yours, yet here you were, unlocking the door, stepping inside and walking around. You knew he wanted this, or at least didn't mind it- that didn't stop you from feeling like an intruder though. You wonder how long it’ll take you to actually shake this feeling off and feel comfortable in your new home.

For the rest of that day you unpack, and unpack, and after a short break- unpack some more. Jungwon calls you right after he wakes up, begging for a tour which you decide not to give him. “Won, I feel weird even being here. I’d feel even fucking weirder showing you around. Shit, like some stalker” he sighs at the response, and instead, asks for the view out your window and you gladly provide him with it.

At around 7PM you received a message from Jay “I’ll be there in 20. Got some dinner”. Honestly you didn't know what made you happier- the prospect of his awaited return or some real, warm food.

Jay went through his morning routine thinking about you. He sat at his desk at the firm and thought about you. And on the ride back to his place, he thinks only about you. He doesn't quite figure out why, but he’s aware of the fact that he probably shouldn't.

What shall he greet you with? Definitely not the Chinese in his backseat. But he’s far too exhausted to actually make something. And maybe he should feel guilty, but he hopes you won't mind.

Stepping into his apartment, he finds it awfully quiet. Yet he still can feel someone's presence. A velvety smell lingers in the air, and he recognizes it. His hand pauses at your door- he thinks about the things he should say, or maybe not say. Eventually he knocks, and it doesn't take long for your voice to welcome him in.

“Hey” he cringes as the phrase comes out awfully unnatural.

You look up from your position on the floor (previously, consumed with sorting through your memorabilia), a small, little bit awkward, smile finding its way on your face “Hey”

He leans against the doorway, scanning the room to see all the shelves and spaces suddenly filled with your belongings “How was your flight?” He thinks it's the right thing to ask.

You swallow, before speaking again “It was alright. Slept through half of it, honestly” you nod, and he chuckles reciprocating the action.

“Hungry?” he asks, and you spot the plastic bag hanging on his finger. Normally, you’d feel bad about someone buying you something, but under these circumstances, you feel relieved.

You nod, and stand up, following him to the kitchen.

“I should've treated you to a nicer meal today. I’m sorry” he apologizes, and sets the takeout box in front of you. Handing you the utensils, he sits across from you.

“It’s more than enough, don’t worry” you smile.

“I hope you find everything okay in the room. Didn't really know what you like” he starts, and you shake your head.

He asked his female coworkers for advice but instantly regretted it when they started interrogating him. It’s a hard thing to explain- the idea of his best friend's daughter that's nearly 20 years younger, moving in with him.

“It’s perfect, Jay. You didn't have to, seriously” you say, and he feels his heart skip a beat at the sound of his name falling from your lips “Thank you. I don’t know how I would've managed without your help” you add.

He can still sense the awkwardness in your movements and tone as you refer to him. He wonders when that’ll change. Soon, he hopes. Very soon, actually.

“I’m sure you could do it. You’re a smart girl. And I’m also sure you’ll find your way around here soon enough” the reassurement warms your heart, as you thank him again.

You are smart, and you would manage to survive on your own in Paris. But he’s secretly satisfied with the fact that you didn't.

Maybe this minimizes the chances of you finding random hookups or getting black-out drunk on the weekends. He tells himself he’s only doing this to protect you, and shield you from the dangerous men that walk the streets of this city. But he knows it’s not entirely true.

Jay is certainly infatuated by you, and it feels really fucking wrong. But he can’t stop it, no.

_____

Paris has never been louder. The air is filled with chatter, distant traffic and the inevitable end of summer.

Jay didn't really plan on spending his day off walking around the city with you, but somehow, he’s here.

To him, it was just Paris. He used to be like you and he remembers it well. The euphoria kept diminishing year by year leading him right to where he is now- wasting away his life in courtrooms and bars. But at least people knew his name.

The city doesn't amuse him anymore- he’s been here, seen it all. But the flicker in your eyes and happiness that radiates off of every one of your words makes him feel it again. He’s back to the day where everything felt new to him.

Early in the morning, two days after your arrival you told him you’d go out, explore the streets. You had to. Even Sunghoon had begun making fun of you “You’ve been in fucking Paris for the past two days and haven't even seen the Eiffel Tower yet. And you know, the longer you delay it, the longer it’ll take for our postcards to arrive” you smiled, and with a small sigh, told him you’d do it the next day.

“Wait here” Jay said when you entered the living room.

He walked right into his bedroom, closing the door as you stood there with confusion painting your face. After a moment he came back, fully dressed, looking really fucking good “I’ll go with you”

“I can manage” you said politely, feeling the tiniest bit of guilt. The man in front of you worked tirelessly everyday, and instead of regenerating on his day off, he’s forced to pointlessly walk around with you.

“You’re a kid,” he chuckles, leaning against the wall.

“You say that too much” you retort, walking over to where he's at, slipping on your shoes.

“Because it’s true” he watches you with his arms crossed, waiting.

You huff, shaking your head “I think it’s because you don’t want to see me as anything else”

You didn't mean anything by it. Just a simple nudge at his superiority complex perhaps. But still, he seems to stiffen up at the words.

Jay pretends he doesn't hear them, he acts as if they had never been said because it’s better that way, he’s sure.

That day you actually spent time with him. Dinner was always the same- forced conversations that always ended with his infamous “I’m tired”. Shortly after, he’d be off to bed and you were alone, again.

Of course you didn't expect him to become anyone to you. Being allowed to live in his apartment was enough. Anything else went beyond any kind of favor, and you were aware of it.

Yet you still attempted to be in his space. Too in his space sometimes.

You stop at a bookstore. It’s independent and most likely on

the verge of bankruptcy. The dusty wooden bookshelves, and faint smell of old paper seems to bother you, as he looks like he’s in heaven.

“Haven't you already read like all of these” you complain watching him flip through the books.

He chuckles, handing you the red, silky hardback “That’s the sad thing about life. I’ll never get to read them all”

“Wish that’s what my problems sounded like” you mutter, and he pushes off the shelf, stepping closer and reaching past you to grab another dusty book.

“You're really judgmental. As expected for a fashion design student” he comments, and you nudge him with your elbow. He should move away, but he lets you.

Jay keeps flipping through the pages, ignoring the way you huff in annoyance at his remark.

“What does that even mean?” you ask, and his lips twitch, as a smile threatens to spread across his face.

“I think you already know” you leave it there, pressing your back against the shelves, ostentatiously and playfully crossing your arms with an irritated exhale.

Walking along the Seine at nightfall is awfully romantic, yet he still does it. For you.

You stop at the edge, leaning against the low, stone wall “The water's really dirty” you say, and he just hums in agreement. You turn around, now facing him “Did you always want to live here?” your tone doesn't really make it sound like you're actually curious.

He shrugs, moving closer. His body falls onto the wall, right next to you “No” it’s short and you can tell he isn't lying.

It confuses you. This has always been your dream, and seeing the city only verified those desires “But you do now?”

You almost need the confirmation, awfully scared to experience regret. At the end of the day, you two aren't much different.

“It’s a city like any other. The longer you're here, you realize it’s nothing special” you scoff, looking up at him.

His gaze is on the pavement, but as soon as he feels your eyes on him, he looks up.

“You’re like really depressing and unromantic”

He tilts his head, humming “I think you’ve watched too many French romance films” you nudge him with your body, and he chuckles softly at the interaction. He stays still, watching you.

“I just think it’s a waste to be here and not fall in love at least once” you reply, and he finds it humorous in a way.

Jay has been here for most of his life, and never married. Somewhere in his twenties, right after finishing university, he’d use his degree to pick up girls. He cringes thinking about it now- how the only two things he had going on for himself was fucking everything in plain sight and a degree that he hadn’t even put to use yet.

But as soon as he found a job, it stopped. He prided himself in his professionalism and control. That’s probably why he’s single and not even close to being not-single.

“Sounds like a nightmare” his tone is mocking, and in response, you roll your eyes.

“Why?” His gaze is steady and firm. A little knowing.

He sighs “I think you just don’t really leave the same after”

You hold his gaze like you want to say something more. Like you know something he won't admit.

It’s late when you return home. The morning buzz falls, replaced by the intense Parisian nightlife. He didn't expect to be out so long- maybe 3, 4 hours. Still, he let himself be dragged around for the whole day.

He should go to bed, he really should. Instead, he’s with you, on his balcony, drinking fucking wine. But he was the one who brought it out, he was the one to initiate this. He’s just trying to get to know you better, he tells himself.

“You’re not even 21” yet he still hands you the glass.

You laugh softly, looking around “We’re in Europe” he puts his hands up in defeat, his back pressed against the wall.

You’re sitting on the railing, legs swinging slightly as the city spreads out before your eyes. He watches you, and it almost looks like you're memorizing it, afraid that soon that’s all it’s gonna be- a memory, a souvenir for your mind.

“You’ll fall” his voice sounds a little lazy, but cautious.

“Would you catch me?” you smile, tilting your head in a curious manner.

Do you always have to be so teasing? Or are you just being yourself and he’s slowly spiraling into insanity. That’s a stretch, certainly, but Jay still hates the way he lets you.

The wind lifts your hair, the lights make your skin glow and your body is positioned in such a welcoming way. You look so young, so fearless and most importantly- fucking tempting. Jay looks away before he lets himself think any further.

He’s a grown man and you haven't even started university. You're his best friend's daughter with whom he is temporarily living. That’s all it is and that’s all it’ll ever be.

“You sound confident” he retorts, and you smile, sipping the drink in your hand. He does the same.

It’s only been two days. Where did it come from?

“Because I know you like having me around” you grin, and he shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

Oh you have no fucking idea. It kills him, and at the same time, makes him feel alive. That’s pure tragedy.

“You’re putting words in my mouth” he mutters, lifting the glass to his lips. He’s trying not to look at you, he really is.

You smile, and jump off the railing setting the drink down on a glass table.

“And maybe that’s because you never say what you actually want to” you answer, passing by him and entering the apartment again. It’s so quiet, Jay almost thinks he imagined it, misheard it.

Your fingers brush past his, and he feels it. He feels it even after you’re gone.

He knows exactly what you meant and it should scare him. But it doesn't. Because the truth was, Jay wanted you to say it so he could be the one to prove you wrong.

_____

It’s Sunday. And you're fucking stressed.

The week that led up to the beginning of the semester had been fun enough to make you second guess going to school all together. Seeing the picture perfect city with your own two eyes was a blessing you never expected to experience.

You’re on his couch, flipping through one of the aged books that could be found on his shelf.

French. Complicated. Too serious. But at least you could pretend you understand, or even care for the piece of literature.

Jay sits at the kitchen counter, typing away at his laptop. And honestly, he doesn't know why. Just five steps away is his office, perfectly designed to accommodate all his needs. Yet he chooses the hard, uncomfortable stool at the kitchen island.

“Jay” you start, eyes still on the book that has caused you to become more bored than you were before opening it “What kind of lawyer are you? Like, what do actually do” your voice is casual, as you steal a glance at him.

He fixes his glasses but doesn't look away. “Corporate” it’s fast, and automatic, almost like he’s heard the question millions of times in his life. Probably because he has.

“Boring” you comment, expecting something more scandalous.

“Pays the bills. That’s enough” his voice is even.

You turn on your side, stretching out your legs. He watches. He watches you, comfortable in his space. Almost too comfortable.

“Sorry to disappoint” he adds, putting his focus back on the unanswered mails in his inbox. But he knows you’re right there, and it bothers him. Not in a bad way- and that feels oddly unsettling.

“Have you never considered something dirtier? Riskier?” you muse, tilting your head.

It was just curiosity. You weren't doing it on purpose.

Were you?

“Dirtier?” he mutters to himself, before glancing away one more time “I don’t take risks. It’s idiotic” the explanation is accompanied by his firm tone.

“Never?” his eyes gloss over the work he hasn't finished yet. He still closes his laptop though. Jay walks over to the couch, sitting down close to you, but not too close.

A hum of disagreement slips past his lips “Never” he leans back on the couch, exhaling deeply as he looks at the time.

“I think you like control too much” you know that you shouldn’t comment on his decisions or life, but it comes naturally as you can’t stop the words from coming out.

He chuckles, looking over at you, watching the way your body spreads out on the brown leather couch “And I think you talk too much”

Still, something inside him tenses. Jay knows you’re right, but at the same time, it pisses him off because- you have no idea.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you set down the book on his coffee table. Jacques Prévert. Opened right on the poem he knows by heart.

‘Bête comme les regrets, tendre comme le souvenir’ - Foolish as regrets, tender as memory. Jay always liked the line. More than the poem itself, actually. When he first read it, he didn't quite understand. He still doesn't, not when he never experienced that fragile love, beautiful as day and cold as marble.

His father had given him the book right before he moved out. Jay never really comes back to it- written in French, by a French author, it still reeks of the life he desires to forget. The life that he hasn't lived for the past 20 years- yet it always comes back to him in the most unexpected moments.

He remembers the day when his father called him and sounded oddly unfamiliar. Jay had just turned 30- which was such a strange age to be, since you are far from being old but not young enough to be considered youthful.

“I’m not one to get sick” his dad had said it like it was a mistake, a glitch that never should've occurred in the first place. And it was partially true- he can't recall his father ever coming down with a flu or even sore throat. Later, he was diagnosed with bacterial pneumonia.

His father despised any form of sickness and anything that was associated with it. So he didn't want to get treated. And for him, that was fatal- the infection triggered a chain reaction throughout his body causing sepsis to arise.

And just like that, New York became a stranger to him, a place where he thought only bad things were destined to happen.

He thinks that he wasn't meant to be born there. Just like the pneumonia had been a mistake, his birth there must've been too.

“You’re just like all of my dads old friends, I swear” It's playful, harmless. But Jay stills at the jab, his gaze freezing on you.

“Old?” he raises an eyebrow, and there's a smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Older” you correct, too deliberately.

It’s almost like you're mocking him, testing his ignorance. It’s like you want to see if he’ll correct you. He doesn't.

He knows you're not the stubborn kid his friend used to complain about. But he also knows how much older he’s gotten since then. It also seems to terrify him, because the fact doesn't stop him, not at all.

Jay knows he’s the one who brought you here, and maybe he could blame it on the slip of his tongue, or perhaps the need to fulfil an obligation towards his friend, but that wouldn’t be necessarily true.

He sullied his life with his own hands, and he knew how much harder it was only going to get to not dirty yours too.

“You should get some sleep,” he mutters, standing up and collecting all the dirty dishes, dropping them in the sink.

“I’m tired,” he added lazily, like always.

It was his little way of ending a conversation when it became too much. His escape goat when he knew that he was close to letting go. And recently, he’s been dangerously close.

You know there's nothing more you can say, so instead, you just nod, and without another word, walk off to your room.

Your father has called a couple times since you arrived and every time, Jay sounds distant, keeping the conversations short, leaving out any details. He just can’t be friendly, pretend like everythings the same when it’s so painfully not. Jay can't be nice and enthusiastic when all he wants is to fuck his bestfriends daughter.

Will it ever end? Maybe if he gave in, ruined them both. Maybe then.

____

Cooking or baking was his escape whenever the stress became a bit too intense, and well, currently, he was really fucking stressed.

Jay knew it’d be this way, and thinking otherwise would only prove him to be much dumber than he thought he was. But still, he hoped. He hoped that maybe the language barrier would be hard enough to conquer. He hoped that you weren’t the greatest at making new friends (that’s just beyond dumb. It even shocked him-that he has the capacity to think so stupidly).

You started attending the academy a week ago. And of course you were the type of person that people naturally gravitated towards. Of course all the students spoke perfect English, it’s an international programme for fucks sake.

So today, instead of staying home with him, you’re out. Out, where he can’t see you or find you. Waiting for you on nights like this turns out to be torturous- he can’t call or text because he simply shouldn't care. But he does.

It’s past midnight and he should've gone to sleep hours ago. Instead, his fingers wrap around a knife as he makes a dish he doesn't even want.

Growing up, cooking or baking was a luxury. He couldn't even bother to think about things like expensive clothes or tropical vacations.

At the restaurant is where he learned most of his skills. He was a server, but during slower days, he’d always peek around the kitchen.

One of the chefs, a fat Italian man named Dante, had actually taken a liking to the young waiter. So every chance he got, he’d call Jay over and let him in on the secrets of his world.

He hears you before he sees you- a stupid, youthful giggle and your hands latching onto the walls. Your heels clink against his wooden floor, falling as you kick them off your feet.

He looks at you, takes you in. Hair tousled, a hole in your lacy tights, lipstick smudged (either by yourself or a stranger) and the strap of your dress hanging off your shoulder. It was like a transitional phase- physically, in his apartment, mentally, still part of the night.

“You’re late,” he muttered, chopping up a cucumber. At your laugh, he presses harder, the knife digging into the cutting board.

“I have a curfew? Didn't know” you grin, stepping forward until your elbows are propped up on the kitchen counter.

His jaw tightens “Where were you?” The question sounds firm, and his expression is slowly starting to give away the jealousy boiling inside him.

Your scent and presence is too intense. You’re almost too in his kitchen, too in his apartment and too in his head.

“Out” its chaste, and you don’t even bother to look him in the eyes, only focused on his movements, making him feel like a fucking stranger in his own home.

“With who?” God, he sounds like he cares. And maybe it’s a good thing, but not with you, certainly not with you.

He sees you reaching out for the bottle of water, and passes it to you. Why won’t you just say it? Fuck, just tell him.

“Evan? Maybe that's his name” you laugh, screwing the cap back on. Was this funny to you? You were doing it on purpose, he’s certain now. Trying to elicit a reaction from him- trying to see just how far he’d go if you pushed the right buttons.

With a low chuckle, he mutters “Evan”. Jay repeats the name like it’s a fucking joke. You furrow your eyebrows at his reaction.

“He’s a good guy” you insist and he muses, obviously not believing any word you say.

“I’m sure he is,” Jay nods slowly. He turns his body to face you. You’re still there, with that shit eating grin he wishes he could just fuck off of you.

“You think I can’t handle myself? Or maybe I’m too naive, hm?” you roll your eyes. He’s acting awfully familiar, and finally you realize those two years between him and your father don't really make a difference. They’re the exact same- overbearing and just way too interested for their own good.

Yet still, it doesn't bother you. The opposite even- you want to say more, you don’t want to stop. You want him to care for you so badly, wash away the night from your body. All you truly need is his attention and the look on his face is telling you that you’ve got him right where you want him.

After years of your own father not caring or showcasing the slightest hint of emotion towards you, it’s become somewhat of a desire to have someone that would.

“That’s ridiculous” he smiles, peeling himself off the counter “I just think those French boys you like so much, they talk a big game, you know?” he’s inching closer, prying the bottle from your grip “But they don’t necessarily know what to do with a woman once they have her”

Swallowing, you straighten your posture “And you do?”

Jay doesn't say anything at first, watching the way you become impatient with every passing second of his silence. He takes a long, slow sip of water before putting it down on the counter in front of you.

Reaching out, he turns off the stove “Eat it before it goes cold” he smirks slightly, walking off.

____

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m really tired today” Jungwon mutters, his voice muffled by the blue sheets wrapped around his body. With a small sigh, and understanding smile you nod, ushering him to get some sleep.

It was a usual occurrence by now- his tired voice would pick up the phone and barely five minutes into the call, he’d either be fast asleep or too drowsy to continue. And you tried to understand, you really did. It was Jungwon’s senior year in high-school, and you knew better than anyone how fucking frustrating it is to notoriously have the word ‘college’ thrown around you. That just didn’t stop you from feeling lonely.

In recent weeks, Jay has picked up way too many cases than he probably should have. He needed an escape. He physically needed the restraint of his own job since staying at his apartment has become way too dangerous. And with you already aware of the things he doesn’t want to admit, it only gets harder.

Sunghoon got a role in a play called “The Seventh Door”, as a vampire detective named Nathan. That’s been his whole life for the past two weeks- and rightfully so. No doubt you were proud of him, even saddened by the fact that you wouldn’t get to see him perform it. But the offer just made Sunghoon another person you couldn’t call, at least for now.

Ningning, casted in a movie adaptation of “Letters I Never Sent” (or Letters I Should’ve Sent? You never read the book, truthfully) was currently in Australia for the shoot. Her busy schedule and time difference had made it nearly impossible to talk.

To say you were proud of them was an understatement. Witnessing your best friends become the version of themselves they worked so hard to be was something so beautiful, no words could possibly describe it. And you felt beyond ungrateful whenever the thought of their success was the idea of something you lacked- especially when luck was already on your side the moment you got accepted into the academy. It was simply grueling to be aware of the fact that there’s still so much to be done before you yourself can boast about these sorts of accomplishments.

And on nights like these, where there is no one to call or confide in, you find yourself standing bare-foot, and disheveled in front of his door.

The bright blue clock on his night stand reads 2:03 AM. It taunts him as he rolls and turns in his bed, unable to sleep. The presence of another, becomes too heavy on nights where he wants to see you, but knows he can’t. He’s never known this feeling, never known the weakness he’s bound to experience now. Jay hates it- wanting the same person that’s the cause of his personal inferno.

He tries to ignore the first knock for the exact same reason he’s turning over on his side. Jay doesn’t hope you’ll walk away, he needs you to walk away. But by the time your fist hits his door again, he knows you won’t.

Switching on the lamp, he sits up on his bed. A small, yet still audible “Come in” passes by his lips. It doesn’t sound hesitant- more like he’s finally succumbed to the inevitable.

Your fingers linger on the doorknob for a second longer before ultimately turning it, revealing his scruffy state illuminated by the yellow light of his night lamp. The black tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, his muscles flexing as he runs his hand over his face.

You look too small, too human. His chest heaves uneasily, his throat itches to say something, welcome you into his embrace, touch you.

“Can I?” you ask, and for the first time in a while your tone isn’t mocking, or snarky. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” he means it. It isn’t. None of this was ever a good idea.

Jay knows this is you asking for something- something he should never give you. But he wants to. God, he really wants to.

“I don’t care” you murmur, glossy eyes staring over his figure. He shivers at the words.

Watching you run a hand down your arm, he realizes he might have no choice

Each step you take towards him erases the image of your father from his mind. Every movement that brings you closer makes him forget about the inescapable numbers that separate you. It becomes a confirmation of his burning fucking need to have you close, feel the warmth of your skin on his.

The mattress sinks slightly as you sit next to him. Your knee brushes against his- seemingly tiny, innocent. But it’s not. Not when he can feel it even after it's gone.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice unsure and rough.

You look down, fingers toying with the bracelets around your wrist “Couldn’t sleep” it almost sounds like a question, like you’re just as clueless as he is.

“And you thought my bed would fix that?” he tilts his head, eyes watching you intently. It doesn’t come off the way he planned it to, but you don’t seem to notice, or even care.

“May as well” it’s quiet, and before he can say anything else, tell you to leave, or do something he might regret, you speak again “I miss home” . It rolls off your tongue so fast, almost automatic. He can tell just how much it costs you to admit it.

He nods, pursing his lips together.

When his best friend's parents' company went bankrupt, he didn’t know what it felt like. When your mother died, he had no idea how to help your father. More so, when your dad was getting married again, and asked Jay for advice, he realized just how much he doesn’t know. But this time, he knows exactly how you feel.

Jay was so alone when he first came here. He only managed to squeeze in one phone call with his father every week, not to even mention his friends, whom he had close to no contact with. The loneliness drowned him, and for the last 20 years it still has. He’s surrounded with people every day, yet still feels like the only one.

And in those moments he understands how little he knows about the world, and has to offer. How insignificant his story actually is, and how stupid he was to think it can actually serve him any purpose. His parents died- devastating- but at the end of the day, everyone’s parents eventually will. He’s not special. He’s not the odd one out either.

Maybe that’s why he’s become so crazy about his best friend's daughter- because it all changed when you came into his life. And it gets harder to deny that whenever he remembers he forgot about it all.

“Jungwon?” he questions, and you exhale at the mention.

A small confirmation slips past your lips “Wonnie, my friends, everything” at first he doesn’t know what exactly he could do to help you. He knows what you feel, but can’t think of any remedy- probably because he never had one himself.

So he just stays quiet. He knows how exhausting it is to be in a city that doesn’t feel like yours- and he just hopes you know that. He hopes that his presence is enough to provide at least a temporary cure to what you’re feeling.

You move closer, and he feels his body stiffen up at the sudden contact. His eyes dart down to your figure, watching the way your head slowly, and tentatively falls to his shoulder. Jay exhales sharply, one hand on the small of your back, steadying, supporting. It’s instinct. He doesn’t think about it.

Until he does. Until he feels you inch closer with every passing second. Until he feels your breath on his chest, the texture of your skin under his fingertips, the faint smell of your bodywash in the air around him. And if you think it’s nothing, he can’t bear the fact that it’s everything to him.

He watches you covered in his sheets, your head flat on his pillow, staring up at his ceiling. You climbed in with no hesitation- like it’s completely normal. Like you actually should’ve done it or even belonged in his space from the start.

For a while it’s quiet- only faint breaths console the brooding silence. The bedroom is dark, the city's brightness being the only source of light. He can still feel you pressed against his chest. And when your leg brushes against his under the white sheets, his hands shake.

You move, your body now facing him. Looking up at him, you mutter out “Jay?”

He doesn’t look, only a faint hum in answer “Mhm?”

“Do you ever feel it too?” his jaw tightens, and his lips twitch. His eyes are closed, but he hears it- your figure slightly sitting up, moving closer to him.

He knows it's not fucking loneliness you're asking him about. You're talking about this.

It's not about right or wrong anymore. It’s about how fucking noticeable his want has become- how much it has begun to kill him. You’ve become severely undeniable and he’s just so helpless against the feeling.

The air shifts as you await his response- anything, even a barely audible word or missable movement.

“You should go to sleep” he swallows.

His entire body goes stiff as your small hand softly lands atop of his stomach. It’s light, and he wants so badly to say pure- but he possibly can’t, not when it moves up, the pace menacingly slow. Jay places his hand on yours, the look on his face stern “We can’t do this” it’s hushed, and almost sounds like he doesn’t want to say it, but rather has to.

“But you’re not stopping me” it rings in his ears as your touch moves further up- passing his chest, his collarbone, up to his throat. He lets you.

This is exactly where he should pull away, exactly where he should remind himself about those many things that actually separate you- but he can’t. Jay forgot all about it the moment he heard you knocking on his door.

“You wanted this, huh?” he breathes out, heart pounding in his chest as the proximity proves too much for him to bear. The way you lean in closer only serves as a confirmation to his question.

Jay meets you halfway, lips brushing, barely anything at all- but he feels it everywhere. It’s so soft, so fleeting and it’s more than he ever expected to have. It’s too much.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap, fingers digging into your waist, his other hand holding onto the side of your face.

The small gasp that escapes your lips is swallowed by his mouth. Deep, and devouring.

________

On the couch, he checks his inbox eyes completely glued to the screen of his phone. He feels like the time it’s taking you to get ready is enough for him to get unready and ready again. At least 5 times.

Before the night you came to him, the night he let go, he gifted you a spare ticket to a play, “Somewhere Between You & Me” which his friend had kindly invited him to.

Jake was one of the lawyers at his workplace. He was 7 years younger than him, being Jay’s associate when he first arrived at the firm. Just a year ago, he became a junior partner. Between balancing work life, and his wife (whom he got married to just 5 months ago) he still managed to find time for his true passion- theater. Jay made fun of him for it of course, yet still, he’d watch his friend on stage every time.

“Somewhere Between You & Me” was one of his bigger projects. Tonight was the premiere and Jake’s hard work would finally pay off as it recently turns out, tickets sold out almost immediately. It’s also his last- because as it turns out, his wife is pregnant.

Tonight is also another day where Jay is unsure of how long he can hold up his disinterested facade. Definitely not long, definitely not when you look way too fucking good in that small black dress.

“Change” he voices sternly after looking at you for a moment. Give him another second, and that knowing grin would be right back on your face- you knew him too well by now.

It was just a kiss- all he can ever allow himself to do, all he will ever have. And he hopes soon the feeling of your lips on his finally vanishes from his mind.

“Why?” looking down at yourself, you tilt your head in confusion.

He scoffs “Because I said so” it’s quick, and he still doesn't dare to look your way.

You are way too beautiful today- and it taunts him. The slit rides too high, the sides cling onto your curves with such effortless elegance and it just mocks him- it’s like you know this is the day he’s gonna lose. Lose it all.

“That’s not a good enough reason” you huff, finding his attitude humorous. Humorous, meaning obvious. He may not be looking, trying so pathetically hard to hide it, but you already see what he hasn't admitted. You know damn too well what he thinks about at night, what he’s doing while the shower runs a little too long.

“Fine” he sighs and stands up, throwing on his overcoat. Considering the traffic, limited parking space and weather conditions- he should leave 10 minutes ago. “I hope you plan on putting something on top” his eyes are locked on the window as you slide into your heels.

“It’s fucking Novemeber, Jay. Of course I am” you retort, with a snarky grin.

“One more word” his patience has seemed to run dry- still, you don’t seem to care, only finding it amusing.

Ever since that night, you have purposefully been lingering around him longer than necessary. Wearing little to no clothes, 'accidentally’ touching him. And of course, he notices.

Jay is hyper aware of every single one of your actions- and to be completely honest, each time he’s a shot away from bending your frail little body over his knee and slapping the shit out of your ass.

Trying to get work done in his home office is practically impossible- it always ends the same.

“What are you doing?” you’d ask him, your voice sultry. And to make it even fucking better, the only thing that seperates him from your sweet pussy is a black thong and the oversized shirt thats (barely) covering it.

And even when he managed to tell you ‘It’d be better if you leave’, you just fucking wouldn't. Not now, not ever.

Instead, your hands would land onto his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. The touch goes straight to his cock, and he really prays you don’t notice. It’s stupid- obviously you do.

You slip your arm through his as the two of you enter the beauty of one of the Parisian theaters. He exchanges a few words with one of the workers, a polite smile on his face. You barely understand anything, of course.

The private balcony Jake had acquired for Jay was way too perfect- secluded, away from wandering eyes. It’s almost like every possible thing has aligned just right for you to break him.

Jake, completely unaware, got these seats for him strictly based on the flawless view of the stage. Jay isn't looking at it, not for a moment.

Your legs are crossed as you watch the story unveil. The slit in your dress shifts just enough to expose the bare skin of your thigh, and he feels like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle. Fuck, he’s a lost cause, truly.

Jay exhales, slowly, adjusting his sleeves, trying, forcing himself to look forward. Spotting Jake’s giddy face, he wonders if the man knows just how much he’s fucked him over with the private seats. His lack of attention to the play makes up for it though.

You can feel his wandering eyes on you, on your body. Your hand lands on his thigh “You’re not paying attention, Jay” you say his name like it’s fucking funny, like you know just how much it will affect him.

“And you’re pushing your luck” he whispers back, swallowing as your touch moves up higher.

“Am I?” you breathe out.

His hand catches your wrist in a firm, unwavering grip. He yanks you closer, his lips next to your ear “Careful”

You don’t move away, only further shortening the distance that separates you from him “You brought me here” the words ring in his ear as you press a slow kiss to his jawline “You know what would happen” lips slide down his neck, as teeth lightly nip the birthmark on his skin.

He guides your hand closer to his crotch, pressing it firmly against his fucking obvious hard on “Did I?” he muses, his grip on your wrist loosening.

Oh he did. He knew it would end like this- it was just the matter of when and where exactly. Here, in the car, in the foyer, kitchen, living room, your bed or his. But of course he wouldn't want to admit that to you, or better, himself even.

You look around, and there is a sense of hesitance in your eyes. Everyones so focused, nobody would even notice if your hand just slipped underneath his pants.

Jay wants to take you so fucking deep you won't even remember your own name. So hard you’ll end up forgetting anything before him.

He removes your hand from his body, standing up slowly, smoothing down his pants. He moves around to stand behind you, and leans down, his fingers pressing against your neck “So spoiled. Things won’t happen for you that easily”

You feel his lips press against your skin in a fleeting moment before he leaves. It’s a promise of something forbidden, a claim he’s now placed on you that cannot be taken back.

______

For winter break, your father and Ann had asked if you wanted to come back, and spend Christmas in New York. They were willing to purchase the tickets, and it came to you as something rather surprising.

You knew it was Ann’s idea- it couldn't have been your dad’s, it never was. She would never become a motherly figure to you considering she wasn't much older, but that didn't mean her caring attitude for both you and Jungwon went unnoticed.

Without much thought, you agreed, almost instantly calling Sunghoon and Jungwon to announce the news.

Your brother was beyond thrilled to see his big sister, complaining how hard it’s been without you by his side “I always hear them, talking, yelling- you know how loud they get, right? But still it feels so lonely. I miss you” he said, voice hushed.

Guilt was something that arose only when you confronted Jay about it. Of course you felt bad- his kindness spread beyond any stupid favour he had towards your father. He welcomed you into his home, letting you freely live in the confines of his space, and even allowing your obviously flirty and borderline sexual behavior towards him.

“Okay” he replied, lifting his gaze from a file he was currently working through.

It was one of those clients where he was forced to rely primarily on research, and he hated those the most. The frenzied pace that came with cases his managing partner rushed him through were his favorite- probably because it gave him little to no time to think about everything else in his life.

He came home at midnight, sometimes a little later and all he had energy for was a shower and falling into bed. So even on his days off, he tries to surround himself with as many things as he can.

Right now, you couldn't tell if he was mad, or maybe even relieved to have you gone for the next two weeks. On another thought, reading into his behavior is what continues to make you feel insane- so it’d be better not to.

“Will you be fine?” he chuckles at your question, finding the answer almost obvious.

He’s been fine his whole life, and truly, if only you knew how not fine he would be, you’d probably laugh at him.

“It really doesn't affect me, you know?” he affirms, taking off his glasses and leaning back in his chair, not even masking the way his eyes wander over your body.

You sit down on the desk in front of him, looking down at the file “Liar” it’s barely audible, but Jay hears you. He hears you very well.

He scoffs softly, shaking his head “I really hate lying, you know?” The firm tone in his voice almost makes it sound true.

You prop yourself on one hand, tilting your head and quirking an eyebrow at his statement. It’s humorous in a way- how he desperately tries to pretend in front of you that nothing significant happened.

“Yet you keep lying to yourself” you say it like it's obvious. Jay doesn't seem to enjoy the reminder of his stupidity and failed oblivion.

“What about?” he questions, but already knows the answer. It’s almost like he just wants to hear you say it, test if you actually know what he thinks about every night.

“About the things you want to do to me” the words come out so easily, like you’ve known far too long, maybe even before he did. He’s stunned, even though he expected it.

The next morning, he drove you to the airport, the car ride terrifyingly silent. The radio in his car had been broken for sometime now and he’s been meaning to get it fixed, but the time he’s spent without it, naturalized it.

So many things have become weirdly, almost unsettlingly natural that he craves so badly to remember what it was like before. He finds himself wondering how he possibly survived all this time- how did the loneliness not drown out every possible part of him until he was nothing but flesh and bones.

You look out the window, tapping your fingers against your thigh. The silence is so foreign and you wonder where it comes from.

Did you go too far? Did you finally break him? Could you have possibly said too much? But if he despised the art of lying so much, then how could the truth make him so uncomfortable?

“Have a good Christmas” he said with a stoic expression, pulling out your small suitcase from his trunk.

Jay stands there, waiting for you to say something that’ll let him leave, set him free. But you don't. You don't move either, just look around- at him, his car, the airport, the other cars and people- some kissing, hugging, crying or even smiling. Christmas seemed to be such a happy but equally miserable time.

He hates that this will happen again. He knows that soon enough, he’ll have to say goodbye and it won't be temporary. It’s just two weeks- 14 fucking days. You’re still there, only an inch of separation between you, but he's already missing you.

It comes to him only when he’s leaned down, pressing you tightly against his warm body. He hopes you can't feel how fast his heart is beating and how his hands shake when they hold onto your waist and shoulder. At first it seemed like your body stiffened, and he thought you might push him away. But you didn't, soon enough melting into his touch.

It seems so overly dramatic, but to you, it means the world.

With a small smile he ushers you to go with a swify motion of his hand, and you nod, descending into the airport. He watches you, and even after you're out of his sight, he stands there, perhaps hoping you’ll run back out. It takes him 4 more minutes to get back into his car and go off to the firm.

Jay spends Christmas Eve with his friends from the firm (and their wife’s). He and Anton- another fellow senior partner- seem to be the only men at the table without a wife or child. And just that same thing seems to be the topic of discussion tonight.

As they help Jake and his wife, Valérie, gather the dishes and clear the table, she turns to him, and asks politely “Where is that woman I saw you with?” he almost missed it over the sound of constant clatter and the running tap.

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity “What woman?” Anton seems to wonder the same thing as he places his interest back on the conversation at hand.

Jake turns off the tap, taking the plates into his hands and drying them one by one. He joins in on the conversation, his expression one of slight excitement “The one you took to see the play” he confirmed what Jay had already been thinking about. “I wanted to come and greet you two, but you disappeared before I even got the chance” he adds, saddened.

Jay exhales. He doesn't know what to tell them when they soon start asking for specifics- he could lie, and it’d probably make him feel good too, but there's no way they hadn't noticed how young you are. He’d look like such a creep, wouldn't he?

“Is she not your girlfriend?” Valérie flips the question, making it easier to answer in a way. He feels just that small bit of relief.

Jay swallows at the words. The implication makes him feel terrible- he lives in a world where conformity is encouraged and what he’s doing isn't normal or even accepted in the slightest by the masses.

He shakes his head, avoiding eye contact. “No” it’s so quick he hopes they won't say anything else, and perhaps move onto the next topic.

She smiles at him downwardly “That’s misfortunate”

Oh, Valérie. Isn't it?

After dinner with your family (and Sunghoon) you return to your room. You note how uncomfortably cold it seems to be in the house- how much more unfamiliar this place now felt to you. It no longer had the life you tried so badly to persevere.

From the small cracks in your door, you hear Jungwon bickering with Sunghoon about a football match. The latter seems to be taking great pleasure in frustrating your little brother and you find it quite adorable how easily Jungwon gets bothered by things like this.

It’s 12 and the atmosphere doesn't seem to be dying down as your father gets everyone started with another bottle of wine.

It’s 7 in Paris. You wonder what he could possibly be up to- working himself away in his office, drinking with friends or maybe worse, on a date with someone. Your finger hovers over his contact number and it feels incredibly infantile. It takes you back to highschool- sleepovers with your friend where you’d play truth or dare, the challenge being calling the boy you like. In a way, it feels exactly the same this time, the difference being, Jay is a grown man and not some horny, sweaty teenage boy. And you, you’re not 15 anymore.

He wouldn't mind, would he? Your only goal is checking if he’s doing alright, if he’s happy. There's barely any harm in that. But before you get to formulate a reasonable enough motive for your call, his voice sounds through the phone's speaker.

“Hello?” He sounds surprised, a gratifying sense of tiredness lacing his tone. You exhale, before speaking “Hi” it’s quiet and uncertain, as if you hope the volume will make it less significant.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a twinge of worry in his voice.

He was back at his apartment with Jake when he saw you call. His friend had left with him, as his wife had promised her brother, Ezra, to stop by before the day ended (and Jake, well, he wasn’t quite fond of him). They lolled about, discussing Jake’s next play, The Night We Almost Met (Valerie had convinced him to not quit "Pregnancy is not a disease, Jake") the professional negligence lawsuit he’s working on, a case Jay is working on between a fast-growing software development firm and a cloud storage provider, and more importantly- Jay’s secretive love life.

He stood from the comfort of his sofa, pointing to his phone “I have to take this” he said quickly to his friend who just nodded, a state of sleep overcoming him at a rapid pace.

“Mmm” the sound of confirmation seemed to make his heart steady a bit- he wonders why he was even stressed in the first place. Perhaps it’s because sometimes he worries you’ll decide to leave for good, you’ll finally realize that this place was never meant for you and Parsons was the better choice “Where are you?” you add questioningly, and he takes a moment to reply.

“Home” he makes it sound like a dual effort, and it makes you smile slightly. Like the home he means is not only his, but yours too. And in a way, it’s true- Jay has suddenly realized just how terrifyingly awful the silence is whenever he comes back to the apartment after a long day. He realizes just how much he needs you to fill the void in his heart- one created by the love he never received “Was Christmas nice?” His tone is confusingly soft, something you don’t even recall from the day that you came to him.

“It was nice; it really was” you answer, and he hums in response, the sound ushering you to continue “I missed Jungwon. And Sunghoon. New York in general, I think though” you say, and he bites back his tongue before he says something stupid (because truly, how could anyone miss New York? Then again, he does realize he’s probably the only one with such an incessant problem towards the city).

There’s a brief moment where neither you or him say anything, the time filled with unspoken thoughts and words that linger at the tip of your tongues. There are so many things he wishes he could tell you at the moment- how much he wants to kiss you, how much he misses having you around, talking to you. And how fucking much he wants to make the filthiest and most impure form of love to you. But he assumes it's probably better to let you live on without the knowledge. For now, at least.

You hesitate, but before you know it, the words, almost involuntarily, slip past your lips “I miss you”.

There’s another pause, as he repeats it over and over again in his head. The knot in his stomach grows tenfold as he fully grasps the feeling at hand- how much it has actually taken over his life, and how he doesn’t mind it- not at all.

Jay realizes that there is no fulfilling answer to his situation other than giving in, and that in itself, never really was an illicit or morally wrong answer. He knows that he would hate himself so much more if he never tried, rather than if he let himself follow his desires and it resulted in failure. He was ready to take that risk, as long as you’d still have him.

Through his drunken memories, he remembers when he first saw you, saying things he later cringed at and regretted. He recalls the exact thought process he had when you came to your home on Hester St., trudging towards your father with the letter in hand. It was obvious to him, and he didn’t even bother giving himself the day to think about it- right there and then he knew so well that he’d be the one to house you, and take care of you.

You bothered him so much, when he was cooking or working or reading, yet he never even thought to get mad at you. Jay wanted you to do it, sometimes even putting himself out there just so you could torture him a little more.

“I miss you too, sweetheart”

_____

A week later, you were back in France.

You had insisted on getting back home by yourself. At one point, he was practically begging to take you, but you prevailed “I have to pick something up from Karina’s” you told (Karina was your class partner turned friend, whom you were currently working on a collection with) He sighed, eventually accepting the reasoning.

He sits in the courtroom, and curses himself because today, he’s truly a terrible lawyer. One that he himself would have hated just months ago. All he thinks about is you, unconsciously counting down the hours until he can go back home to you. He feels so childlike at that moment, but he can allow it, just this once, he thinks.

Luck doesn’t seem to be on his side that day- as soon as he steps out of the hall, his phone buzzes with a call from the managing partner, Nicholas Allard, who informs him of a partner's dinner later in the evening “You better be there, Park. Especially since you’re eyeing name partner” the sternness in his voice makes Jay huff. “I’m not”

Nicholas always says that, and it inexplicably irritates him, because he truly isn’t. Jay was fully satisfied with being senior partner, furthermore, staying senior partner. Nothing would change if his name appeared on the wall- he’d be stuck with the same pretentious clients, and maybe even become pretentious himself. He didn’t want that.

All the way through dinner he begs for it to finally end. Anton apparently had helped Nicholas choose the restaurant- Pur’ on Rue de la Paix- and he laughs at his friends’ desperation. He had been the one actually hoping to get his last name slapped right next to Nicholas’. Everyone had noticed by now, and secretly made fun of the man for it“The Russian hooker I slept with last Saturday is nothing compared to the way he’s riding Allards dick. Maybe he should take her place” They were out for lunch, absent-mindedly cracking jokes about their friend.

You were working with Karina at her apartment. She lived on Rue Erard, near Reuilly-Diderot station. It was further away from the city centre, but she didn’t mind. Karina shared the space with a Japanese student, Aeri, who studied science at the European International University. They got along, she said, but it seemed like they lived in two completely different worlds sometimes. And you understood that.

It was hard for you to have actual conversations with Jay at first. He was so engulfed in a world you had no actual grasp of. And he never cared for the arts of fashion that you loved so dearly. For you, he was too serious at times, and to him, you were too carefree.

“Are you seeing someone?” she asked you, waxing a pair of pants you had sewn together. You shook your head, although it felt somehow wrong. It felt untrue even when it, unfortunately, was very much true. You wanted to say yes because a part of you had already begun to accept a reality that wasn’t quite veracious. A confirmation in the form of that short, simple and breathy ‘yes’ would help you go on with the zeal needed.

By the time you got home, Jay was already there. He almost jumped when he heard the keys unlock the sturdy door. It opened with a creak and you softly glanced inside before opening it fully. He marks his book, slipping off his glasses and lying it all down on his coffee table. He trembles with desire, his leg twitching as the moment he’s woken up thinking about, has finally been handed to him.

He clears his throat slightly, and it’s like a hand that he’s extending out for you, asking you to come with him. You drop your suitcase and bag to the floor, opening the glass door that separates the foyer from the rest of the apartment. He can almost grab onto the change that spreads through the air between you. Jay feels it with his bare hands as you sit down next to him, the silence acting as a welcoming gesture. It says enough for the two of you to know you’ve missed the other.

“Tired?” he asks, and there’s a hint of guilt in his expression as he regrets not just forcing you to take his offer in the form of a ride home. But he knows you’re too stubborn anyway.

You nod, and sigh softly. He doesn’t hesitate to open his arms, inviting you into his comforting embrace. You accept, almost too hurriedly. The action makes him chuckle. Jay wraps his arms around your figure, your back pressing against his chest. Your head leans back as you look up at him with a small smile.

“Did you have fun in New York?” he asks, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. He stops at your fingers, interlacing them with his own. You squeeze tightly and nod.

“Yeah. Dad asked about you, a lot. You should call him” your response makes him tense up. He feels sick.

Jay has been avoiding your fathers phone calls, or making them as short as possible. The frequency of his avoidance has increased substantially, especially since the night you slept in his room.There’s a prevailing guilt ridiculing him everytime he sees his best friend call- your father trusted him with you, and he probably never doubted that same trust. So easily, Jay broke it, never once thinking about the consequences, not when he was making out with you in his bed or touching himself to the image of you.

He swallows, and nods, knowing he won’t be able to anytime soon, especially not after today “I will” he falsely assures “How is Jungwon?” he rushes away from the topic of your dad, and you don’t seem to notice, smiling at the mention of your little brother.

You play with his fingers “Fine, I think. He’s really impressed by you, y’know? God, maybe he’ll go to law school himself. That’d be good” you go on, and he laughs softly, nodding in acceptance. He feels a sense of pride at your words, but he’d never admit it.

He hums softly in response, unsure of what he should say. He’s never been good with compliments. He just assumes you know he’s grateful, especially it being your brother whom he knew you cherished very dearly “Do you need anything?” he asks, and even though it’s almost midnight, he’s ready to get you anything you want, even if that request entails him going to the other end of the city. It really is serious for him.

You shake your head, guiding his hand onto your stomach. He knows exactly what you're suggesting. And this time, he’s far from opposed.

“You sure?” he whispers, his fingers moving against your skin as you let go of his hand. The softness of his fingertips causes your body to tremble slightly “Are you sure you don't need anything?” he asks again, his voice sultry.

Jay eyes you intently, watching the way you fight back the words. You know that it was a matter of slightly parting your lips and he’d be made fully aware of exactly the thing you need. And he’d enjoy it too much, you knew that. Even in such an exposing position, you still wanted to hold onto that small piece of power you owned.

He unties the strings of your sweatpants, the movement slow and teasing. He toys with it, toys with you. You’re so much smaller against him, so weak and delicate. You embody a cleanliness he can no longer have, and he’s tried so hard not to take that away from you- but he can no longer fight it.

His hand comes dangerously close to the band of your underwear, threatening to slip past it. There’s a small whine that slips off your tongue as he continues to stay close, but nowhere near where you actually need him.

And Jay wants to rip the fabric away, feel on his own skin just how much you want him too, but he finds the sight of you so restrained and at his mercy heavily amusing. You move in his embrace, desperately trying to create some sort of friction, but he quickly stills you “Stop moving. You want this, don’t you?” and when you nod, he squeezes your hip tighter.

He traces the lace of your panties, chuckling as he watches you spread your legs wider for him. Unconsciously, but still, it makes even him impatient “Tell me what you want me to do” his voice is low, breath hot on your skin. His lips leave open-mouthed kisses along the vein on your neck “And I’ll do it��

Your words come out in ragged breaths “I want you to touch me” there’s a small smile that spreads on his lips sas he hears you speak.

Jay moves the loose strands of hair from your ear, his lips barely touching the reddened skin “Here?” he whispers, pressing his fingers into your clothed cunt, feeling the moisture wet his touch. He watches you nod repeatedly, moving your hips forward, trying to prolong the feeling. He laughs, allowing it for just a moment longer.

“Jesus” he mutters, watching you slowly depricate yourself in his arms “So fucking greedy, acting like a bitch in heat” he laughs, rubbing his hand against you, moving back and forth, spreading your lips apart and fucking his fingers into your covered hole. He knows he’ll have to give in soon, the depth going as far as the stretch of the material allows it.

Jay is honestly surprised by the person you’ve morphed into. You had so much to say before, but now, it seems like you’ve shied away from your snarky comments. You seem scared- scared that he’ll stop, leave you when you’re just steps away from the pinnacle of that moment. He likes how compliant you are, and wonders just how far he can push this newly discovered obedience “So, so impatient… Don’t you wanna show me how good you can be for me?”

“I do; I do” you repeated after he stopped any and all movement, his other hand holding you down, preventing you from just doing it yourself “Then fucking do it” he groaned.

He slowly, but surely pulled the fabric away, hissing as his fingertips were met with your raw, pulsing flesh. Your chest rises and falls unevenly, the sequence of sounds continuing as he picks up his pace, each time going further, and further, until two of his digits are fully plunged into your sopping cunt. He takes on a slow tempo, savouring every sound- your legs rubbing against the leather of the couch, the wet slosh of his fingers reentering you, your body trembling in his grasp alongside the ruffle of his shirt, and ultimately, the sweet noises that escape your throat.

Eventually, he adds a third digit, watching you wince slightly at the intrusion. He smiles, watching you take so proudly and wholly whatever he gives you “Good… you’re so good to me” the praise sounds through the room, and echoes through the canyons of your heart, as the strong feeling begins to overcome your senses with an intensity you’ve never known before “Such a sweet girl… Who has touched you like this before? Tell me”

Through a daze, you manage to mutter out a response, signifying to him that there was only one person before him. He nods, a smile decorating his lips, as he finds the answer more than satisfying “You really are clean” the years of keeping yourself in check suddenly seem to have paid off.

He’s impressed with how you’ve managed to sustain the drive he couldn’t even contain for longer than a week at your age. But then again, who would he be if he had saved himself longer?

“Can I..?” you start, embarrassed to say the words. But Jay knows exactly what you mean, and after a moment he nods. Your body slumps against his, tired and ready, as you focus strictly on what he’s giving you.

And even after you come all over his bony fingers, he doesn't stop, the speed increasing as if he wants to, and likes to watch you cry out with a fatigued expression, face twisting from the overstimulation “Just a little more” he mumbled the words a couple times, kissing your shoulder.

Eventually Jay pulls out, smearing the release that paints his fingers all over your inner thighs “You look so pretty like this” he speaks, watching you breathe heavily, with half-lidded eyes that are barely able to stay open.

He gently cleans you up, kissing you on the forehead as he rises back to his feet. He leads you to your bedroom, lying your frail body down in the cold bed. Before he can leave, you speak out to him softly “Stay”

And so he does.

____

3 years ago, for his 35th birthday, he bought land in Cassis, located in the southern part of France. Jake had been the one to convince him to do so, since Jay wasn’t the greatest when it came to spending such large sums of money. He never acquired the habit, most likely because he wasn’t even aware of the things he could possibly buy with the unexpectedly large amounts of money he earned every month.

He had initially imagined living there when he retired- quiet and harmonious (since he certainly wasn’t planning on going back to New York). The months passed, he even received approval to build his dream house on the land, yet still, it was left abandoned as he occupied his mind with everything but actual construction.

Valerie, who worked as an architect, made sketches for him which he honestly loved. The plans portrayed a one story, beautiful mediterranean estate with a large terrace and impressive garden. He could see himself in such a place- blissfully unaware of the horrors that unveil themselves around the world. Disinterested and free.

Two months ago he had decided to call Valerie, and announce to her his willingness to begin construction. At first she didn’t believe him- “Jay, we both know you don’t”- and when he had finally convinced her it was real this time, she referred him to one of the construction companies she and Jake had hired when they were helping her parents build their home.

Last month, assembly began- Jay had gone down to the property two times since, one time alone, one time with you. “This room” he points to a space on the drawing that faces a landscape of mesmerizing limestone cliffs and vast pools of aquamarine water “You could make those pretty things here. All day” he smiles softly, referring to the dresses you always made sure to show him before handing the projects in at the academy.

You’d model for him, as he’d lean back on the couch, giving you instructions “From the back” there’d be a pause, a mischievous grin on his face “Bend down a little for me” he’d say, and of course, with a proud face you’d comply. He knew what he was doing and you knew why you were doing it. Because it would always end the same- he’d hold you down on his lap, watching the pretty faces you’d make while his cock fills you completely.

But again, would it really be yours? He had said it so plainly, so much that it even seemed plausible. It imitated a normalcy that was never yours to begin with, and no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, it never would be.

Last week, the construction manager contacted him, and made him aware of the unstable soil in some areas. It would require additional foundation work to ensure structural stability- that entailed a supplementary plan and extra costs.

The whole process began to get irrationally stressful for him as the build just kept on encountering problems, all while he was promised a smooth and fast completion.

And he doesn’t blame Jake, Valerie, or even the company he hired. He blames himself, for his stupidity, for believing that he could have nice things in life. This has to be something telling him that the nice apartment, luxurious car and plump pay check was enough, all he can get.

He keeps the door to his study slightly ajar. There's two piles of paperwork on the desk and both look terribly gruesome and tiring. He doesn't feel like thinking today- not about the house, not about his work, and not about what he’ll eat for dinner. But he chose this life- he can't complain when everythings he’s ever done was for this exact moment.

With a sigh, and almost childlike tug of the lawsuit that’s been sitting on his desk for a good two weeks now, he begins to go through it. His head is propped up on his fist, eyes lazily scanning the words.

Jay keeps looking over to the papers, plans, magazines on his table- he thinks about Valerie's call where she excitedly asked him about fucking kitchen tiles. To his surprise, he found it oddly entertaining and domestic. Jay Park, a well-known Parisian lawyer, prefers quarry tiles over marble. Revolutionary, truly.

His door creaks open, and he looks up, seeing your head peeking inside of his office. He smiles softly, and nods- his way of telling you to come in.

You close the door upon entering, and take a look around. Nothing ever changes inside here- it’s always messy in an organized way. There’s a woody and musky smell in the air, something that only stays in this same office.

“Come here” he motions you to his lap, eventually closing the file and dropping it into his drawer, for later, of course. Well, he already knows he’ll probably pass it on to one of the associates, who'll see it rather as a blessing than a burden.

“Everything alright?” you ask, watching his face, illuminated only by the yellow lighting of his small lamp. Jay slips off his glasses, tossing them lightly onto the desk. He sighs, and reluctantly, nods “Doesn't seem like it” you add after his confirmation.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about me” his hand caresses your bare thigh, his touch barely anything. It was so light you could mistake it for something that it surely wasn't.

Your fingers toy with the material of his shirt, undoing two more buttons. His tan skin glistens under the dim lighting, and you notice the mole on his collarbone. You hum softly, hand moving up to his shoulder “Tell me the truth” you plead, and he looks down, trying to somehow put into words the things that suddenly don't seem so troublesome or serious.

“The house, you know, it won't be done soon” he tells, and his expression doesn't change “You shouldn't worry about it. I’ll get it figured out” he adds before you can answer. You wait for a moment, holding your breath, but eventually nod, understandingly.

Jay doesn't share much of his thoughts, not ever, so you know that even if this is only half of his worries, he would never tell you the rest. He cherished your peace over any selfish act of ‘getting something off his chest’. He didn't believe in that and never would.

“I want to help you” you say, hand under his shirt, tracing the outline of his muscles. You run your thumb over his nipples, and he hisses at the sensation. He’s been touched, but never like this. He especially feels that touch go straight to his already hardening cock.

“You do? Then bend over, pretty girl” Jay doesn’t feel like wasting any time. He knows he doesn’t need foreplay or any other form of preparation- you were ready before he even touched you. You came to him for the sole reason of getting fucked, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

With a satisfied grin, you lean your elbows on his desk, turning your head to watch him unbuckle his belt. With a swift motion, the leather piece falls open, and he doesn’t even bother to remove it. He grabs your face, harshly pressing his lips onto your mouth, licking inside it, pushing his tongue against yours, past it, and as far down your throat as it will go. His hands tug at your shorts, yanking them off along with your underwear. The material pools at your knees, and he pulls away from the kiss, eyeing your half naked form.

He plays with the plump skin, groping it, squeezing, slapping it until the spot turns red. He commits to memory how each action elicits a different reaction from you. When he strikes you again, a tear rolls down your cheek and he feels like he could come on the spot, untouched “Such a sweet little thing you are. I could watch you all the time” he coos, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth.

With one hand, he pries off his boxers, while the other caresses your sensitive ass. His fully erected, and leaking shaft springs out, slapping against his lower abdomen. He bites his lower lip at the feeling “Fuck” he groans, jerking himself off, spreading the precum that puddles at his tip along his entire length.

You tug at his arm, whining impatiently “Jay..” he chuckles at your eagerness, finding the willingness almost equally as arousing as your pretty face and body.

You’ve become fully dependent on him- he was your sole provider for everything- a roof over your head, a ride to the academy in the morning, a warm meal, and since he didn’t want you to work, all the money you had was his. And maybe it should bother you, the fact that nothing is truly yours, but it doesn’t. Jay is equivalent to your survival, and you’d make it a great priority to repay him for that.

As he thrusts into you, his cock intruding your tight ass at a ferocious pace, the phone rings.

Through blurred vision, you recognize it. A picture of Jay and your father (presumably taken right before Jay’s departure 20 years ago) stares back at you. His name flashes across the screen, ridiculing you. Jay peels the phone off the table, his thumb hovering over the green button.

“J-Jay… don’t” you mutter, and at that, he cruelly tugs at your hair, causing your head to jerk back, teary eyes staring at his serious expression “Quiet. You don’t want him to hear you, do you?”

You nod, and his finger presses the answer button. Your teeth bite down on your swollen lip, trying to encapsulate any forbidden sound.

A beaming voice finally speaks “Jong! I thought you’d never pick up..”

Jay laughs in such a natural, unbothered way, as if he’s not doing anything wrong, as if your father should have known this would happen. Because, he truly should have. “Life’s hectic” he answers, his best friend act almost too believable.

But how could he ever consider himself a good friend again? After this? He stopped being your fathers friend from the moment you stepped into his apartment, and he should’ve realized it quicker.

“How is she?” your dad asks, and the kindness in his voice is almost insufferable. Jay presses his palm flat on your back, his speed increasing substantially, tone unchanging though.

“Really good. I take care of her well, I think” he answers, and feels himself getting closer. Your father, blissfully unaware, seems to be delighted at his friend's words, thanking him over and over again for his kindness.

You and Jay never had anything in common to begin with. Being a lawyer was his whole life, helping greedy, rich bastards become even richer was the only thing that really defined him. And you were the artistic soul he could never find himself understanding. You were impractical in your work, and he- he relied on a firm law that bent under no circumstances.

Yet still, you managed to have one similarity after all- you were a terrible daughter and he; he was a terrible, terrible friend.

But Jay does take good care of you. He really does take great care of you. All the time. And well, if your father were to find out just how well, you’ll still be a living memory of him that Jay will hold onto.

His sweet, little souvenir.

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dahlibae · 2 months ago

Text

OUR ETERNAL SUNSHINE.

wandanat x female!reader 🌞 𐙚₊˚⊹♡

summary – You noticed her in the quiet of the library: mysterious, magnetic, and seemingly lost in a world of romance books. What began as a fleeting curiosity quickly spirals into something deeper when you cross paths once more. But just as you begin to imagine the possibilities, you learn something unexpected: she’s not just unavailable – she's already married. To another woman.

warning(s) – none: slow(ish) burn, this chapter is just rlly setting the pace!

word count - 4.3K

CHAPTER 1 - intro (end of the world)

The weekends are never free.

You work those two days at the local library. It’s a quiet, well-kept branch tucked between the city’s community centre and an old record shop that nobody other than the elderely frequent. It doesn’t get much foot traffic except on rainy days and school holidays. You like it that way. The silence helps.

Shuri works here too. She's the one who got you the job. You’ve been friends since undergrad, when the two of you ended up as lab partners in an elective you barely remember registering for. She talks fast, moves faster, and always seems to know what she’s doing. When she found out you needed a weekend job to stay afloat between lectures and placements, she cornered the head librarian and handled it. That’s just how she is.

And Shuri’s graduating this year. Engineering major, already accepted into MIT for grad school. You’re not surprised. She’s been designing micro-robotics in her free time. You’re in a different lane entirely – currently in your second year of law school.

You transferred from your hometown university last year to pursue a better legal program. Born and raised in a little city on the West Coast, the kind of place that never really felt small until you left it. Your family’s still there – your father, who works in accounting, and your younger sister, who’s finishing highschool. Your mother’s out of the picture. She left when you were eleven. The need for freedom had outweighed her love for you and your sister. You don’t talk about her much, but you remember that year like a turning point. That’s when you started thinking seriously about what justice means – what it looks like when someone walks away and no one holds them accountable.

You don’t come from money. Your tuition is covered by scholarships, student loans, and part-time work. You’ve never minded working. Law is expensive, but the work feels worth it.

The library job is manageable. You clock in on Saturdays and Sundays, help with cataloging, and shelve returns. Between that and your classes, your schedule is tightly packed, but routine keeps you focused. Besides, it’s peaceful here. Predictable. That’s not something you get a lot of as a law student.

Shuri calls it your “mental detox zone.” She’s not wrong. And when she’s working the same shift, the two of you make time pass quicker. You argue about your favourite movies, and alternative endings. You quiz each other on useless trivia. You swap snacks behind the desk. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This morning, she corners you behind the returns trolley.

“Don’t bail tonight.” She says without preamble.

You glance at her over a stack of fiction. “On what?”

“My brother’s housewarming party. I told you last week.”

You pause. “Thought that was just a small thing.”

“It is. Small enough that you can blend in. Big enough that you’ll meet some interesting people. A few new lawyers from his firm will be there.”

You shake your head. “I have readings – ”

“No,” she interrupts, “you have excuses.”

She gives you a pointed look, like she already knows you’re not saying no for academic reasons. “You’re always saying you want to get your foot in the door. How hard it’s going to be for you to succeed because of your background. My brother has the door. And the house the door is attached to. Go talk to people. Make a contact or two.”

You sigh, but you’re listening. Because Shuri’s been trying to help you since the day she found out you were serious about law. She keeps pushing you in T’Challa’s direction – panel discussions, court hearings, networking mixers, anything that might be useful.

“You’re lucky.” She tells you. “Most people don’t have a direct line to someone already working in their dream field.”

She’s not wrong. But you’ve never been great at the social side of this. Networking feels like performance. You prefer doing the work, not selling yourself.

You don’t give her a firm answer, which means she’ll bring it up again by the end of the shift.

You look at the clock above you.

It’s around 11:10.

Almost time.

For the woman.

Blonde. Tall. Usually dressed in casual layers – sweaters, cardigans, jeans, boots. She carries herself like she has somewhere else to be but chooses to be here instead. Sometimes she’s with another woman, blonder, smaller, serious-looking. Other times she’s alone.

Today, she’s alone.

You notice the titles she picks up. Always romance. Sometimes older classics, sometimes newer ones. She lingers on pages. Reads the back covers. Often sits by the windows with one or two open in her lap but doesn’t always check them out. She seems to read for comfort, not completion.

You don’t know her name. You haven’t said a word to her. But she’s been showing up regularly, and her presence hasn’t gone unnoticed.

When she’s here with someone else, you keep your distance. When she’s alone, you find ways to be nearby. Pretending to sort paperbacks in the next aisle. Adjusting spine labels. You haven’t crossed the line into conversation, but you've come close. You’re curious.

Shuri caught you looking once. She didn’t tease. She just said, “You should probably say something before she catches you checking her out while alphabetising.”

You still haven’t.

…

It’s another Saturday. The weather is a little colder. Still temperamental between the shift from Spring to Summer.

Shuri isn’t working. She texted earlier - family stuff. Earlier this year you found out that they’re not happy Shuri has decide to pursue engineering instead of following her brother’s footsteps into the legal world. Her brother sticks up for her but their mother still disproves.

You’ve got the shift with Mrs. Harkness, who’s perched at the front desk wearing a fitted purple blazer, hair wild, and her signature dark lipstick.

You pause when you see her outfit.

“You’ve got plans?” You ask.

“Date at two.” She says, adjusting her glasses. “Rio’s back.”

From what little you knew about the woman, she was the only lesbian in town. Her girlfriend - well on and off girlfriend - is Rio Vidal, who you were pretty sure was married to a man a few years ago. She was in the miliatry and was always stationed overseas. She was not much younger than Mrs Harkness, but she radiated very childish energy whenever you saw her. Her and Mrs Harkness constantly argued, and no one ever knew if it waa serious or not.

Clearly not if they're still together.

“Still going strong?”

She shrugs, ruffling her hair out once more. “Not really. But the sex is amazing.”

With that, you leave her to her own devices – it only takes one person to work the counter anyways – head toward the back shelves. The library is slow today. Midday sun filters through the front windows. You’re in the aisle near the romance section, moving slowly through a restock.

Then you hear the familiar sound of the front doors opening.

You glance up. She’s here. Alone again.

You turn back to your cart, pretending not to notice, but your focus is gone. You restack a few books that don’t actually need restacking. As you reach to put one on the shelf, it slips from your hand and drops to the floor with a solid thump.

You stoop to grab it, but a voice beats you to it.

“So…” she says, calm and deliberate, “are you finally going to come talk to me, or should I drop one too?”

You freeze, slowly straighten up, and look at her.

She’s standing a few feet away, arms folded loosely, watching you.

You try to say something coherent. “I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t – uh – “

She gestures toward the reading nook near the back window. “Come on.”

You follow.

She takes the seat near the window, legs crossed. You sit across from her, still trying to decide how to play this. You couldn't gage if she was bad or upset with you.

“I’ve noticed you.”

You look up. “Uh?”

“You hover. Rearranging books that are already in alphabetical order.”

You give a small nod. “That obvious?”

She shrugs. “A little. But not in a bad way.”

She leans back, then introduces herself. “I’m Wanda.”

You give her your name in return.

That seems to be enough to start.

She asks about your job. How long you’ve been here. Then your studies. You explain that you’re in your second year of law school. She doesn’t seem surprised. She asks what kind of law interests you. You say civil rights, maybe criminal defense. She listens, asks a few practical questions, none that raise your suspicions, doesn’t offer advice unless prompted.

She doesn’t offer much about herself, only that she works downtown. Her job keeps her busy. A few notes about her school days, and that, she used to come here with someone, but that changed. She leaves it there, and you don’t push.

It’s a calm conversation. No pressure. She speaks with the sort of confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself. You’re still surprised you’re sitting here at all.

Then her phone buzzes.

Wanda glances down, then stands. “I have to head back.”

“Back where?” You ask.

She adjusts her bag. “The office.”

You frown slightly. “You work weekends?”

She nods. “Work doesn’t really stop when you’re a lawyer.”

That catches your attention. “You’re a lawyer?”

“Mhmm.” She gives a small smile. “Didn’t expect that?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t usually advertise it.” She laughs, glancing around the library. “But yeah. I’ve been practicing a few years now.”

You nod slowly.

“Well,” she says, stepping back, “it was nice to finally meet you, little librarian.”

And with that, she turns and walks out.

You remain where you are for a moment.

It’s not exactly a conversation you expected to have today. But it happened.

Next week, you’ll probably still be behind the romance shelves.

You hope not just watching.

…

Next Tuesday, you arrive at T’Challa’s new house just after 8 p.m. The place is sleek – glass and concrete, warm lighting through tall windows, filled with quiet music and well-dressed people holding glasses of wine. You feel a bit out of place in your kitten heels and messily-ironed silk dress, but Shuri gives you an approving nod when she sees you.

She’s holding two drinks when she meets you at the door. “Good. You made it.”

You smile faintly. “Yes. Unfortunately a car didn't run me over on the way as I so wished for.”

She ignores your annoying sarcasm. “Well, this is how you build your future,” she says, handing you one of the glasses. “You meet people. You show up. You don’t jump into oncoming traffic.”

You follow her through the house. The crowd is mostly professionals – people who talk fast and laugh quietly. You recognise two professors from your legal ethics class. Mr Killard and Mrs Bernard. Strict professors. You try to avoid eye contact.

Shuri weaves through a group near the kitchen, waving at her brother.

T’Challa sees you both and steps away from his conversation. “Ah! You must be the infamous law student friend of my sisters, who’s apparently always got her head in a book.”

You shake his hand, trying not to sound nervous. “Yes, ha! Thanks for having me.”

“I’ve read your paper on civil reform through municipal courts.” Your hand is still holding his. “Shuri forwarded it to me. You’ve got a sharp mind.”

You blink. “She did what?”

Shuri sips her drink, smug.

T’Challa laughs. “Don’t worry. I trust my sister. She’s a good judge of talent. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out from the entryway.

“T’Challa!” It’s a woman – familiar, confident tone, sharp heels clicking on hardwood. You turn and watch as two women approach from the hallway. One is a lean redhead in a tailored black suit. Hugging all curves as well as exaggerating the bulge of her built muscles. The other—

You freeze.

It’s Wanda.

She’s in a dark grey dress, elegant but simple, her long hair usually flowing in waves over her shoulders is now sleeked back into a ponytail and her messy bangs now parted in the middle where they sit unshaken. She looks nothing like she does at the library – all sharp and rough angles – and yet she’s unmistakable. Your heart lurches unexpectedly.

She’s smiling at T’Challa, standing beside the redhead as they greet him affectionately.

He turns down the hallway, back to where the rest of the party remain. “Ah! Everyone – meet the newest senior partners at the firm. Mrs Natasha and Wanda Maximoff. As of this week, they’re officially ours!”

The announcement draws claps and scattered murmurs of approval. Wanda and Natasha both nod politely to the room. Wanda smiling more brightly than the redhead. Her hand rests lightly on the small of Wanda’s back.

Wait. Mrs? They’re married?

Shuri leans in. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

You’re still staring.

“I knew it! She says, eyes wide, louder than you’d like. “She’s the library girl.”

“Her name’s Wanda.” You mumble.

“Okay… Wanda. She’s a partner now? Damn. She must be good.”

You nod faintly.

You hadn’t expected to see her here. Definitely not like this.

Standing in a room full of high-profile legal professionals…

Introduced as a senior partner…

With someone on her arm…

It almost hurts how attractive Natasha is. Of course Wanda would be with someone like her.

Shuri nudges you. “Go talk to her.”

You shake your head. “She’s… with Natasha. They’re married.”

“How do you know? They could be sisters…? And you know what they say, ‘don’t let your wife stop you from meeting your girlfriend.’”

You glance again, ignoring Shuri altogether. The way Natasha’s hand lingers. The way Wanda leans into her slightly. The way they exchange a look when someone jokes about work-life balance. You don’t know for sure. But it’s enough to make you stay where you are.

They’re definitely not sisters.

They’re definitely together.

You keep your distance the rest of the night. Wanda never spots you – you hope. You watch her from across the room for a few minutes, then slip out early, telling Shuri you’re tired, and to thank her brother once more for the invite.

She doesn’t stop you.

…

Another week or so passes. The rhythm of lectures, late-night reading, and outlining arguments continues. Your calendar is full, your inbox overflows with reminders and reading lists, and the only place that still feels manageable is the library. Your father and sister have been trying to facetime you for the past week or maybe longer, and each time, you’ve been busy catching up on sleep or working.

And you've not had much time to think about the blonde woman, about Wanda. Any and all thoughts lead you back to that night at T’Challa’s. The hand around her waist. The dazzling wedding bands you managed to miss initially – you’d argue due to shock – around their fingers.

Back at the library, the romance section looks the same. The shelves are still in perfect order. The same sunlight pours through the largewindows.

Although, something feels different.

Shuri doesn’t work today. You’re alone at the front desk, catching up on reading. Around 11:15, you hear the front door open.

You don’t have to look. You already know it’s her.

She moves with the same quiet ease, dressed casually in jeans and a long coat.

You don’t approach. You don’t acknowledge her. You don’t shelve books near her like you usually would. You stay at your post and keep your head down.

She makes her way through the library like always, stopping in the romance aisle, waiting for your arrival.

After a few minutes of waiting, she walks toward the front, pausing a few feet from the desk.

You glance up.

She meets your eyes. “Hi.”

You nod once. “Hey.”

She tilts her head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” You say, quieter than intended.

She waits, like she’s deciding whether or not to say something else.

Then: “I didn’t expect to see you at the party.”

You blink.

So she had noticed you…

“Uh yeah, I didn’t expect to see you there either.”

“How do you know T’Challa?” She asks curiously.

“I’m a family friend.” You answer without hesitation.

Wanda’s expression doesn’t shift much. But she seems to register the tension.

There’s a short pause. She starts to say something, then changes her mind. “Well… I’ll be around.”

You nod again. “Have a good morning, Mrs Maximoff.”

She gives you a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then walks off toward the far side of the library, leaving her usual seat empty. Leaving the safety of the romance section.

You’re not sure what you feel. Just that something that felt simple now feels complicated. And you’re not ready to step back into it yet.

…

Saturday rolls around again. Another week of avoiding your family’s calls, of avoiding Shuri pulling you into another of her brother’s event. The next even more extravagant than the last. You vowed you wouldn’t be going into any more situations where Wanda and her wife would be.

But, of course, you manage to forget about the library.

Your job.

Where you can’t avoid her.

It’s mid-morning. You’re seated behind the desk once again, half-reading another case file you don’t have to finish until Monday, when the door creaks open.

You look up out of habit.

Wanda walks in – alone again.

She hesitates this time. Not much. But enough that you notice it.

Her eyes scan the room. She spots you. Pauses.

And then she walks toward you – directly, slower than usual. More cautious. Like she’s not sure if she’s welcome.

You close your book quietly.

“Hi.” You beat her to it this time.

“Hey.” She stays standing a few feet from the counter, hand loosely twirling her hair. “I wasn’t sure if I should come today.”

You meet her eyes. “Why not?”

“You seemed… done with me. Last time.”

You shake your head, exhaling through your nose. “I wasn’t done. Just... thinking.”

She gives a small nod, accepting that. Her gaze lingers on you, searching for a signal. Anything.

You give her one.

“You want to sit?” You ask, nodding towards the back reading nook.

Relief moves through her, quiet and clear.

“Yeah.” She says. “I’d like that.”

…

“You ever get tired of this place?” She asks, gesturing faintly around the room. The nook of course empty except for you both, occupying each side.

“Sometimes.” You admit. “But it’s predictable. And easy for now. I like that.”

She tilts her head. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes predictable.”

You smirk faintly. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

“The fact that you’ve been giving me this look for two months and only talked to me after I practically backed you into a corner.”

You try to look unbothered, but she’s not wrong.

“You were intimidating.”

“I was reading Persuasion in sweatpants…”

You shrug. “Still counts. You’re like 6 foot tall. And really pretty.”

That earns a soft laugh. Her eyes linger on you a little longer than necessary.

Blushing, you change the subject. “So… what made you finally pick law?”

She stumbles uncharacteristically, not expecting your question. “I – uh – what?

You chuckle at her. “Why’d you switch from psychology?”

Wanda blinks. You weren’t supposed to know that.

“You mentioned it.” You remind her. “Our first conversation. The one thing you had actually told me about yourself.”

“Oh. Right.” She rests her elbow on the armrest. “Well, I loved psychology. Still do. But at some point I realised I didn’t want to study behavior. Instead, I wanted to change the systems that shape it.”

You nod, quietly impressed. “That sounds like a very Wanda Maximoff answer.”

She gives you a curious look. “You say my full name like you’ve repeated it in your head a few times.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you say mine like it’s a secret.”

She laughs, fully now, hands up in surrender. “Okay. Truce. No more calling each other out for the rest of the conversation.”

“Deal.”

You both settle into a steady rhythm. The conversation turns lighter. Books, favourite cities, law school horror stories. Wanda tells you about her first deposition and how she accidentally said ‘we object’ instead of just ‘objection’ because she got flustered by the opposing counsel’s cologne.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been talking until the light in the windows starts to shift. No one else has seemed to step in the library. If they did, neither of you noticed.

At one point, you shift slightly in your seat and she watches you with a subtle smile, eyes following the motion. She’s leaning in more now. Not physically – but her energy is tilted toward you again.

Familiar. Intentional.

“Do you do this with all the women in the romance aisle?” She asks casually, folding one leg under the other.

You raise an eyebrow. “What? Talk to them?”

“Sit with them. Ask about their careers. Quote Austen to them when you think they’re not listening.”

Your mouth curves. “Only the ones who hover too long on Brontë.”

“Mm. Dangerous category.”

“You think?”

She leans forward a little, voice quieter now. “You tell me, little librarian.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s quiet. Interesting.

Wanda glances toward the desk, her phone lighting up at the exact moment, then back to you. “How long until your shift ends?”

You check your watch. “About twenty minutes. I’m closing today.”

“I can wait.” She says.

“For what?” You tilt your head subtly.

Wanda finds it adorable.

“Let's go for a walk near the park across the street.”

And twenty minutes later, you’re walking out the building. She holds the door open without saying anything, and you step through, turning to lock up.

The air outside is cooler than expected. It smells faintly like pavement and fresh rain.

When did it rain?

“You ready?” She asks.

You nod, before heading across the road towards the park entrance.

…

You walk side by side down the edge of the pavement, neither of you in a rush. The streets are quiet. Just a few parked cars and the occasional distant bark of a dog within the park.

Wanda tells you she grew up near a forest, which you somehow believe immediately. She says her family moved around a lot when she was younger, and that she didn’t really know stability until law school forced her to stay in one place. You can tell she is speaking much more freely with you now. No longer guarding her replies. A foreign accent slipping between the lines of her words.

At one point, she glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You always think this much?”

You give a half-smile. “You always talk like you already know what I’m thinking?”

“No,” she says, “but I’m usually close.”

That gets a small laugh out of you. Then the conversation shifts.

You don’t plan to ask. The words just arrive.

“So… how are you finding it? Being a partner now?”

She looks ahead, hands tucked into her coat pockets.

“It’s good. Busy.”

“That’s it?”

Wanda exhales slowly. “It’s a lot of pressure. I mean, being a lawyer is always pressure, but there’s a different kind of expectation when your name’s next to the firm title. There’s less room to mess up. Less room to breathe, sometimes.”

You nod. “I imagine it’s intense. Especially with someone like T’Challa.”

“He’s fair.” She says. “Smart. Trusts his team.”

“Still. That’s a big adjustment.”

“It is.”

She doesn’t mention Natasha.

You don’t ask.

The name hovers there – unspoken but present.

Neither of you go near it.

You keep walking, turning down a quieter street shaded by rows of trees. A few brown leaves scatter across the sidewalk. The silence between you now feels heavier. Not awkward still – just fuller. Like there’s something there neither of you wants to admit you’re walking toward.

Eventually, Wanda slows, and you both come to a stop at a quiet corner. There’s no one around. No traffic. Just the wind nudging branches overhead.

She turns toward you, one hand still in her coat pocket, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression is softer now, more private.

“You know,” she says quietly, “this has been the best part of my week.”

You feel it in your chest before you can respond. A quiet, nervous twist. “Yeah,” you murmur, “mine too.”

You’re both standing a little too close now.

Close enough that if either of you moved even an inch forward…

Wanda shifts her weight slightly. Her voice drops, nearly a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you more than I should.”

You swallow. “Wanda –”

Her hand brushes lightly against your sleeve. Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, just for a second, then back to your eyes. You feel everything tighten – lungs, throat, heartbeat.

The space between you thins to nothing.

She leans in, just enough that you can feel her breath on your skin.

Then you say it.

“Wanda,” you breathe. “You have a wife.”

The words land like a thread snapping in the air.

Wanda stops. Pulls back – not harshly, but all at once.

Her eyes flicker, just for a moment, like she wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Like she wanted to believe that, if you didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t true here. Not in this moment. Not outside this library, not on this quiet street.

She looks away.

“I know.” She says. Quiet. Measured. Not defensive.

Neither of you moves.

The silence is different now.

You step back half a pace – not because you’re afraid of her, but because you need the room.

She straightens slightly. Clears her throat. “It’s complicated.”

You nod once, “But still. I’m not going to be the other woman.”

She lingers another second, another flinch. Then walks close once more, coat catching the breeze. “It’s – it’s not like that.”

She looks so unravelled, so unlike her.

“It’s not like that.” She repeats quietly. “What we have – it’s complicated, but it’s not what you think.”

You hesitate, still caught in the weight of her words.

What does she even mean?

How could it be complicated?

Wanda takes a slow breath. “Look… if you want, come by our place sometime. Meet Natasha. See for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. That was not what you was expecting her to say.

She gives a small, hopeful smile. “No pressure. Just… maybe it’ll help clear things up.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say.

With that, she passes you her phone, and asks you to put your number in. “I’ll text you later. We’ll set up something, okay?”

Once that’s done, she steps back, offering a last, quiet smile before bidding you goodbye, and turning down the street.

You watch her go, your mind racing.

What have you got yourself into?

#dahlibae fics! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡#wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #eternal sunshine au 🌞

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thedensworld · 1 year ago

Text

Chill Dad | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: fluff, parent au

Summary: Mingyu always wanted to be the chill and cool dad for his kids, however the world don't let him.

Mingyu remembered the exact moment he fell to his knees upon hearing the news—you were pregnant. After years of waiting, his dream of becoming a father was finally coming true. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter to him. But, as if fate had a plan, he was blessed with both—a beautiful baby girl and a baby boy. God had granted him twins. The day they were born, his heart nearly burst with pride. He named them Kim Kayi and Kim Kiha, and from that moment on, they became the center of his world.

Mingyu loved nothing more than showing off his babies. When the twins were just a month old, he threw a house party, eager to introduce them to everyone he knew. In his big arms, he proudly held Kayi and Kiha, beaming with pride as he introduced his friends and family to “the cutest babies in the world.” He wasn’t just saying that because they were his blood; they truly were the cutest—at least in his eyes. He adored every inch of them, from their tiny fingers to their chubby cheeks.

But, as the years passed, those adorable babies grew into spirited four-year-olds, and with that came the inevitable challenge: rebellion. Despite their cuteness, Kayi and Kiha had quickly learned how to test their father’s patience.

“I don’t want it!” Kayi’s small voice rang out defiantly one evening, her lips firmly pressed together as she refused to eat the vegetables on her plate.

Mingyu sighed, sitting across from her at the dining table, while you, seated on his left, were busy helping Kiha with his meal. Gently, he placed a carrot on Kayi’s fork and handed it to her again, hoping for cooperation. But with a little too much force, she pushed it back onto the plate.

“Kim Kayi…” His voice rose a few decibels, a warning in his tone.

You intervened softly, your voice a balm to his frustration. “Kayi, that’s okay. Just finish your meat, and then we can have your favorite fruit for dessert,” you said, standing to clean the small mess Kayi had made. Your other hand gently rubbed Mingyu’s back, calming him.

Another day, it was Kiha’s turn to test his father’s patience. “Kiha, we’re late, come here!” Mingyu called out, clothes in hand, as his son stubbornly refused to get dressed for an event. His small body was still glued to the floor, protesting.

“I don’t want to go…” Kiha mumbled.

“Mom and Kayi are waiting, everyone’s waiting,” Mingyu said with urgency, trying to reason with his son. “You shouldn’t be like this!”

When you walked into the room and saw the scene, Mingyu sighed in exasperation. “He refuses to wear anything,” he explained, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked gently, kneeling down to Kiha’s level and pulling him into a warm embrace. The two of you shared a quiet conversation that Mingyu couldn’t quite hear. Before long, you turned to him with a smile.

“Why don’t you and Kayi go ahead to the event? Kiha and I will stay home today,” you suggested softly, rubbing Kiha’s back as he clung to your neck.

Mingyu frowned. “Why?”

You smiled and gave Kiha a reassuring squeeze. “Kiha doesn’t want to go today. That’s okay, love. We’ll wait here for you.”

Though these moments tested Mingyu’s patience, he had a very healthy relationship with his kids. He adored them, and they adored him right back. Still, parenting during this rebellious phase often left him stressed, struggling to be the cool and chill dad he had once dreamed of being.

Later that evening, after the kids were finally asleep, Mingyu climbed into bed, visibly worn out. “You really need to stop spoiling the twins, love,” he said as he lay beside you.

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “I don’t spoil them.”

Mingyu shook his head. “You let them get away with everything. That’s why they fight me on everything I ask them to do.”

You let out a soft laugh, recalling the five rounds of dance battles you’d just had with the kids before bedtime. “They’re just babies, love. They’re supposed to be spoiled.”

“They’re babies, yes, but there are still rules in this house,” he said, his tone exasperated. “I’m exhausted, and I swear they still had energy left even after I forced them to close their eyes. But eventually, they passed out.”

He sighed. “And earlier tonight, Kiha said he doesn’t want to go to daycare tomorrow. He wants to stay with you.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll take him to work with me.”

Mingyu gasped dramatically, yanking the duvet over himself. “See! This is exactly what I mean. You’re spoiling them too much! And don’t think I forgot about the ice cream yesterday—you got them ice cream without telling me!”

You giggled, guilt evident on your face. “I’m sorry… They were so cute; I couldn’t say no!”

You snuggled closer to him, kissing his neck softly. “You’re an amazing father, Love. You’re doing such a great job. Trust me.”

He turned toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I know…” He smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

“Is this your way of telling me you want another kid?” Mingyu teased as he hovered over you, kissing you again.l

You grinned up at him. “Maybe…”

The next morning began like any other—filled with the usual whirlwind of activity as Kayi and Kiha ran around the house, their laughter echoing through the halls. You were busy getting breakfast ready, while Mingyu tried to wrangle the twins into their clothes.

“Kayi, Kiha, come on! We’re going to be late,” Mingyu called out, his tone growing sharper as the twins continued to ignore him, engrossed in their game of chase.

You glanced over, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “I’ll handle Kiha,” you offered, but before you could move, Mingyu sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No, I’ve got it,” he muttered, though the strain in his voice was clear.

The twins, oblivious to their father’s growing frustration, continued to run around, giggling as they eluded his grasp. Mingyu managed to catch Kayi, but Kiha slipped away, squealing with laughter.

“Kiha! Get over here, now!” Mingyu snapped, his patience fraying. When Kiha only giggled in response, Mingyu slammed his hand down on the counter. “I said, now!”

The sudden loud noise made Kiha freeze, his smile fading as he stared at Mingyu with wide eyes. Kayi, still in Mingyu’s arms, shrunk back, her playful energy draining away. You watched the shift in the atmosphere, your heart sinking.

“Babe…” you began softly, but he shook his head, setting Kayi down a little too abruptly.

“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “Every day it’s a fight. I’m just trying to get them dressed, and they act like I’m the enemy!”

Kiha, still frozen in place, looked from you to Mingyu, his lower lip trembling. Kayi wrapped her arms around her father’s leg, her small voice barely audible. “Daddy… I’m sorry…”

But Mingyu didn’t hear her. He turned away, muttering something under his breath as he walked out of the room, leaving you and the kids standing there in stunned silence.

You knelt down, pulling Kiha into your arms as Kayi clung to your side. “It’s okay, babies,” you whispered, kissing their heads. “Daddy’s just upset right now. He doesn’t mean to scare you.”

They nodded, though you could see the hurt in their eyes. Your heart ached, torn between comforting your children and wanting to check on Mingyu. You knew he didn’t mean to lose his temper, but moments like this had been happening more often lately, and it was beginning to take a toll on all of you.

Later that day, Mingyu retreated to the bedroom, wrestling with his emotions. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, the guilt settling in as he replayed the morning in his head. He hadn’t meant to yell. He loved his kids more than anything, but sometimes the pressure of parenting, combined with his own fears of failure, made it hard to keep his composure.

It wasn’t until you walked into the room, your eyes soft with understanding, that Mingyu finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“They’re okay, Mingyu,” you said gently, sitting down beside him on the bed. “But they were a little scared. You know that, right?”

Mingyu rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a groan. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to yell, but I just… I don’t know. I’m trying so hard, and it feels like I’m failing. I just want them to listen to me.”

“They’re just kids,” you reminded him, your voice calm but firm. “They’re going to push boundaries—that’s what four-year-olds do. But you have to remember that you’re their dad. They look up to you. And when you lose your temper, it affects them more than you realize.”

Mingyu closed his eyes, the tension slowly melting away as your words sank in. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry I yelled. I just… I feel like I’m failing.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’re not failing, Mingyu. Parenting is hard, and we’re both learning. But you’re not in this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and self-doubt. “I need to apologize to them, don’t I?”

You nodded. “It’ll mean a lot to them.”

That evening, after dinner, Mingyu gathered the twins on the couch, pulling them close. Kayi and Kiha sat quietly, their big eyes watching him, sensing something serious was about to happen.

“Hey, guys,” Mingyu began, his voice softer than usual. “I want to talk to you for a minute.” He took a deep breath, glancing at you before turning back to the twins. “I’m sorry for yelling this morning. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have raised my voice. That wasn’t right, and I don’t want you to feel scared of me.”

Kayi crawled into his lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck. “It’s okay, Daddy,” she whispered, her face pressed against his chest. “We love you.”

Kiha, still a bit hesitant, scooted closer and leaned his head against Mingyu’s arm. “We love you, Daddy,” he echoed quietly.

Mingyu’s heart clenched as he held them close, his eyes misting over. “I love you both so much,” he whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. “I’m going to try to be better, okay? We’ll work together.”

You watched from the doorway, your heart swelling at the sight of the three of them. Mingyu wasn’t perfect, but he was trying—and in the end, that’s what mattered most. Parenting wasn’t about being flawless; it was about showing up, even in the difficult moments, and finding your way back to love.

As the night settled in and the twins eventually drifted off to sleep, Mingyu turned to you, pulling you into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For always being here. For helping me through this.”

You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest. “We’re in this together, love. Always.”

And as you held each other in the quiet of the night, you knew that, no matter the challenges that lay ahead, you would face them side by side—just as you always had.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu x reader #mingyu au #mingyu fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu smut #mingyu imagine #mingyu recs

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eeriefeelingsat3amuwu · 1 year ago

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hdhahdhajfbajdnaudb Okay having Thoughts™️ about some of these ‘Odysseus raises Astyanax’ fics. Because. Because if we’re talking about the full odyssey experience. If Astyanax were to survive. He would have spent 11 years of his life growing up with Odysseus as his father. Now, to the main area of thought - Telemachus. Imagine. Imagine being a child, hearing of your father only in stories. From your mother, the servants, your grandparents. Seeing your grandmother succumb to her grief, seeing your mother grow sadder by the day, more sullen, seeing your grandfather withdraw into himself, all because of your father.

The man you are told you look like, the man who left for war, six, eight, eleven, fifteen, TWENTY years ago, left your home in disrepair, left your mother and you to deal with suitors disrespecting your house and name, the man who you are so angry at, yet Also worship as a god, because you don’t have a CHOICE. You can’t love him, you don’t KNOW him, but you love him in the way you love your gods - distant, unknowable, unreachable, and yet you have his face, your mother sometimes gates at you with these sad, sad eyes and you know she’s not really seeing you when she tells you she loves you.

You know he is a man, logically, how could he not be when your mother still remembers every calous on his hands and your grandfather tells you of how he almost set his room on fire one day, but he is only a legend to you. You hear other Kings, Kings from the same war your father left for (they came back, they are already back and he is still gone) discussing him, you hear how he helped end the war with your and your mother’s name on his lips and YET! He’s not here, he’s not here but he can’t be dead, because everyone agrees that he is too stubborn to die.

And then. He is back. And he has a boy with him. A boy who is younger than you, still just a child. And he regards the boy as his own, introduces him to you as ‘your brother’. He hasn’t dishonoured your mother, he took the child from the burning city of Troy because he is merciful and kind and you see it in the way the boy hugs him and calls him papa. And you should be happy, your father is back, you have a sibling now, your mother finally smiles properly again, your grandfather no longer cries when he sees you.

But. This boy. The boy your father brought from Troy. He got all that you have ever wanted: he got your father, from the moment he was Born he got your father, he was there for his first steps, his first words, he taught him how to sail, fight, read, count, he has been there with him through it all and you have never wanted anything more. ‘This child is not his son’ says that hateful, angry voice in your head.

You spend time with your father. He weeps, hugs you. Tells you he’s proud of the man you are now. Teaches you how to rule, it is your birthright, he says. He goes hunting with you and tells you he loves you and that the thought of you and your mother got him through many a peril. You spend time with your brother, you make him laugh, he loves you, clings to you just as much as he clings to your father, you teach him more about Ithaca, the way it is now, because he’s only heard stories. And still, in the back of your mind, you know you hate the child. You despise him with every fiber of your heart even if your mind knows he is not to blame - and that he has dealt with the same thing, just opposite to you.

Whereas you had a home, your mother and the rest of your family, but yearned for more than just the memory of your father, wanted for freedom, the boy had him, in the flesh, soothing his nightmares and teaching him to live, had the open sea and the deck of a ship, the capability to go anywhere, he lacked the stability that you had and despised. He didn’t know his grandfathers, would never get to know his grandmother, only had a memory of a mother and a brother, saw them as saints, as a reason to keep pushing forth.

You are opossites. You don’t know how it happened, as the child is not hers, but your brother looks like your mother where you are clearly your father’s son, yet your personalities seem to have been switched. You’re calmer, much more subdued, you don’t smile easily and are weaker of will. Your brother is loud and boisterous, quick to crack a grin and so, so Brave.

You still get the compulsion to bow to your father whenever he enters a room, to touch him to make sure he is real, at times. He sometimes wakes screaming, seeing horrors that you could not imagine in his sleep and doesn’t feel comfortable in a proper bed for years. He sets the curtains on fire and your father laughs in relief and he holds him to his chest. Your own chest cleaves in two.

Just. Is this anything?

#eerie’s feelings #my writing #epic the musical #telemachus #odysseus #astyanax #Penelope #odypen #astyanax lives au #just my babbling about Telemachus’ relationship with his father #and possible little brother #I don’t know if this is even good #it’s Midnight #fucking hell

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aerynwrites · 8 months ago

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Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do.

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint.

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you.

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least.

Can’t risk marking up the wares.

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor.

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch.

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband.

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too.

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you.

The king.

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill.

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric.

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him.

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat.

You don’t feel anything.

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle.

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome. You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard.

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house.

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard.

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil.

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better.

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you.

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together.

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air.

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him.

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own.

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast.

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais.

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun.

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention.

And once again, it’s those damned hands.

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you.

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you.

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes.

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate.

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions.

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one.

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife.

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you.

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom.

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells.

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away.

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end.

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat.

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently.

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past.

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity.

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one.

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband.

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more.

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks.

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway.

You do perk up at that. “A library?”

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again.

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier.

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again.

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name.

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance.

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more.

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass.

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip.

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet.

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress.

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you.

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself.

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion.

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze.

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles.

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind.

You’ve never been asked what you want.

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong.

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise.

The latter wins out.

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie.

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more.

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him.

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words.

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something.

But it never comes.

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly.

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think.

“And if I’m never ready?”

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips.

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place.

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline.

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point.

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls.

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees.

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you.

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles.

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you.

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey.

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight.

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back.

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.”

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin.

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that.

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal.

Maybe you are one.

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation.

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more.

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you.

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork.

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals.

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something.

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force.

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went.

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could.

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way.

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth.

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect.

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though.

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true.

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight.

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John.

But he isn’t here.

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime.

You miss him.

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty.

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away.

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?”

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently.

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist.

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away.

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips.

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips.

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision.

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about.

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek.

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair.

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest.

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse.

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again.

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing!

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head.

You wake up screaming.

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind.

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?”

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces.

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear.

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak.

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked.

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip.

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day. His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you.

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber.

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price

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lovetrouble123 · 26 days ago

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Love, Lustful Insomniac

Synopsis: Bruce absolutely hates the media, but his wife seems to love it

TW: suggestive content!! This is the closest I will ever write to smut

A/N:

Masterlist

��─ ⟢ ・⸝⸝

There was a reason why Batman stuck to the shadows, and why he always left right when the media showed up, and why he always kept his conversations with Commissioner Gordon short—it was because the Batman wasn’t one for conversation. He wasn’t one to stick around and make good publicity, hell, he didn’t want any.

The bat was meant to terrorize criminals, he wasn’t meant to be talked about in the media like a legend or a ghost story.

But Bruce Wayne? He would always be the talk of Gotham, at times rivaling the bat. Bruce was born wealthy and to the richest people in Gotham, the media would always follow his story, especially after his parents’ untimely demises.

Bruce Wayne was good looking, attractive, and after returning to Gotham to pursue the vigilante life style, he began to play into the role of the billionaire playboy. The man who was seen with a new woman on his arm every night, the man who was too self centered to care about anyone but himself, the man who believed he was untouchable, the man who found himself in a new scandal all the time—but it was all lies, and if anything, the Batman was the real Bruce Wayne.

Bruce’s beloved wife knew this. She knew of his struggles, his insecurities and so much more. Of course she did, they had been married for years now (almost a whole 2 decades). Bruce had nothing to hide from her, even the things he tried to hide she found out. She was too perceptive for her own good, and it was bound to get her into trouble one day.

Even though Bruce Wayne was shown to be a playboy, and someone who would ‘most definitely cheat on his wife’—he truly loved his girl with his entire being, even if he found it hard to fully express it at times…most of the time…all the time.

But it was the silent gestures that counted, right?

The door to Bruce’s office at Wayne Enterprises slammed open, the door hitting the wall with a great force. In the doorway stood his wife, Y/N, wearing only the most designer clothes Bruce could afford. She stepped in, a magazine in her hands and a bright smile on her face.

Before Bruce could open his mouth and greet his wife, and ask what the hell she was doing at his office, she shut the office door with her foot and walked over to his desk, dropping the magazine down on the desk.

The page was thrown open to a headline that read: “Top 10 Sexiest Men In Gotham City.”

Bruce deeply frowned in disapproval before looking up at his wife. “You came all the way here to tell me I won some silly contest?”

Y/N tapped the photograph that the article used of her husband, a picture of him at one of his many galas. His black suit was form fitting, and the (fake) causal smile he wore on his face was intoxicating to any woman.

“It’s not a silly contest.” She states, tapping her finger against the paper. “It’s a declaration that you’re the sexist man in the entirety of Gotham City.”

Bruce leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He looked up and eyed the photo of himself on the magazine.

He scoffed before looking back up at his wife. He was clearly not amused with this declaration.

Bruce was used to women drooling over him. It happened all the time, but he was even more used to turning those same women down. He already had the love of his life by his side, he didn’t need anyone else except her.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“What’s with that look for?” Y/N asked, pulling her hand away from the magazine.

Bruce gave his wife a cold, disapproving look and spoke with a flat tone. “You do realize there are far more important things in Gotham than me being labeled the sexiest man in the city, right?”

“Nobody wants to hear your sob stories about catching the Riddler, or how the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum—again.” Y/N deadpanned, giving her husband a soft glare.

Bruce was irritated hearing the words his wife said, mainly because he knew she was right. The people of Gotham were far more concerned with stupid labels and titles than the real issues that the city had.

“You need to stop reading these gossip magazines.”

“And how exactly are they gossip magazines—,” Y/N hopped up on his desk, crossing her legs as she turned to face her husband. “—When they only speak the truth?”

With an exasperated groan, Bruce raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He leaned back further in his chair and sighed deeply as he opened his eyes and looked directly at his wife.

He could never win against her, but he still tried anyway.

Bruce spoke with great disdain and irritation. “Because, my love, the media spins things. The truth is whatever they interpret."

She smirked, “so you’re telling me that you’re not the sexist man in Gotham?”

Bruce was slightly taken aback by her boldness. He was used to her confident and slightly bratty attitude after being married to her for so long, but every now and then she still managed to surprise him.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to fight back a smirk of his own. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin in his hand once more.

"Are you asking me to stroke my own ego or something, love?"

Y/N leaned forward in return, “whatever you wanna call it, Mr. Wayne.”

The air in the room shifted from playful to something more loving and lustful, a silent challenge of who was going to make the first move.

Bruce was used to women throwing themselves at him, even while he was married. It was something that came with the territory of being Bruce Wayne. But something about his wife doing it? It was strangely alluring.

“You know this is rather inappropriate, don’t you, Mrs. Wayne?” Bruce asked, a small smirk gracing his face. “Coming all the way here to flirt with me. I’m a busy man, you know.”

Y/N returned his smirk, a mischievous glint in her eye. She continued to lounge on his desk, her legs crossed and her skirt riding up just high enough to give him a small glimpse of her thighs. She was enjoying this little game they were playing far too much.

She leaned forward even more, practically purring. "Oh, I know you're busy. You're Gotham's very own playboy billionaire, after all. I'm sure the line of woman outside your office door is endless."

Bruce's gaze darkened at her words, his eyes flicking down briefly to her exposed thighs before he met her gaze again. His jaw tightened as he tried to maintain his usual stoic exterior, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with his wife sitting on his desk, shamelessly teasing him.

He leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. "Are you trying to rile me up, love?”

Y/N smiled and moved on his desk, spinning around to now sit in front of him. “Is it working?”

Bruce clenched his jaw at her closeness, her scent filling his nose and making his thoughts begin to turn not so innocent. He was quickly loosing control.

He ran a hand through his hair before speaking. "You know damn well the effect you have on me, love. You're playing a dangerous game here."

“Good, because that’s what I was hoping for.” Y/N slipped off the desk and placed herself on the floor, looking up at him between his legs.

Bruce tried to keep his control at bay, but his wife on her knees and looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers? Fuck, it was doing something to him.

“You’re testing my limits, aren’t you?”

Y/N smiled up innocently, placing a hand on his pants, feeling him grow beneath the ghost of her hand. “Never.”

“Someone could walk in on us, sweetheart.” Bruce warns.

“If they don’t knock, that’s on them.” Y/N shrugs, “and if we’re caught? Then we’re caught. It’ll remind everyone who you belong to.”

At those words, Bruce couldn't help himself any longer. The possessive and dominant side in him coming out.

"You want to remind people who I belong to, hm? You want everyone to know I'm a taken man?"

“Mhm.”

Bruce gave a small and silent nod as Y/N smiled and reached for his belt, unclasping it.

“Try not to be too loud, okay?” Y/N sweetly asked.

#batman x reader #batman #batman fic #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #dc fanfic #dc universe #dc comics #how freaky can I write a Bruce fic without making it smut #how many times have I done this? 2? 3?

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missadangel · 9 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XVII. The Birth (Warning!Childbirth)

Suspicio semel excitatur, omnia pascit.

Once suspicion is aroused, everything feeds it.

They were laughing, muttering, glancing, and smiling in a way that could be seen as arrogant, sinister, cruel, or otherwise unkind. However, you find yourself unable to respond to their actions due to an overwhelming sensation of pain in your chest. Since you fell in love with Marcus, you'd felt the same pain in that spot many times for different reasons. When he fought in the Colosseum, when he was wounded, when you were separated, when he spoke of his past, when he went off to war, even every time he left home. But none of it was like the pain you felt now. It was a strange, intense, rage-inducing, all-consuming, aggressive, dangerous feeling.

The gentle touch of your aunt on your shoulder, Decima's concerned expression, the hesitant looks of the other women who respected you – these intense feelings absorbed all of that. As you felt the anger and suspicion spreading throughout your body, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing because of the situation you were in, and you hated it.

"I won't allow you to upset my niece, our princess, in my house! Don't you have any decency?"

Everyone except Julia averted their gaze. "You seem to have forgotten that you're talking to an empress. It was the princess herself who asked the question, Antonia."

Antonia's gaze was sharp. It was clear that there was an unresolved conflict between her and Julia, and you were certain it had something to do with your deceased mother. "It was you who made the insinuation, Empress Domna and everyone here knows it. To gain respect, you must first give it.”

“You're going too far.”

"Hah! Look who's talking! Weren't you the one who first accused your own husband, the emperor, and then a Roman general, of being unfaithful? That seems a bit impudent, doesn't it?"

You took a deep breath and stood up with your aunt's help, this was not the time to cry, this was the time to put your foot down and Julia had already crossed the line and exhausted your patience with her.

"Lady Domna, you should be focusing on your son's future, not my private matters and my husband's. It's a shame you've made a habit of it, but maybe you're influenced by this unfaithful woman at your side," you said, looking at her. You knew who she was. She'd told you sarcastically about Marcus' former wife months ago, but you never confronted her because you didn't care. But now it was time. Looking at her, you continued, everyone, including the slaves, had stopped murmuring and were focused on you two.

"Don't think I'm not aware of what's going on. I may seem patient, but I'm not stupid."

The woman was about to say something in protest, but Julia raised her hand to stop her. You weren't planning to deal with her anyway, you didn't even look at her face even once. Julia raised an eyebrow. "You're speaking to an empress, so watch your tone."

"I was here before you. I was born a princess! I earned my status by birthright, without having to marry an emperor like you."

You could feel your aunt smiling proudly beside you. The women began to murmur quietly. Julia was caught off guard by your harsh words, and the woman next to her shot you a look, but you didn't falter. Her silence emboldened you. You approached her and leaned into her ear. "I know my husband will be furious when I tell him about your slanderous words. You'd clearly forgotten what happened the last time you pissed him off."

"You're almost proud to say that," she said, narrowing her eyes, but you could tell she was tensing up.

"You're the last person to lecture me on pride. How quickly you forgot that thing you asked me for when you came to my villa. That's exactly what a woman without pride would do."

“Are you insulting me now?”

“No, I'm just describing you.” You said sarcastically.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You little!”

"That's enough!" Your aunt intervened. "Please leave my house, you are no longer welcome here." She said to Julia and her companions. Then she looked at everyone. "Thank you for coming, ladies, but the banquet is over now."

Julia looked at you with a bit of a glare and turned away, and the other women with her followed her, without saying goodbye or showing any respect. You took a deep breath and put your hands on your belly. You could feel the baby moving inside you.

"Are you well, my lady?" Decima asked as she stepped towards you.

"They say if you cut the grass, snakes will appear." Your aunt mumbled. "You did well putting her in her place, Aurelia."

You gave her a half-smile in return. The other women greeted you one by one before leaving the courtyard.

"I think it's an ugly rumor. Everyone in Rome knows your husband Acacius would never do such a thing. If you don't feel well, it'll affect the baby, so it's probably best not to worry about it."

You trusted Marcus, of course, but suspicion had already crept into your mind.

"Thank you, Aunt Antonia. I'd like to take my leave now."

"Of course, my dear. You should go home and get some rest." She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. "I hope I'm not mistaken, but I believe you said the baby is due next week?"

You nodded.

"I hope everything will be fine."

"Aurelia, I'm really sorry about all this. Thank you for coming," Paulina said, giving you a hug. "Please don't concern yourself with what those women say. You need to think about your child.’

"So do you," you said, looking at her belly. "I'll be fine," you promised with a smile. Then took Decima's arm. "Have a good night."

"Good night, cousin," Paulina called out to you.

Your aunt accompanied you to the carriage, and the midwife came along too. "Aurelia, the things they said..." Antonia said in a low tone. "Even if it's true, just remember that you're still his wife, and that won't change. I'm sure it won't affect a love like yours. So you need to make sure it won't damage your marriage. That's what Julia wants, after all. Once she finds out you've had a son, she'll be even more hostile towards you. But as your aunt, I will always be there for you. I'll make sure she doesn't hurt you or your child. I won't let that snake bite me twice." She kissed your cheek and stroked your belly with her hand. "Now go home and rest. Try to keep your mind calm until the birth."

You smiled at her. "Thank you. I appreciate it.”

By the time the carriage arrived at the villa, it was already getting dark. You were lost in thought the whole way through, mulling over the past week. Over the past few days, Marcus left the villa in a bit of a rush in the afternoon and came back late. He never wore his armour during that time. Was there any chance he was really going there? Could the mere thought of a possibility hurt someone so much? But it did.

With Decima and the midwife's help, you carefully got out of the carriage. "Please don't mention what's happened back there to anyone, especially not the General. Is that clear?" You looked at the midwife in particular who replied with a nod.

When you stepped into the courtyard, Tullia greeted you.

"Thank Gods you're back safe and sound, my lady."

"Is my husband here?" you asked, looking up at your chambers.

"No, my lady. General Acacius has not yet returned." She and Decima exchanged glances. She was worried and surprised by your behavior.

"I will rest in my room," you said, heading for the stairs.

Decima came to you and took your arm. After all, it wasn't as easy for you to climb the stairs as before. As you approached the door, you looked at her. "I'd like to be alone, please."

She gave a little smile and nod, but her eyes showed her worry. You closed the door and took a moment to survey the room. It was as if your mood had even changed the atmosphere of the room. You touched the tulle around the bed and, as you ran your fingers through the fabric, everything you heard echoed in your head. You removed your necklace, crown, hairpins, bracelets, and earrings, put them all in a wooden box, and placed them in the closet. Once you'd removed the palla and stola, you went over to the bed.

You noticed the burgundy tunic that Marcus had taken off before leaving was on the bed. You sat down and held the tunic in your hands, taking a deep breath to enjoy his scent. Since he got back from the war, you only had physical intimacy once in balneum, and you missed him more than ever. It was tough, but you managed somehow. That is, until tonight. While you missed him on his own in the room, he is with someone else now...

'No, no, no, Aurelia. That's not possible.' You thought to yourself, 'I don't believe he'd do that.'

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. You were pretty sure they'd be back to give you a hard time later on. Decima looked over from the doorway with a tray in hand.

"I've made you some chamomile tea." She said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

You smiled back and put the tunic back on the bed. "Yes, please." You stood up and sat down on the bed with her help. She placed a pillow behind your back and handed you the cup with tea in it then sat beside you. "I hope you're not still dwelling on what they said,"

You shook your head, "I am not," you lied.

Decima squinted at you, she knew you well. "Come on now, Aurelia. This is the General we're talking about. His love for you is nothing like I've ever seen. Everyone else might be tempted to cheat, but he is not one of them."

You took a sip of your tea. "But I need to know where he goes in the evenings."

"Do you want me to ask Octavius?”

"No, not him. He can't keep secrets from Acacius." You took another sip. You and Decima then looked at each other and said the same name at the same time. "Cato."

You both laughed.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow," you said, handing her the tea. "I've had enough to drink for now. Thank you, my dear."

She took the cup and helped you lie down on the bed.

“Decima."

She looked at you before leaving the room.

"I'm so glad I have you in my life," you said. "Your friendship is really important to me."

"I value yours just as much, my lady. Get some rest now." She said and then closed the door.

It was already tough enough to get some sleep at night with a little warrior on the way. And on top of all that, you were plagued by unnecessary worries. You wanted to roll over, but even that was difficult now. After a while, you heard voices coming from the courtyard. You closed your eyes when you heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Why did I do this now? You thought to yourself. You couldn't manage to roll over, so you pretended to be sleeping. The door closed and footsteps approached. You felt Marcus's lips on the top of your head and opened your eyes.

"Forgive me, did I wake you up?"

You turned your head and looked at him, into his brown eyes. Was this the man who was unfaithful to his wife? It was impossible. You gave him a smile. "I can't sleep without you."

His smirked. "I'll be right back." He said and removed his shawl first, then his sandals. He ran his fingers through his hair, adjusting, and sat on the bed, crawling in next to you. He then gave you a kiss on the temple, then on the nose, and then on the lips. "I've missed you. Both of you." He put his hand on your belly and smiled when he felt a kick.

"We've missed you too. I suppose it's because you're always coming in late at night these days." You tried to keep your tone calm. His expression changed for a moment as if he was thinking about what to say, which made you a little confused.

"If I might ask for a little more patience, my lady? I'll be going at night less often very soon, I promise."

This left you feeling even more confused. Did he mean after the birth?

"How was the banquet? Did you have a good time?”

Oh, right. I had a great time, indeed!

"It would have been better if Julia hadn't been there."

Marcus frowned. "Or did she say something to upset you?"

You looked him in the eye, but he wasn't asking questions or seeming to expect anything. He seemed genuinely concerned and sincere. "No, she's her usual self, never mind her. Besides, she is the one who got upset. I might have said some harsh things to her." You grinned.

He raised his eyebrows. "You? My Aurelia? Did you really do it?"

"Yes, sir. I did.”

He laughed. "You did well. I love my princess even more when she is tough," he said with a grin, putting his hand under your chin and kissing your lips.

Gods, his mouth tasted so good, and your tongue felt truly blessed. You couldn't help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Marcus placed his hands on either side of you. He was almost starting to undress you, but he managed to stop and pull back. He broke the kiss, gently pushing your hands away. In response, you gave a little frown and pursed your lips, as you always did. He smiled and placed his hand on the back of your neck, guiding your head towards his chest.

'We should get some sleep now, my love." He was breathing heavily. Trying to calm himself down, stroking your hair with one hand while the other was just above your belly. He spoke to the baby for a while, feeling the kicks, and then he fell asleep. You watched him in his sleep, admiring his perfect nose, chin, eyebrows, and his curly grey hair. You had to get rid of this suspicion that was spreading like poison inside you. You fell asleep too, thinking about how to do it. You woke up more than twice over the rest of the night because your growing uterus was putting pressure on your bladder, leaving less room for urine and more frequent urges to pee. Fortunately, you had a devoted husband who was kind enough to wait for you at the door of the latrine while you peed. It must be a sin to slander this wonderful man.

When you opened your eyes in the morning and realised Marcus wasn't in bed, you had the urge to look up. However, you let out a slight groan when you felt a rather strong kick in your stomach.

"Good morning to you too, little one." You mumbled sleepily.

"Another kick?" Marcus asked. He was at his desk, looking like he was busy with some papers.

"Yes. It seems our child is eager to come out. Well, I'm really looking forward to it." You said with a sigh.

"Are you certain? I'm just afraid we won't be able to hold him once he starts walking. He's going to tire us out."

You giggled. "I agree." You said you had a hard time trying to sit up in bed. Marcus got up from his desk and came over to help you. "And I am certain."

“Hm?"

You grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. "You asked me if I was certain. So, yes I am. I would like to give birth to our child as soon as possible so that I can be able to touch you in the way that I desire."

He swallowed, his heart starting to race. He then lowered his head and whispered into your ear. "I must say, my lady, you try my patience too much. Be sure my revenge will be great.’

‘'I am eagerly awaiting." You giggled.

"You are quite mischievous." He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek.

After breakfast, you accompanied Marcus to the stables to visit Unio and Dromos. Once you had finished feeding them, Marcus proposed that he teach you how to groom. First, he made sure Unio stayed still then he handed you the brush. Unio sniffed the brush, her hot breath made you giggle.

"I think she wants to eat this. I believe you've already eaten quite a lot, have you not?"

Marcus laughed. "Start with her withers, right up here," he guided your arm to the top of her.

"I haven't seen Mau since we returned," you murmured as you brushed Unio's mane. Marcus put his hand on yours, and the other hand on your waist. Unio let out a soft whinny, it seemed that your movements were helping to relax her.

"I didn't see her either."

"I asked everyone but no one saw her," you said, pursing your lips. You missed her as much as everyone and everything else. She was one of the things that reminded you of your days in Egypt, after all. Marcus noticed your sad expression.

"It's possible she went elsewhere when the villa was abandoned. I think she'll be back."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do." He touched your cheek. "Listen, I really don't want to see you upset about it. You've been feeling a bit worried about everything lately, which is a concern for me.”

Well, he was right, but there was nothing you could do. "I have to admit that I'm feeling a little nervous as the big day approaches, but it's been worse since you went off to war. Those days were pretty tough for me." He could hear worry in your voice. "I'm scared, Marcus. I'm scared that at if something might happen and we'll be separated again."

He put his arm around you. "We don't know what the future holds, but I'll do what I have to do. If I have to fight, I will." You bowed your head he put his hand under your chin, lifting your face up. "To fulfill our dreams. For our child." His gaze fell to your stomach. "Or should I say, for our children, dozens of them," he said with a grin.

You giggled at him and then nodded. "We'll have a bright future, Marcus. You'll be winning victories, and I'll be raising our children."

"My beautiful Aurelia," he cupped your face gently. "As the Gods are my witnesses, to have won you is my greatest, most glorious victory."

You smiled and he kissed your lips passionately, lovingly. You put your arms around his neck and he put his around your waist, but your belly prevented him.

"It looks like I'll have to wait a little longer to wrap you in my arms the way I did before." He said with a laugh. You place your hands on your waist. "I suppose I'll have to wait until I get my waist back, too."

He laughed again, and you joined in. Unio also let out a whine, as if they wanted to share in your joy.

In the evening, Marcus wore his white tunic and red shawl just as he did on other evenings and left the villa. You found yourself grappling with the same feelings of unease as you had the day before. You needed to put an end to it, and tonight was the night. That's why you sent one of the slaves and asked Cato to come to the villa. Norell spotted you and Decima on your way to him, but you made an excuse and avoided her. You were sure she'd tell Tullia everything, which would make things more complicated. Cato was in the stables and greeted you when he saw you.

"My lady, may I ask why you sent for me? Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I hope no one realized you coming here."

"No, they didn't. The training was over anyway. It's usually quiet in the evenings."

"Not for your general, apparently," you said, squinting. "Cato, I'm going to ask you a question and I need you to be honest with me, alright?”

He opened his eyes as wide as he could. "How could I possibly deceive you, my lady? Or maybe I have made a mistake?"

"No, this has nothing to do with you. It's about the General, my husband."

Cato looked at Decima and then back at you, surprised.

"I'm all ears."

"General Acacius... he... at night…" You took a deep breath to continue. "I want to know where he spends the whole night.'"

He scratched his head, looking thoroughly confused. ‘'You mean, somewhere other than the barracks? He does meet with the legates from time to time. And then..." he said, "And…" You got the feeling he wasn't being entirely truthful when he suddenly averted his eyes.

"And what else?"

He took a deep breath.

"Tell me," you demanded.

"He doesn't usually tell me where he's going, but over the last few days, he's been leaving in the middle of the night with Sir Octavius in an incognito outfit. And the other night I heard them talking..." He shook his head. "Maybe I misheard."

"You said with Octavius?" Decima enquired.

Now she looked as concerned as you were.

"Tell us what you heard.”

He took a moment to swallow. "Once I'd helped him take off his armour and closed the door on my way out, Sir Octavius asked if they were heading somewhere. The general said to him that they need to get going..." Cato bowed his head. Was he embarrassed?

Your heart started to beat faster. "And where is that place they're heading to?"

"Tell us quickly, Cato." Decima was annoyed.

Cato answered without looking up. "Um... Whore house. Forgive me, but they said they were going there."

Hearing those words again made your body tremble with anger.

There was silence for a short time. It was only when Decima touched your cheek that you realised you were crying.

"Are you alright?"

You looked at her, unable to speak.

"Forgive me. It's a stupid question, isn't it?"

You wiped your tears. "He..." Your voice was a little shaky. "And where are he and Octavius now?"

Cato lifted his head, but he still couldn't meet your gaze. "They left just before I did, my lady, but I really don't know where they went this time.”

"Go and let them know I need the carriage to be ready."

They looked at you with their eyes wide open.

"My lady, but..."

"Or did you not hear what I said?"

Cato swallowed. "I'll get it ready, my lady."

"One more thing. I want you to keep this between us. This conversation never happened. Do you understand?"

He nodded and strode purposefully towards the courtyard to find the coachman. "What are you thinking?" Decima asked.

"We're going there. I need to see for myself."

"You are mad. How are you going to go there like this?" she asked, looking at your big belly. "What if something happens? They might not even be there..."

"Decima. I have to get rid of this suspicion that torments me. You understand me, don't you?

She let out a sigh. "I understand you perfectly. Alright, I'm coming with you to make sure Octavius isn't betraying me."

"We need to change our outfits though. If I come in, the others might get suspicious, so you go and bring cloaks for both of us."

"I hope we're not doing anything wrong, my lady."

You crossed your arms. "We'll see soon who's doing the wrong thing."

"Still, I really hope it's a misunderstanding." She said with a sad tone.

"I do hope so, dear.”

At your own request, Coachman took you to a location that was a considerable distance from the whore house. You told him to wait for your return and proceeded to head towards the street. You were waiting at the corner, which afforded you a clear view of the entrance.

"This is rather absurd, don't you think?" Decima whinnied.

"There's no need to be concerned. We'll simply observe from a distance."

This street, which was quite lively at this time of night, was much the same tonight. The sounds of people laughing and walking by could be heard echoing throughout the street. Given the lack of light, it was unlikely that you would attract attention, although it was possible that the guards at the door might notice you.

"I'm sorry," you murmured as you gazed at the gate, hoping against hope that you would not see the face you expected to see, every time someone new came in or out. "I can imagine it must be hard for you to come here again."

Decima shook her head. "What happened in the past is not something that affects me any more. I suppose that everything changed for me after I met Octavius.

"Decima," you smiled at her, but your expression changed as you remembered why you were there.

"Ah, there they are." She said, pointing forward.

You looked over and saw Marcus and Octavius, wearing their black cloaks, coming out. You turned on your heel and leaned against the wall, not because you wanted to hide but because you were pretty shaken. Decima kept her eyes on them.

"I can't believe it, Decima. They were right. How could he do this to me? Am I not attractive anymore? Am I ugly? Does he no longer love me?"

"Aurelia-"

"Couldn't he have waited a little longer? I just don't understand why he did this to me. What am I going to do now?"

"Aurelia-"

"No, don't say anything. There's nothing more to say-"

"Aurelia, shut up for a minute, please." She shushed you.

You looked at her in surprise.

"Forgive me, but you'd better take a look at this.'‘

"I've seen enough." You said, shrugging your shoulders.

"Actually, you haven't. Please, take a look."

You did as she said and took another look, and you were just as surprised as before. Right next to them was a blond-haired man wearing a cloak, just like them.

“Geta!?”

Decima covered your mouth and pulled you behind the wall. "Shhh. You'll get us caught."

You kept your voice low. "But I don't understand. Geta is here too? I am greatly disappointed to find that all the men in my life are so unreliable."

"Gods! Aurelia, try to stay calm for a minute." Her voice was almost pleading. "I don't think the situation is as it seems."

"How do you mean?"

"That's Felix and Aris over there. And those are the Praetorians with Emperor Geta."

You peeked and saw that she was right.

"I think it's like a secret mission or something." She looked at you nervously. "We came here for nothing."

You bit your lower lip. "So.. We've got it all wrong."

Suddenly, they all looked in your direction, and you felt your heart racing as you stepped back behind the wall. "Decima, we have to get out of here now."

"Indeed."

You had just stepped into the street when a familiar voice called out from behind you making you freeze.

"You two! Stop right there!" Octavius’ voice was sharp.

Decima looked at you with concern from under the hood, but you took her arm and guided her forward. Aris and Felix stepped in front of you. Someone drew their sword, and the sound of it ringing out echoed through the street. It was Marcus. He tilted his head to look at you, reached out, and pushed back your hood, a playful look on his face as he did so. He'd already figured out who you were.

The others looked at you in surprise and bowed their heads.

"My lady, no matter how much you try to hide your pretty face, your belly gives you away."

You averted your eyes, and he sheathed his sword.

"I really wonder what you are doing here."

You looked at Decima and saw that Octavius had come to her side. You then looked back at Marcus with a hesitant look. He was waiting for your answer, raising his eyebrows.

"I have the same question for you, General." You said stubbornly.

Marcus ordered the others to go to Geta's side, then turned to you again.

"You never cease to surprise me, Aurelia. How could you come here like this?"

"I had to," you snapped.

"Did someone mention they saw me here? And instead of trusting me, you came here to check on me?"

"Those women are shameless. They were being pretty mean, laughing and joking. I didn't want to believe it, but you were being so mysterious. I thought maybe you wanted to come here because you've stopped touching me. I thought... maybe... you don't love me anymore."

Suddenly he grabbed your shoulders, his expression was stern. "You silly woman." He gave your cheek a little nudge with his nose, looking at you quite tenderly now. "All those wretch women would drown in a single drop of my love for you. Don't ever believe them." He took your face in his hands. "Don't you know that my days and nights all belong to you? My moon, my sun, my spring... Don't you know how much I love you?" He bent down and kissed your temple, his beard tickling a little, making you smile.

"Marcus, I love you too. You are the breath I take, without you I am incomplete, wounded. But suspicion has driven me mad. Forgive me.”

He smiled and then grabbed your arm. "We'll talk about this when we return home. Now I have to complete my mission."

"What mission is that?"

"I came here because your brother asked me to keep an eye on his cousin. He has been meeting secretly with members of the Senate. It's a bit of a long story."

"Sister?" Geta laughed. "Acacius, it's pretty amazing you could recognise your wife from that distance. Remarkable!" He gave a little grin and turned up his thumb like when he does at the Colosseum, which you found a bit annoying.

"So my husband had to come here because of you?" You asked, frowning.

"It was meant to be a secret meeting, so he hid from you. I mean, I know how stubborn you are, but I didn't expect you to do this."

"Secret?" You laughed hysterically. "You caught by Horatia's husband."

Marcus crossed his arms squinting at Geta. "See? I warned you, but you were insistent."

"I couldn't trust anyone else but you, Acacius. Besides, It only made it easier for them to think you were unfaithful."

"How could you say that so easily? He would never do such a thing, I trust him, but you made him look like he did!" You barked.

Marcus smirked.

"Hah but yet you are here, sister."

"Your mother made me!" You took a step towards him, Marcus grabbed your hand. "That shameless woman accused my husband!" Suddenly warm water ran down your legs, you looked down with wide eyes and saw your legs all soaked including your sandals.

You froze.

"Gods!" Decima cried out.

It took the men around you a bit longer to figure out what had happened.

"Sister, did you just… pee on yourself?"

You grabbed his collar angrily. "The baby's coming!" You yelled.

Then they all froze.

A strong contraction in your womb made you groan in pain. Marcus was unsure of what to do for a moment, but when he heard you moan, he came round and wrapped his arms around you.

"Aurelia! My love, are you alright?"

You shook your head and you grabbed his collar this time. "Marcus, I can't give birth here. Please take me home now, please!"

He nodded, "You're right," he said before taking you in his arms in a hurry.

Another contraction hit you. "Aah! Marcus, please!" You begged.

"What if she gives birth before you get to the villa?" Geta asked, sounding anxious. "Maybe here," he said, glancing behind him.

"I won't give birth to my child in a whore house!" You yelled at the top of your lungs. The whole street was looking at you, but you ignored them.

"Sir, we need the midwife," Decima said.

"I'll get there before you," said Octavius.

You were having lower back pain along with contractions making you writhe.

"Acacius! Palatine Hill is closer to here than the villa. You would not want her to give birth on the street, are you?"

You moaned loudly in pain. Marcus frowned, thinking.

You clenched your jaw and tried to speak. "No, Marcus, I want to go home, please. Ow!"

"There's no time for a discussion, Aurelia! Octavius, go to the villa and speak with the midwife. Then bring her to Palatine Hill."

"Yes, sir!" He said and rushed towards his horse.

"Damn Palatine Hill!" You shouted.

Marcus grinned nervously, whispering into your ear. "Just hold on, love."

"The carriage is just over there," Decima said, pointing ahead.

Marcus ran over and helped you into the carriage, carrying you in his arms. You held his other hand tightly the whole way, and he held yours back just as tight. He was kissing your fingertips one by one, trying to soothe you as you groaned in pain.

"Breathe in, my love, take deep breaths."

You did as he said, but when the carriage reached Palatine Hill, you started to feel a bit scared. Marcus hurried down from the carriage, holding you tightly. Decima got off right after you. The guards at the entrance to the grand gate looked at you with surprise.

"Open the gate now!" Marcus yelled at them.

"General. Princess," they greeted you as you continued to moan. Then they opened the gate for you to enter, looking worried for you.

Soon Geta arrived with the other guards. He immediately dismounted his horse and ran after Marcus. The guards struggled to keep up with him. Julia heard the voices from the other courtyard, heading there. She realised Geta first.

"Your Majesty! Where have you been? Elagabalus is nowhere to be seen and- What is this?”

Marcus ignored her and headed for the stairs to your chambers, your moans and screams accompanying him all the way.

Julia was left gaping after you two, while Geta followed at a brisk pace.

"Not now, mother! Aurelia is in labor! My nephew is coming!"

Julia ran to catch up with him. "But why is she giving birth here instead of her house?"

You could hear them talking as Marcus carried you upstairs with you in his arms, but you didn't care.

"If you're going to keep complaining, please stay here!" Geta shouted at her which made Julia give up climbing the stairs. She smiled as she looked at the slaves hurrying upstairs. "Since your midwife isn't here, you might even die, Aurelia," she muttered to herself.

As soon as he got into the room, Marcus put you on the bed and put lots of pillows behind you.

"Marcus, please don't leave me."

He grabbed your hand again. "Never, my love, I'm here.”

Decima helped you take off your sandals while Marcus held your hand tightly.

Geta came over to you. "How are you holding up, sister?"

"The contractions aren't that frequent, but I can feel the baby's coming."

"Octavius will fetch her right away, just hang in there, please." Marcus kissed your hand.

You smiled at him. "Decima, you know what's needed. Make sure everything's ready for the midwife when she arrives."

Decima nodded and stepped towards the slaves. "Bring warm clean water, oil, a basin, and lots of clean clothes!"

"You heard her! Move! Quick, quick!" Geta gestured for them to leave the room.

Marcus stood up took off his black cloak and sat next to you on the bed and put his arm around. You rested your head on his chest. The contractions were becoming more frequent and painful, but Marcus holding his hand helped you to stay strong.

"It seems you two have somehow ended up here again," Geta said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You gave a forced smile. "That may be true, but let's not forget this is all because of you."

He frowned. "Am I the one who told you to spy on your husband in the middle of the night with your big belly? Even a place like that…"

"Don't even think about mentioning that place!" You barked. Your voice was louder than you intended because of the pain.

Marcus pressed his lips to the top of your head, you could feel him smiling.

"However. My nephew wants to be born here so he can meet his uncle first. I like him already." His famous smug smile appeared all over his face.

After a few pretty intense contractions and the pain they caused, you were relieved to hear that the midwife had finally arrived at the palace. Marcus stood up when the midwife came in the room.

The midwife greeted you both and asked permission to lift the hem of your tunic. Marcus made Geta out of the room and then himself. The Midwife examined you vaginally to see how your opening was and how close it was to your cervix. She knew you were a medicus, of course, so she asked.

"My lady. How far apart are the contractions?"

"Five minutes apart." You replied.

"A walk will do you good, my lady. I'll prepare what you need."

You nodded and got up with Decima's help. Marcus came in to talk to the midwife through the door.

"There was still time. But it looks like our child will be born early. Has something happened to him?" He kept his tone low and gave you a quick look.

"Keep your heart at ease, general. Your child is fine, thank the Gods. Something seems to have triggered the labour. I hope your child will be born in good health. I'll make sure Lady Auelia has everything she needs for labour, if I may."

"I hope so."

She nodded and headed for the stairs accompanied with the slaves.

"Don't worry, Acacius," Geta said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "You know how strong and stubborn she is. I'm sure everything will be fine."

They were looking at you, both concerned about you and excited for the baby. And you looked at them both and smiled, maybe for the last time before the birth.

After walking around the room with Marcus for a while, you started to feel too much pain making you unable to stand up.

"The contractions are a minute apart now," you told the midwife.

"Please sit on the bed, my lady." She glanced at the slaves. "Could you pour the water?" She washed her hands while Marcus helped you to get settled on the bed. The midwife then looked at the men in the room, her gaze timid. "General, labour has now begun. Rest assured, I'll do everything I can for our princess."

Marcus nodded, stroked your head, and kissed the top of it. "Be strong my love. I'll be right outside the door."

You would have liked him to stay with you, but you had never seen or heard of a man doing that. So you didn't ask him for it.

"You won't believe it, but I'll pray for you and my nephew, sister," Geta said with a smile. Then they left the room together.

You let out a scream as Marcus left the room and the contraction intensified. Your chest felt tight and you got a sharp pain from your tailbone to your lower back.

With the help of the slaves, the midwife rubbed olive oil on her hands and pressed them on your belly. The baby was running out of time, as your waters had broken hours ago. The pain was getting worse by the minute. Decima was wiping the sweat from your forehead and giving you soothing and encouragement. As your screams echoed throughout the Domus Severiana, Marcus realised he'd never felt so scared and helpless in his life. Octavius watched his friend anxiously as Marcus balled his hands into fists and paced back and forth. Geta was just as wound up as well. Your screams, which were getting louder and louder by the minute, were making them things worse for them. At last, Marcus could bear it no longer.

"That's enough," he hissed and stormed into the room. Geta was going to stop him but his expression made him give up.

Marcus closed the door behind him. When he turned round, he was taken aback to see the slaves soaking cloths in water and handing them to the midwife. They were in such a hurry that they didn't even notice he'd entered the room.

“My lady, push a little more,” the midwife said in a pleading voice.

"Marcus! It hurts! Please make it stop! Please!"

He wrapped his arm tightly around you. "I know, love. I know. I'm here. You can do it. You're the strongest woman I know.’"

Another push and another scream. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" You asked the midwife.

"The baby's not in the right position for labour." I feel a foot. I'll have to turn him. "Just hang in there and push when I tell you to."

When the next contraction hit, you screamed with the most horrible sound Marcus has ever heard. Then you leaned against him you cried out in horrible, broken sobs, your whole body trembling with the effort.

"You're doing so well," Marcus whispers into your sweaty hair, "So well, my love, just a little more."

Once the midwife had managed to turn the baby, you could feel her fingers inside you. Your uterine walls were now ready to push the baby out. You grabbed Marcus's hand and squeezed it, then started pushing with all your might. But it didn't work. The baby wasn't cooperating. Something was wrong, and everyone in the room knew it. But that wasn't the worst of it. You were running out of strength. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold on.

"Bring some more hot water," said the midwife. Decima wiped the sweat from your forehead, Marcus gathered up your sweat-soaked hair, pushed it behind your neck and kissed your forehead.

"Deep breaths. Come on, my love." You breathed in and out with him.

"Could you get our princess some water and honey?" The midwife asked one of the slaves.

The midwife smiled at you as Decima helped you drink water. "Your child is going to be very stubborn, my lady. He insists on not coming."

You and Marcus looked at each other and smiled. But the pain returned and took your breath away. You gripped Marcus' and Decima's hands tightly and took a deep breath. The midwife checked between your legs under the covers and her eyes lit up.

"My lady. Now, push with all your strength. I can see the head is crowning!"

For some reason – maybe because of the unbearable pain – you couldn't help but get annoyed at her cheerfulness and want to choke her. But Marcus's kiss gave you the courage you needed, and you took a deep breath and pushed with all your strength. Then you turned your face away from his and screamed again, hoarse from the effort of so many hours. You screamed and screamed, feeling his cheek against your racing pulse, his lips on your cheek. And finally, your screams were replaced by a high-pitched wail, and…

The midwife stood up with the most beautiful little thing in her arms. "A healthy boy." She said cheerfully, holding the baby out for you to see. Then she gave the baby a little shake which helped him to take his first breath, and he let out a loud cry that filled the room with joy. "You did it, my lady!"

Marcus kissed your temple. "You are marvelous, my love. I’m very proud of you."

“My lady! He’s beautiful!” Decima squeezed your hand.

You smiled at them, feeling exhausted. Your legs were shaking and aching, and you could barely feel your body, but at least now you were no longer in pain.

Geta came bursting into the room. "Has it been born? Has my nephew been born?" He was looking for the child who had just been crying. He stopped suddenly when he saw that the bed was wet with your blood. The midwife carefully cut the baby's cord and wrapped it in a cloth with Decima's help. She placed the baby in Marcus's arms, and he smiled at him. You started to cry as you watched them. You'd never seen anything so beautiful in your life and you were pretty sure you never would. Marcus came over to you with your son in his arms. You looked at the little one who had just caused you hours of pain and were amazed at how beautiful he was.

The beautiful infant who had given them all such a scare was big in size, adorably chubby, and had a sprinkle of brown hair covering his crown. He was extremely healthy-looking... and had a cry very similar to yours.

He was perfect…

“Gods!” Geta clasped his hands. “Look how tiny he is!”

You were weeping with joy, and relief, too, that the ordeal was finally over.

From the moment you laid eyes on his sweet little face, all your tiredness just melted away. You reached out, and Marcus gently placed the baby in your arms. This feeling... It was the most amazing thing you could ever imagine. When you first felt that magical moment of motherhood, everything around you disappeared for a moment. It was just you and your baby. Then you looked at Marcus, who was sitting next to you. The baby grabbed his father's finger and held on tight, and a big smile appeared on Marcus's face. Everything was just perfect, beyond amazing, and you felt like you were finally complete.

‘"Thank you," he whispered in your ear.

It took you a moment to look up and realise what he was saying, as you were so overwhelmed by the baby's beauty that you couldn't take your eyes off him.

"For what?" you asked, your voice clearly showing how tired you were.

"For giving me a family, one I could never have dreamed of."

You looked at him and smiled. He kissed you on the lips, but your kiss was interrupted by a throat-clearing sound coming from someone else.

"I want to hold my nephew too." Geta held out his arms.

You looked at Marcus, after receiving your approval, gently took the baby from you and carefully placed him in his uncle's arms.

"He looks just like you, Acacius! I'd like to congratulate you both. Thank you for making me an uncle."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Marcus said sincerely.

"Your Majesty, general, if you could excuse us, we need to clean up Lady Aurelia. And the baby needs to be breastfed."

Geta gave the baby to you and rubbed your head. "Rest now. You must be tired from all that screaming, you noisy."

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled. Marcus came over and kissed your cheek. "I will be back, my love."

You nodded and watched them leave the room. With the help of the midwife and Decima, you removed your bloodied tunic and they cleaned you up and quickly put you into a new one. The slaves were changing the bed sheets at the same time. Then you lay down on the bed to breastfeed the baby for the first time. He was already hungry and opened his little mouth wide, easily grasping the nipple. You were both very tired, so you fell asleep together. Decima gently laid the baby down next to you and covered you with the bedcover.

Marcus and Geta left the room together and went downstairs. When Octavius and the others saw them, they nodded.

"Congratulations, sir."

"Thank you, brother."

They embraced each other. The others also offered their congratulations to him and Geta.

Geta smiled at them and turned to Marcus. "I know it's not the right time, but... Elagabalus... Tomorrow, I will exile that bastard from Rome. I have a good reason to stand my ground against the Senate too. I owe you all one, Acacius. I shall reward you. Whatever you want is yours."

"Your Majesty, I already have everything I want. You simply need to be an emperor who keeps his word to his people."

"I'll make sure I do." He promised and then left his side.

As he walked toward his chambers, he noticed his mother sitting in the courtyard.

"So it's a boy." She gave the wine glass a little shake.

"I can hear the sadness in your voice, mother."

She stood up. "Apologies! I'm not as pleased as you are! Your throne is under threat. You must wed. Refuse no longer.”

"I'd love to be here listening to your nonsense, but I'm really tired." He said and turned away.

"You'll have to get rid of him sooner or later."

Geta stopped and turned around, looking annoyed.

"Are you out of your mind? I've already got enough on my plate, and now you're telling me to kill a little baby, my nephew? The real threat is Elagabulus, thanks to your false wisdom.”

She folded his arms. "We overcame Macrinus' dominance in the Senate thanks to him, but I was unaware of his true intentions. Fortunately for us, you caught him in the act."

"Thanks to Acacius, mother!" Geta snapped. "You may have forgotten or ignored his sacrifices and heroism, but I will be grateful to that man for the rest of my life. Also, I care deeply for Aurelia and my nephew." He looked at his mother with a cold, threatening gaze. "I am warning you. If you ever say anything mean or do anything to upset her, I will exile you from Rome like my brother Caracalla did. Don't think I can't."

Julia froze. She was taken aback by his reaction. She watched him walk towards the stairs, her anger evident in her trembling body. She then threw her cup forward in a gesture of frustration. As soon as it hit the marble floor, it made a loud clatter, wine spilling over the surface. Geta looked down from the balustrade. Before going into his room, he called one of the guards over. "Keep an eye on Lady Domna. I want to know every step she takes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness.”

You opened your eyes in a state of panic, gasping for breath. When you realised the baby wasn't with you, it felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest.

"Marcus!"

You sat up in bed but groaned as a sharp pain shot through your womb.

Marcus turned towards you in shock, and you took a deep breath when you saw the baby in his arms.

Decima rushed in to check on you.

"Forgive me. I heard your voice..."

"It's alright," Marcus said. When she left the room, he approached you. "Are you all right, my love?"

"I had a nightmare," you said, your heart still pounding in your throat.

"They were taking him away from me, Marcus." Your eyes filled with tears.

In your dream, you saw someone taking the baby away. Your legs were a little shaky, still affected by the dream.

Marcus looked concerned and handed you the baby. "As long as I'm here, no one can take him or hurt him."

"I can't stay here. Not when Julia is around." You brought the baby to the breast, with your nipple aimed at the roof of his mouth. Marcus sat on the end of the bed next to you.

"My love, you've lost a lot of blood and you're battered. You need to recover your strength. Let's stay here tonight. We'll return tomorrow if you feel better.”

"Is it not still morning?"

"I suppose you didn't realise how the day went by because you slept in. The little one looks hungry too." He said with a grin. The sounds he made while sucking were so beautiful that Marcus couldn't help but sigh. "I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life." He stroked the baby's head gently with his hand.

"That's what you said about my beauty once." You teased.

He looked at you. "That's because he has some of his mother's beauty in him." He smirked. "Speaking of beauty." He stood up and walked over to the table. He took something out of the leather bag.

You were curious about what it was. The baby seemed to be full, so you pulled your nipple back and made your baby's back lie along your arm. Marcus sat back down on the bed and handed you something wrapped in a fancy cloth.

"I brought this for you from Aleppo. I had intended to give it to you earlier, but unfortunately, it fell and broke along with other items during the return journey by ship. I had it repaired and I thought it would be nice to give it to you after the birth."

"What is this?"

"Let me hold the child. You open it."

With great care, you placed the baby in his arms and opened your gift which was wrapped in a bluish cloth. It was a circular object, crafted from silver and featuring a flower-shaped relief. You turned it over and were somewhat taken aback to see your own reflection on its shiny surface.

"Much better than the bronze mirrors. I wanted you to see the beauty I see. Are you pleased?"

You looked at him. "Marcus, this is beautiful."

He smiled and carefully placed the baby next to you. Then he sat down next to you again and kissed you on the lips. "It pales in comparison to your beauty, my love." And he kissed you again, passionately, with love and a little longing. "You know, you're much more beautiful now. Your breasts have grown a lot." He swallowed hard. "They keep coming to mind, making me want you even more."

Your cheeks flushed. "Like you said before, we'll have to be patient a little longer, General." Your fingers ran along his collarbone.

"But I really want to return home tomorrow."

He nodded and kissed your hand. "As you wish, my lady."

@orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury @shinymusicpanda @somedayheaven @ivoryandflame @negrita2345 @music-lover09 @javiismyhsbnd @idontcareihavenoidea @jisungandpedrolover @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk @bonadeamo @heramj @blushingwueen @smoochispoof @littlemisspascal @kirashess @okaaaadereeee @this--is--music @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk @bonadeamo @heramj @blushingwueen @smoochispoof @littlemisspascal @kirashess @melsunshine @meetmeatyourworst @footballfangirl94 @daejangandimja @ariesandwolves @hooomansstuff @vlonerv @chewie-bars

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment or msg me :)

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httpvomitello · 6 months ago

Note

Could you write one for Fred where she's a Malfoy and is the first time that Fred takes her to the burrow?

Helloo, thanks for the request. I hope you like it ~ ♡

She's My Malfoy .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Being a Malfoy meant living under constant scrutiny. Your family’s legacy was built on wealth, power, and an unwavering belief in blood purity—beliefs you had never shared. But no matter how much you distanced yourself, people still saw Malfoy before they saw you. That included the Weasleys, who had every reason to despise your name. Now, for the first time, Fred was bringing you to the Burrow, hoping his family would see what he did: that you were nothing like them.

fred weasley x f!reader

Fred was a lot of things. A troublemaker, a prankster, a complete menace to authority. But most of all, he was fearless.

That’s why you were so surprised to see him hesitating at the front door of the Burrow.

“Fred?” you asked softly, squeezing his hand.

He startled and grinned at you—his usual charming, easy grin that made your heart race. But this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry, love. Just thinking about how Mum might actually murder me tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean us?”

“No, no, just me,” he assured. “You’re too pretty to kill. I, on the other hand, am about to get a one-way ticket to the afterlife.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the weight behind his words.

Fred had fought for you every step of the way. From the moment you started dating, he made it clear that your last name didn’t matter to him. But the rest of the world—including his family—wasn’t so forgiving.

He had told them you were coming, of course. And the silence that followed had been deafening.

Now, standing in front of the crooked, charming house that was so unlike Malfoy Manor, you felt something rare: nerves.

Fred must have sensed it, because he lifted your intertwined hands and kissed the back of yours. “For the record, I’d choose you over them. Any day. Every time.”

Your chest tightened, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in and kissed him.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whispered.

The moment the door opened, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

You had met Ron and Ginny at school, and while they weren’t exactly friendly, they hadn’t been outright hostile either. But stepping into the Burrow was different.

It was like walking into enemy territory.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been setting the table, stopped when she saw you. Mr. Weasley, who had been reading the Daily Prophet, slowly lowered the paper. The tension in the room was suffocating.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said finally, forcing a polite smile. “You must be Y/N.”

You nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley.”

Fred’s grip on your hand tightened.

Ginny, sitting at the table, crossed her arms. “So, what’s it like in Malfoy Manor? Do you guys have dungeons for the Muggle-borns, or do you just hex them at dinner?”

“Ginny,” Mr. Weasley scolded.

But you didn’t flinch. You had expected this.

“I wouldn’t know,” you said evenly. “I left as soon as I could.”

Ron, who had been watching you closely, frowned. “Yeah? And your family just let you?”

You hesitated for half a second, but Fred jumped in.

“She didn’t exactly get a warm send-off, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Mrs. Weasley’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “you’re here now. Come sit.”

Dinner was... tense.

Conversations stalled when you tried to join in. The twins—normally the most talkative—seemed quieter than usual. Even Fred, who had been his usual carefree self earlier, was unusually serious.

The moment you stood to help with the dishes, Mrs. Weasley waved you off.

“That’s not necessary, dear.”

You hesitated. “I don’t mind.”

She smiled tightly. “I said it’s not necessary.”

It was a small thing, but it felt like a warning. You were a guest. An outsider. No matter how much Fred loved you, you weren’t one of them.

Fred sighed beside you, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, enough of this,” he said abruptly. “Can we just talk about it?”

Silence.

Then George leaned back in his chair. “Talk about what, exactly?”

Fred scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know, Georgie. Maybe the fact that everyone here is treating my girlfriend like she personally kicked a puppy?”

“She’s a Malfoy, Fred,” Ginny snapped.

“And so what?” he shot back. “She didn’t pick her family, same way we didn’t pick ours.”

Ron crossed his arms. “It’s not just about the name, mate. It’s about what that family’s done. What her family has done.”

That was it. You had been silent long enough.

“I’m not my family,” you said sharply. “I don’t believe in their cause. I don’t support them. And I sure as hell don’t owe them anything.”

Ginny scoffed. “Easy to say when you grew up with everything.”

Your blood boiled. “You think money made that house any less of a prison? You think I ever felt safe there?” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “My father saw me as nothing more than a political tool. And Draco—” You swallowed hard. “Draco still thinks he can fix me.”

The table was deathly silent.

“I walked away from all of it,” you finished, voice quieter now. “And I didn’t do it because it was easy. I did it because it was right.”

Fred reached for your hand under the table, and you let out a slow breath.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley spoke.

“We’re just... protective of our own.”

“I get that,” you said softly. “But I’d never hurt Fred. I’d never hurt any of you.”

Another long pause.

Then, Mr. Weasley gave you a small nod.

Ron and Ginny didn’t say anything, but they weren’t glaring anymore.

And when dessert was served, you swore you saw Mrs. Weasley add an extra slice of treacle tart on your plate.

Fred leaned in and whispered, “That’s a good sign.”

You exhaled, squeezing his hand.

Maybe, just maybe, you were one step closer to belonging.

#reader #x reader #y/n #f!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #draco malfoy sister #reader malfoy #malfoy family #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley

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really-burnt-toast · 7 months ago

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Meet the disciples.

Here you see the lineup of Mellia's disciples!

Thyma, the nightly patrol. Thorantre, the first follower (mainly there to look pretty). Fena, the Loyalty enforcement. And Agana, the first baby from the cult and the Tax enforcement. They are totally all happy and there's TOTALLY no drama between everyone :)

You've already seen Fena and Thyma before, Fena having had her own post and Thyma being a npc from a NariLamb response.

(If you want close-ups and lore, look under cut.)

Going from left to right;

Thyma, a maned Wolf - real name unknown - was the most recent addition to the disciples. Found during one of the first crusades after beating Narinder, the Lamb ran into them at Night. Upon arrival, Thyma introduced themselves as; "Just call me Thyma." And became the Night patrol. Oddly enough, Thyma claims to be afraid of the dark and feel paranoid at night; but that's exactly why they chose that job. Staying awake and alert all night to then sleep during the safe day - that was their plan. He was fiercely loyal from the start and quickly ranked up to discipleship, which came in handy due to the Lamb and other disciples being able to keep better tabs on him.

Thorantre, a Lama - the first ever follower of the Lamb. He had been caught by the old faith after spreading "sheep propaganda". He was about to be sacrificed as well, when the Lamb freed him after just having been sacrificed as well. He does all sorts of jobs, but mainly just does worship and maintenance things. That Lama is a diva through and through, but managed to become close with the Lamb - making him also the first ever disciple. He has caused lots of headaches and troubles and is only really allowed to stay because he's special to Mellia. Thorantre is a non-committal part of the discipleship, mainly there for drama.

Fena, an Elk - the first follower found during a crusade. She was separated from her family and was meant to be sacrificed to Leshy. When the Lamb saved her, she immediately became the most useful and powerful part of the cult. Strongest, wisest - the closest friend to Mellia. A family to come back to and someone to hold up the cult when they were gone. Everyone knew she'll become a disciple, and everyone knew she'll become the Loyalty enforcement and the Lamb's right hand. She had always been their favorite, rightfully so. She's well loved and respected, though she can be strict and harsh, as per job demands. Fena is the head of the disciples and considered "co-leader" in a way. If the Lamb is busy, go to her. Unfortunately, Fena is accidentally the source of most disciple drama due to her suspicion to newbies and her romantic ties to other disciples.

Agana, a Lemur - the first baby to be born within cult walls. The Lamb was immediately smitten and coddled the little kid. They grew up raised by both their parents and Mellia. The name was a play on both her parents. Striving to be a disciple since childhood, Agana quickly grew up to become one. Since they proved themselves to be very mature and logical, they were made Tax enforcement. They're probably the most unproblematic and chill of the disciples - friends with everyone and extremely trusting; bordering on naive. They love greeting new disciples in their lineup. Also the least dramatic of them all.

Here are some of the in game models! All disciples wear the Officer suits, aside from Thyma - who wears a Yeoman coat. He was given an Officer suit too, but kept his coat.

Thorantre has a golden skull too, but I took it away because... Reasons. But that doesn't matter rn. Also couldn't get a different pic for Fena, sorry.

Fun facts;

Originally, Thyma was the grey fox model, since he used to be a Fox-Wolf hybrid. I changed that into a Maned Wolf and thus Thema became a normal fox model.

Thyma's name is known to the Lamb, but only them.

Thyma is an insomniac, but still wears the moon necklace most days to be awake at day also. They have not yet received their golden skull and have yet to accept the possibility of owning one.

Thorantre has a canon body count (murders).

Fena and Thorantre were messy exes and had a kid. Fena and Agana have children as well. All children created are non-canon.

Fena is canonically a trans woman.

Fena is platonically married to the Lamb. (Not canon in my AU)

Thyma, Latra and Echo are all OCs created from preexisting concepts - Thyma having been a prior oc revamped to fit COTL.

All the disciples personas were based on the in game things I've witnessed from them.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl fanart #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl oc #cotl au #cotl three times #reallyBURNTrambles

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slowdrawl · 4 months ago

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| Everybody Loves Contractors | AU NO OUTBREAK| JoelMiller X f!reader |

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. This is going to go great. "He hums, and he’s so close that you can practically feel the vibration on your ear. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the proximity between you. He’s practically got you caged between him and the wall; the realization makes you light-headed. A shiver rolls down your shoulders, landing low in your spine. You shrug it off and turn around." a/n Here's the start of a new series because of there's one thing I'm gonna write it's flirty!Joel with lots of banter cuz it's my AU and ur just livin' in it (if u want 2)

| Warnings | Explicit language, sexual tension, mutual pining, age gap, a little angst, mentions of DV (not described, not Joel), mentions of PTSD, mentions of death, Joel being Joel, etc. Please read responsibly.

The house smells like mildew and anger.

It’s written in the walls, literally. Holes punched through drywall, baseboard peeling at the edges. There are cat scratch marks on the inside of the laundry room door, it still smells like ammonia. The smallest bedroom has pencil marks in the doorframe, little ticks with dates scrawled next to them. Someone’s poor kid grew up here. You can’t help but wonder what kind of trauma they took with them in the moving van.

Five months ago, you changed the locks on your old rental and promised yourself never again.

Three months ago, you got the protection order.

Two months ago, they accepted the offer, and you quit your job in Seattle.

And now here you are, two thousand miles away from everything you’ve ever known. Standing in the middle of the living room of your new home, sweating, maybe regretting. Your whole life…or what’s left of it anyway, stacked in boxes along one wall.

You don't know what you expected. Some kind of relief. Maybe. A break in the clouds. One of those cinematic moments where a breeze rolls through the window and the sun hits just right. The kind of moment that makes life feel bearable again, that makes the future look bright and tangible.

Instead, the air is thick, dusty, humming with someone else's ghosts.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your t-shirt and mutter, "The fuck did I get myself into," to the drywall, like it might actually answer you.

You jump when you hear a knock. Not on the door, but on the siding.

Heavy, loud, maybe a little annoyed.

It makes the whole wall rattle, like it's got opinions or something. You’d almost forgotten that the contractor you hired was supposed to swing by today.

You peek through the window, squinting. He’s already walking backwards away from the door. Clipboard in hand, scanning the place, a frown set into his face like it’s been there since before you were born. He’s in a t-shirt, jeans, work boots. Built like a load-bearing wall, and if you had to guess, probably as friendly as one, too.

You open the door a few inches, and leave the storm door shut. "You the contractor?" you ask, for some stupid reason. Of course he is.

He responds, deadpan, rough Southern drawl, "No, I’m actually here to talk to you about our Lord and Savior." Half a smirk tugs at his mouth, but it settles quick.

"Funny." You let out half a laugh. "God don’t want nothin' to do with me. If you come back with Girl Scout cookies, maybe we can talk." You shake your head, open the door wider. "Miller, right?"

He glances up at you and nods once. "Yes, ma’am. You can call me Joel. You the one that hired me?" Do I look old? Ma’am feels old. I’m like a decade younger than him. Oh god, I need to moisturize.

"I guess so, Sir. You were the only one who answered the ad."

He huffs through his nose. "Figured it’d be worse. Place looks better than it did in the photos, at least."

You raise a brow. "You haven’t even seen inside yet."

"True. I never will if you don’t open the door, darlin’." Oh. Okay. That’s better. Darlin’ is definitely better.

You reach out your hand toward him, introduce yourself. He takes it. His hand engulfs yours. Calloused, hairy, fucking massive. You try to shake like you mean business, your dad’s voice echoing in your head about strong handshakes.

You step aside to let him in. He surveys the place like it’s a crime scene. Probably because it honest to god looks like one.

"No offense, ma’am," he says, looking around. "This place is a mess."

You shrug. "A mess was about all I could afford to buy. Besides, she’s got character." You cross your arms. "That’s why I hired a contractor."

He nods, dragging one of those big-ass hands down a particularly banged-up corner at the living room entrance. "That so?" he laughs. "Maybe we need Jesus to get involved after all—might need a carpenter who knows how to perform miracles."

You huff a laugh. "Well I got cash, not faith. Let’s see what that buys me."

He keeps walking, slow, deliberate, like each creak in the floorboards is telling him something. His eyes scan the water-stained ceiling, the slumped couch you haven’t had the guts to toss yet, the leaning doorframes.

You trail behind him, arms crossed, suddenly aware of the sweat under your bra and how empty your stomach feels. Saltines and gas station coffee aren’t holding up.

"Previous owner leave in a hurry?" Joel asks, toeing a half-unpacked box near the back door.

"If by hurry you mean five years of divorce proceedings and a nervous breakdown, then yeah. Real Irish goodbye."

That earns a quiet chuckle. You glance at him. His expression stays unreadable, but his mouth twitches like it wants to smirk.

He heads to the kitchen sink, turns the knob. The pipes groan. Nothing.

You wince.

He looks over his shoulder. "You been livin’ here without plumbing?"

"I’ve been surviving, thank you very much. It’s called character building." You laugh, “Maybe don’t get too close though.” You pick up the collar of your t-shirt and pretend to sniff it. The joke barely lands, you are indeed visibly sweaty. This is going so well. I love this for meHe looks you up and down, giving you a questioning look. It makes your pulse jump. Something about him is making you even sweatier, and you’re not being very fucking cool about it. “I’ve been staying at an AirBNB. I promise I’ve showered this week.”

He turns to face you fully, arms folded now. Broad as hell. The kind of man who fills a room without trying. "You planning to do any of this work yourself?"

You lift your chin. "Some of it."

He snorts. "You got tools, princess?" Oh…

Wait, no, nope. Not a princess, not into a man being patronizing, even if he looks like this. Get it together. THINK OF THE PATRIARCHY.

"I have… a hammer. Somewhere."

"Mmhm.” he tilts his head, “it pink n’ glittery or what?”

He kneels down, already pulling a multi-tool from his back pocket. "I’ll get some measurements. But just so you know—houses like this? They got a way of showin’ people what they’re really made of. Sooner or later." You sigh, rubbing at your temple, feeling defeated already. “if you don’t want to take the job I understand, just let me know. Because I don’t exactly have time to fuck around here.” “I can do it. Just gonna take time is all.” He stands back up, putting the tool down on the kitchen island, pulling out a measuring tape. “You wanna talk numbers?” What you want to say is, ‘Yes. Yours. Cellphone preferably,’ but you can already taste the rubber from putting your foot in your mouth during this whole damn interaction. So you don’t. You settle on, “Yes, please don’t bankrupt me, I’m fragile.”

“Alrighty then, show me the rest of the place. We can give you a ballpark after I see how fucked up it really is.” You lead the way down the hall, you were smart—or maybe annoying, enough to mark a lot of the things you’ve found to be extra janky with sticky notes. He followed behind you, on your heel, too damn close, making notes on that fuckin’ clipboard the whole time. “Three bedrooms, huh? You got kids back at the BNB?” He asks you as you’re pacing the smallest room. You laugh, shocked. “Nope, no croch goblins, just dreams of somewhere for my friends from back home to stay in when they visit.” You look back at him, “Thinking of turning the other one into a ritual room or something, somewhere I can sacrifice goats n’ shit.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t flinch. You laugh, awkward this time “I think it’s haunted anyway.” GIRL. WHY ARE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE? “Well, ’m not a witch, or warlock or whatever. But, I might know an exorcist if you really need one.” He replies with a wink. You stutter, “Noted,” and usher him into the bathroom. The bathroom is small, and he follows you in instead of standing in the doorframe. It’s a tight fit for two people, there are probably two feet between you as he surveys the place. He lets out a heavy breath, “Well fuck.” You groan, “Oh god, what is it? Wait. Actually…don’t tell me” You say as you turn around to see what he’s looking at. He’s just staring past you toward the wall beside the shower, the expression on his face tells you he sees something expensive to fix. “You see that?” He says, moving in a bit closer, pointing and reaching his arm past you, placing it on the wall, dragging a finger down. God, I am touch starved.

“There is, or at least was a leak in this wall. Probably why the waters turned off. Did your husband…boyfriend, whoever, not get an inspector here before you bought the place?” “See, that would involve having one of those.” “An inspector?”

You pause. “A boyfriend. Last one ended in a protection order and a move halfway across the country.” You laugh, say it like it’s a joke, but it’s not. He doesn’t need to know that , though. If you laugh about it it’s not so real, not so scary. “Didn’t have an inspector either.” He hums, and he’s so close that you can practically feel the vibration on your ear. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the proximity between you. He’s practically got you caged between him and the wall, the realization makes you light-headed. A shiver rolls down your shoulders, landing low in your spine. You shrug it off and turn around. What in the pornhub is going on? I need some fuckin’ air. You pratically trip over your own feet getting out of the bathroom, you duck under his arm, tossing some half-hearted, vaguely-human sound over your shoulder like “Okaycoolthanksnoted.” Joel says nothing again, just watches you spin away like roadrunner or some other cartoon character with a trauma response. You stumble down the hall, leaning against the opposite wall, trying to look casual and not like you just got a full body flashbang of a panic attack from a MAN explaining water damage. Baby calm the fuck down, he’s just tall!! You grab a loose piece of paper off the ground, fanning yourself with it. It has “TO DO: 1: TRY TO SURVIVE. 2: DON’T CRY” written on it in sharpie. The irony is honestly cinematic. A few seconds later Joel emerges from the bathroom, he’s got his eyes down, scribbling something onto the clipboard. He looks unfazed, like he has no idea that you feel like he was about to go 50 Shades of Plaid on you. “You good?” He asks, low, unreadable again. You freeze. He knows, he fucking knows. You clear your throat. “Oh yeah. Just, uh…tight bathroom. I’m claustrophobic, and allergic to mold, and men. You know, just girlie things.” He stares you down, one brow arched high. You decide to pivot. “Okay, so like…give it to me straight, doc. How bad is it? Realistically. On a scale of one to ‘the screen door is actually a portal to the underworld.’” Joel flips a page on the clipboard. “Well. You’ve got a lot of issues.” “Okay, ouch, didn’t have to just say it like that.” You chuckle, “Now what about the house?” “Couple walls need gutting, bathroom for sure. You got some foundation issues we need to check into, obviously the plumbing is fucked.” He sighs, tracing a line down the page with that dumb pencil, “Obviously it needs new trim, paint. I guess you could do most of that…I can get you the contract ready by Monday.” “Monday! Cool. Everyone loves Mondays, can’t wait.” He huffs something that might be a laugh. Nice. Then it’s silent for a moment, it’s thick and warm and low-key awful. Neither of you is saying anything; the only sound is a ceiling fan rattling its chain around. You catch yourself zoning out on his forearms, watching the veins pop out when he flexes slightly and flicks his tape measure closed. He notices. You know he notices. He finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice is lower now. Not condescending. Just… careful. You consider lying. About saying yes, of course, you’ve got it all handled. About pretending like this isnt a last-ditch attempt at rebuilding your life from the ground up after everything else burned down. But you’re tired. And this stranger is looking at you like he understands the version of you that doesn’t have it together. So you say, “If I'm being honest, not really. But I don’t have too many options.” Joel nods. “Well, seems like a decent place to start, then.”

Before he leaves, the two of you migrate to the back deck—if you’re even allowed to call it that. It’s less porch, more ominous wooden death trap. You already know this bad boy needs to be re-built. It’s really not on the top of your priority list. Joel takes one look at the wood rot, trails the warped boards and groans heavy from his chest. “You know this whole thing is rotted right?” “Do I look stupid? Mr. Miller?” You reply to him snarky, you’ve given up all grace at this point. Fuck it. Being off-putting and kind of mean is my new thing. You drop yourself down onto a broken pallet, sighing dramatically, swiping your hand across your forehead. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Joel. She’s got character, we’ve been over this.” You hear him mutter something about termites and OSHA violations, then watch as he lowers himself onto the step. He groans like a dad. It sounds like old injuries and unresolved tension.

He flips the paper over again, then, like Blues fuckin’ Clues, he’s listing things off like you didn’t hear it the first time. Plumbing, rewiring, subfloor replacement in the kitchen, and a new water heater. Your ears start ringing with the sound of a cash register, dollar signs flooding your mind. “Then labour?” you ask, voice very brave and not shaking at all. He gives you a number. A rough, but real number. Like five digits real. You nod. “Cool, cool. Totally doable. I’ve always loved bankruptcy, I think it's sexy, honestly.” Joel tilts his head at you like he’s still trying to figure you out. Good luck old man. You see the gears turning in his head, trying to feel out how much of your sarcasm is actually just fear. Scanning your face like he doesn’t know if you’re only half joking, or seconds away from tears. The Joke’s on him. Two things can be true at one time. “I can probably… get a bigger loan,” you mumble, mostly to the coffee can filled with cigarette butts next to you. “You only need one kidney, right? Also, I’m a regular plasma donor, you know where the blood bank is by chance?”

This time he gives you a real look, softer. Something that has dad energy behind it, care mixed with a bit of pity. “I can work with you on the schedule, ‘specially if you’re doin’ some of the demo yourself. Knock her out slower, cut down on the labour cost.” You blink. “Are you offering me a payment plan? Or trying to get me to weaponize a sledgehammer for your own sick enjoyment?”

He shrugs. “Both, mostly.” You watch him stand, groaning again, tucking his clipboard under his arm. The afternoon sun is hitting his hair just right. He pulls the pencil out from behind his ear and walks over to the doorframe like it's his handy dandy notebook. “Hello, Sir, are you about to deface my property?” He writes ten digits down, right onto the trim, no paper. Just rawdogging the wood with graphite. The number is definitely bigger than the estimate he just gave you. He looks back at you, proud like he was just tagging a masterpiece. Or warning the house. “Text me tomorrow,” he says, stepping back and admiring it like it’s something hung in the Lourve. “We’ll go over the schedule then, ok darlin’?” I know it’s just for work but like… Is he into me? I love being delusional. You stare at the frame. “You need me to…make you business cards, set you up an instagram account or something?” He shrugs again, giving you a salute as he walks out the back gate toward his truck. “Fresh outta cards. Pencils don’t need WIFI.” “You need to expand your horizons. Get hip with the kids!” You holler at him, just as you hear the door of the truck slam closed. Jesus, he’s literally one hundred years old. As the afternoon drags into dusk, the cicadas start screaming, signaling you to call it a day. You glance over at the boxes lined up against the wall, spotting one with ‘TOOLS’ written on it in sloppy print. You giggle as you pick it up, you hoist the box up onto the kitchen island, and rip off the tape. When you look inside, you start laughing harder. On top of the pile of junk in there is a hammer. It looks practically brand new, and the base of it… is pink. Joel was right. God I hate that guy already. You put the hammer own onto the counter beside the measuring tape and pause. Joel must have forgotten to grab it on his way out. You grab your phone and car keys, flicking off the lights in the house, double-checking that the front door is locked and head to the back.

You walk onto the porch and squint at the phone number written on the door trim, punching the digits into your cell. You add the new contact, and then hesitate over the message box for a moment before pressing the home button and tucking it away in your pocket.

The Airbnb is quiet, save the aircon whirring in the corner of the room. It’s a pleasant sound, and feeling after a long day sweltering in the house. It’s 9 pm, you’re starving and exhausted. You start to think about the price of the renovation, and the conversation you have to have with the bank tomorrow, sighing. Now that you have an estimate, you realize that you absolutely have no budget to rent this place anymore. Looks like you’re moving into the house ASAP. You groan at the thought of losing your A/C. You'll miss it, but not as much as you’re going to miss a functioning bathtub. You make a mental note to tell Joel tomorrow that you need to start with the plumbing. You walk into the kitchen, throwing your keys down on the dining table, and walk over to the fridge. You scan the shelves and settle on the leftover sitr-fry you ordered yesterday from some hole in the wall, you pull it out along with a beer. You mumble “Please do not give me food poisoning,” like a prayer, as you throw the box into the microwave. When you’re done with your food, you throw the box into the garbage and grab one more beer from the fridge, before dragging your feet toward the bathroom. You run a bubble bath, lighting some candles you picked up from the dollar store the other day. You lower yourself into the water and let it wash over your aching muscles, letting yourself relax into it. You sip your beer and scroll your phone for half an hour, you keep thinking about him. His phone number is there, in your contacts, taunting you. You, along with the help of two beers and a calorie deficit, convince yourself that you should text him. (9:45 PM) You: You forgot your tape measure, genius. It takes him a few minutes to respond, the perfect amount of time for you to start spiraling and regretting hitting send.

(9:51 PM) Joel Miller: You’re bad at listenin’. Said text me tomorrow, instructions too hard, darlin? You roll your eyes at him through the screen. (9:52 PM) You: Fuck u too!! I was just trying to be nice 🙄 (9:54 PM) Joel Miller: sure you are. Don’t need it. (9:55 PM) You: dont need me to be nice? I’ll remember that. Three dots pop up and then, (9:58 PM) Joel Miller: don’t need the tape measure, got more than one.

You hum to yourself, flipping through your brain like a rolodex, trying to find a witty enough response but you arent quick enough (9:59 PM) Joel Miller: don’t remember askin you to be nice, but if this is it im scared to see the opposite. What the fuck does that mean? Fuck it. (10:04 PM) You: see, you say that like you wouldnt secretly love to see me come unhinged. Sounds like a challenge to me, joel. You: Kinda funny you think you’d survive it, though. Most people don’t stick around long enough to see the full show. You stare at your phone for too long, thumb hovering over the unsend button like its a detonator. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t text back. You’re left with the slow, creeping awareness that you said too much. Again. Very on brand.

You dunk your head down into the water, and you immediately regret that too. You sit up, coughing and blowing bath water out of your nose. You really are the epitome of a calm, collected hot girl today. You start to crash out. Is he joking? Flirting? Warning you? Testing your boundaries? Is this just his weird version of small talk? Are you overthinking this? Yes. Absolutely

Is he in bed right now? Reading your texts over and deciding whether he's going to just send you an invoice for a consult and never step foot in your house again? Oh god, is he going to send YOU a restraining order? You pull the plug in the bath, let the water drain out, and turn the tap on, pulling up on the little lever to let the shower pour over your body. You’re lying there, like you're reenacting some dramatic scene in a movie or music video, where someone's lying in the middle of the street getting rained on. Except you’re just on the floor of a tub, contemplating your very existence, considering moving back out of Texas, maybe you could fake your own death. You turn the tap off, and stumble out of the tub, wrapping yourself up tight in a towel, heading for the bedroom. You throw on an old t-shirt and flop into bed, mind still going in circles as you stare up at the ceiling. You go over the texts one more time and cringe harder. Idiot. That last one truly came out sounding a little too honest, even for you. Like a confession, cosplaying as a dare. You put the phone face down on the nightstand and try to rationalize it. Maybe he’s asleep, he’s old, right? Maybe he’s watching some stupid movie. Maybe he read it and is just… stunned silent by your off-putting yet endearing charm. Totally, that's the one.Or maybe, he’s now just deeply, deeply, concerned that his new client has both abandonment issues and a God complex. You silently scream into your pillow, giving up on the Airbnb ceiling, that bitch had nothing to say. Waiting. Still no reply. Sleep starts to take you, as the sound of the aircon and your own heartbeat mixes like white noise, a little too loud in your ears. You fall asleep thinking about baseboards, leaky pipes, and his hands

ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing!

#joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou smut #joel miller #the last of us #tlou fic #ppcu fics #everybodylovescontractors

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magics-neptunes-things · 5 months ago

Text

A Whole New World

Hi guys, long time no see.

This is a new story from an ask I had ages ago, but it's finally here. I hope you will like it dear anon and sorry for the time I took to write this.

Please enjoy and let me all think what you think about this one ♥

TW : Breakup, depression

Mapi is almost jumping around while waiting for you in Barcelona’s airport. Ingrid is next to her, smiling softly at her girlfriend’s eagerness. But to be honest, the brunette is almost as impatient as your big sister.

It’s the first time you come home after leaving Spain for three years. And you are coming back for good this time, choosing to go to Barcelona instead of going back to Zaragoza, the city where you were born and raised.

Barcelona has a lot of big advantages. There is the sun, your sister and her girlfriend that you like very much, it’s easy to find a job and more important than anything else, you don’t have any risk of bumping into your ex-girlfriend.

Your ex-girlfriend is the reason for your departure from Zaragoza three years ago. You were together for three years when you caught her cheating, casually sleeping with someone else in your bed.

You left without looking back, taking an opportunity given by a French university. You made your degree there and now that you are finished you don’t have any reason to stay in France. Sure, you made friends, but you have to admit that you miss your family and your country. And you decided that your ex doesn’t matter anymore so you don’t have to hide from her anymore.

When she heard that you might come back to Spain, Mapi ran around Barcelona to find a flat which would be perfect for you. She was able to find one, not far away from hers. You weren’t sure that it was a hazard, but you don’t mind. You love your sister deeply and you are proud of her.

When Mapi finally spots you, Ingrid doesn’t have time to catch her before she throws herself in your arms. You have to let go of your suitcases to catch her, but the gesture only makes you laugh.

“Ew, Maria” you whine for the teasing, wiping your cheek after she kissed you several times.

You have since rested her on the ground to greet your sister-in-law. You are a little higher than Mapi, but not as much as Ingrid. Ingrid hugs you warmly and you smile at her. You are happy to be here.

“Okay, vamos! We settled your things during the week, and we took the help of our teammates to assemble your new furniture, I can’t wait for you to see them!”

“Maria, I told you not to do that” you sigh, uneasy at the idea of people you don’t even know working for you.

“Meh, don't worry, they don’t mind. You still can offer them pizza the next time you see them! In fact, we are playing tomorrow, you will come right? It won’t be a very enthusiastic game to be honest, we will play against the second last from last season but – “

“Let her breath, Kjærlighet” Ingrid intervenes, smiling gently at your sister.

“Send me the time and I will come” you nod while Maria takes her breath again.

You roll fondly your eyes when she lets go a happy squeak and makes a little victory dance.

Ona smiles with amusement, looking at Mapi explaining to every single of their teammates that you are back from France after three years and that you are settling in Barcelona. It would be hard to miss the affection she seems to have for you. No one seems to be tired of hearing her talking about you, all of them understanding how much it means for her.

Yesterday Mapi and Ingrid invited you to have lunch with them, before you were finally able to go rest in your flat. And you have to say that Mapi and her teammates did an amazing job. Everything seems perfect and well-constructed. At least nothing broke when you used them.

You came at the time she told you in the stadium, looking around expectantly. You didn’t come here for three years and there are way more people than before. You are happy for your sister though, even if you never came back to Spain, you watched every of her games.

“Y/N?”

You frown, turning around in the direction of the voice. No one is supposed to know you here. But you relax as soon as you recognize Alexia’s mother. Eli Putellas is almost as known as her daughter after all.

“Alexia told me you probably would be here. Were you going to enter the stadium?”

You only nod shyly for an answer, but Eli doesn’t seem to mind. She takes you by your arm and drags you inside, talking your ear off about anything and everything. But once again, you don’t mind. There is a motherly warmth radiating from her and it’s very comforting.

Only several minutes after, you finally find yourself in the stadium, in the family part. Eli presents you Aitana’s parents, the Pina’s family, Cata’s girlfriend and the Batlle. You are soon joined by Alexia’s sister and uncle, and you have a beer in your hand when Mapi comes at the beginning of the stands to talk to you.

“I see that you are settling in well” she laughs, looking at your glass.

“I don’t really know how it happened” you smile, shrugging.

Your sister laughs and squeezes your cheek with affection, making you shush her hand away. Maria wanted to present you to her team now, but she’s soon called by her coach so it will be for later.

Later being after the game, when you wait for her and Ingrid in the VIP room. You chose a coca and not a glass of champagne to wait for your sister, not really used to drinking a lot of alcohol. The beer you had earlier was enough to make you a little tipsy for a good part of the game.

You hear Maria coming inside before you spot her, making you smile. Alexia and a few of her teammates are following her, but it’s curiously not the noisier one that you spot at first. You know who she is because you watched her play with amazement earlier.

Ona is standing a little behind the others, still looking at you with curiosity while Mapi makes the presentations to the others.

Ona didn’t know what she was expecting, but not someone who seems quiet and shy like you. You are the total opposite to your big sister, where Mapi has more labrador energy, you are definitely the black cat. But somehow your energies seem to match perfectly.

“And this is Ona” Mapi says. “If your bed gives up at any point, it’s hers and Jana’s fault”

You blush when your gazes cross and turn your eyes on Jana after that, who is standing next to Ona. Your sister continues talking, completely obvious to the perk of electricity Ona and you both felt at this moment.

Ingrid did notice, though.

Later that night, Maria took you to the bar where the team went to celebrate their first win of the season. Some of their partners came too, but you are the only family addition.

Some of them ask you several questions to get to know you better, but Ona never asks you anything. You keep having some eye contact with her, but one of you always turns their eyes pretty quickly.

“I always assumed that being expansive was a León thing, but it’s seeming not” Patri says at one point.

“How do you want that poor girl being able to say the littlest thing when your sister is Mapi León?” Cata teases back.

You smile at that, but Mapi rolls her eyes in an excessive gesture.

“She’s the sweetest and cutest creature you will ever see. But stay away from her with your excessive gayness, all of you please.”

“Maria” you whisper.

“Talking about excessive gayness” Caroline says absentmindedly “Someone is trying to hit on Ingrid.”

“What?!”

Without five seconds, Mapi turns around, spots Ingrid and runs towards her. Ingrid is actually really talking with someone who seems a little too interested in her, but your sister is soon next to her.

“Someone wants something to drink?” Cata asks, taking your attention back.

You shake your head while others give their answers. With Patri and Pina standing up at the same time to go dancing and Jana going with Cata to help her, it’s only Ona, Caroline and Marta around the table. Caroline and Marta being very occupied with each other, you naturally turn to Ona.

The brunette smiles at you and you smile back, for the first time not turning your eyes somewhere else. You have looked at her all night long from the corner of your eyes, and you have to say that Ona is just beautiful. She doesn’t have to do a lot of things to be breathtaking, to be honest.

“So… I heard you just finished your paper to be a teacher?” Ona says after several moments of silence.

“Yes” you smile softly. “I just found a job too”

“That’s nice. What will you teach?”

“Oh, nothing very interesting” you say, slightly blushing. “I will have the primero de primaria, so it will be pretty basic”

“Basic?” Ona chuckles. “Being in charge of twenty children has nothing to do with being basic.”

You think it’s at this precise moment that you fell in love with her. You’ve heard so many things about your job being easy or fun, even in your family, that it’s a wonderful surprise.

“Don’t you like kids?” you ask curiously, playing with your straw and the end of your drink.

“I do, it’s always fun when we go see them in la Masia. But we have at least ten adults to supervise them and when Alexia is with us, we don’t have a lot to say for them to do what we want. They listen to her easily.”

Ona laughs again and you smile, loving that sound coming out from her. You don’t know why you are relieved to hear that. Maybe because not liking kids is a total red flag for you? It would have been very disappointing for you.

You are sadly not able to continue this conversation because Cata and Jana are back with the drinks, making the others come back. You smile when you see that Mapi has a possessive arm wrapped around Ingrid’s waist. You keep exchanging glances with Ona, smiling at each other every time now.

At the end of the night, you weren’t able to talk to her again or even ask for her number. You were already following her on Instagram, but you can’t help but feel your heart race when you see the notification coming when you are showered and in your bed, a little later.

ona.batlle started following you.

“So… I was wondering…” Mapi says, with the delicacy of an elephant “Have you got someone in mind those days?”

You were watching TV with her and Ingrid, after they invited you to have dinner with them. You weren’t waiting for this question at all to be honest, you made it very clear after your breakup that you didn’t want to be in a relationship at all.

Even if a certain brunette might have changed your mind since then.

“Why?” you frown at your sister.

You haven’t said anything about the long discussions you have with Ona, either by text or phone. Ona told you at your very first Instagram conversation that Mapi seriously threatens all her teammates about not being romantically involved with you. Way more seriously than what she did in the bar that night.

Nothing really happened with Ona, you were just talking for now. You went to grab a coffee with her several times in the morning, but you aren’t even sure that it counts for a date.

But Mapi only shrugs, looking at the TV again. Bagheera has been dead asleep on your legs since the beginning of the movie making it difficult for you to grab your phone. Which is frustrating because you know that Ona must have finished her things now and that she probably texted you already.

But you love Bagheera, and you don’t want to hurt Mapi’s precious cat.

“In any case she will have to pass the Sister check. If she doesn’t, you aren’t authorized to see her again.”

You roll your eyes, wondering silently if Ona would pass the Sister check. Ona is sweet and kind, but she’s Mapi’s friend. You wiggle on the couch, a little uneasy. You are pretty sure that Mapi will react badly if something really happens between Ona and you.

“Leave her alone” Ingrid smiles.

You sometimes have the impression that the brunette reads easier in you than your sister. You perfectly see her soft smirk while she looks at you from the corner of her eyes, but you keep looking straight in front of you.

Bagheera follows her when she gets up to go to the kitchen, probably hoping to have a treat. You take advantage of it to grab your phone, smiling softly when you see that Ona wrote to you.

From Ona 🤍 When are you leaving Mapi’s house?

From You I don’t know. Maybe at the end of the movie, why?

From Ona 🤍 Would you come at my house for a last drink? ☺️

From You With pleasure. ☺️ But haven’t you a game tomorrow?

From Ona 🤍 Si 🤷‍♀️ But I’m not starting it

You smile and finally accept, after asking one more time if she’s sure that it’s a good idea. You know that she has to get to sleep early to be rested enough for the game, it’s better for concentration and to avoid any injury. And the last thing you want is an injury for Ona.

At the end of the movie, under the pretext to let them rest, you say goodbye to Ingrid and Mapi, thanking them for the dinner. Your sister hugs you tightly, asking you one more time if you will be here tomorrow. You answer yes, of course, without saying that you are coming to see Ona too.

You are at Ona’s flat twenty minutes later, softly knocking on her door. You smile when you hear Coco barking on the other side, before Ona comes to open the door.

“Hi” you smile when she opens the door wider to let you enter.

“Hi”

After some awkward seconds, you go to hug her. You smile when she hugs you back, passing her arms around your waist. Ona is smaller than you, but you like it.

“I took you something”

You show her the chocolate box you took on your way, not wanting to come here without anything to give her. Ona smiles and takes the box, looking at it with real happiness.

“Chocolate. Thanks, really”

You smile at her again and follow her to the living room. The things you would do for that smile. Coco is already here, looking at you from his pillow with his tail waving happily.

“Hi boy” you great him

While Ona is taking something for you to drink, you go to salute Coco correctly, scratching him behind his ear.

You like being here. Ona’s flat is warm, cosy and friendly. Coco is a great company too. You like the neighbourhood and of course you like passing time with Ona. She’s great company too, you must admit. You would probably still come to her home if she was living in a creepy part of the city.

Seated on the couch, you listen to Ona talking about her day with attention. You try to memorize everything she’s saying to you, her favourite food or whatever can help you to know more about her. You answer her questions too, not really understanding what can interest her in your everyday life when she’s a professional football player, but her questions and her interest seem genuine.

“It’s getting late” you say when you see her hiding a yawn behind her hand. “I should go”

Ona frowns, looking by the window. From now on, the night was here for a very long time. You can see that she’s conflicted about something, like if she was measuring the pros and cons about what she was going to say.

“Like you said it’s late” Ona finally begins slowly. “I’d be worried to know you out at such an hour. Maybe you can sleep here? I’ll leave you my bed and I can share some clothes for you to sleep in, I have some extra-large shirts. They will fit you perfectly.”

“I accept the invitation, but there is no way that I push you out of your bed. You have a game tomorrow. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Ona tries to make you change your mind, but without any success. After finally admitting that, she takes you to the bathroom to give you a toothbrush and everything you will need to be prepared to go to bed. During this time, she prepares the couch for you to sleep on.

When you come back into the living room with Ona’s shirt, the couch is settled and looks comfier than ever.

“Do you need something else?” Ona asks softly.

“No thank you”

You give her a smile and scratch your neck nervously, not really knowing what to say. Thankfully, Ona finally makes Coco go to her bedroom so you can sleep peacefully, before kissing your cheek goodnight.

“Sleep tight” she says

“You too” you mumble.

You don’t know if she sees your red cheeks, but if she does, she doesn’t say anything about it. Your cheek is still tickling when you lie under the covers. Everything smells like Ona, and you like it very much.

But after more than an hour of turning on the couch without sleeping, you end up sitting on it. Your thoughts are spinning in your head without stopping, and most of them are turned towards Ona.

The feelings you have for her are really getting hard to ignore or to fight against. But you are scared to be hurt one more time, even if Ona seems to be the sweetest girl ever. She’s cute, funny, clever, very beautiful and really kind too. She’s perfect.

Sighing softly, you quietly went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, hoping that the cold beverage will help you to calm down. You don’t want to wake Ona either, like you said several times today, she has a game tomorrow.

But just when you are going to go back to the living room, you almost have a heart attack. But the silhouette is only Ona, who seems to think that your reaction is pretty funny.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” you ask.

“No, don’t worry” she smiles softly. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?” you ask, tilting your head.

Ona shrugs, biting her bottom lip but without stopping looking at you. Her gaze is really mesmerizing, sometimes you get shy under her gaze, but you can’t look away. Your eyes are drawn by her own, like two magnets.

“I just have a lot on my mind lately” Ona finally answers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You like Ona, so of course, you don’t want her to be hurt or sad. If you can help with anything, you will do it no matter what it is. You briefly wonder if this is related to her job or the team, or her family? But you don’t have time to wonder very much about it, because after only a beam of silence, Ona talks again.

“I can show you if you want”

“Of course”

You look at her curiously and it’s only now that you realise how close you both have been. You see some hesitation in Ona’s eyes for a few seconds, before she takes a little step to be even closer to you than before. You can feel the fabric of her pj’s against you, before feeling her lips settle with infinite delicacy on yours.

The kiss doesn’t last long and soon after Ona’s eyes are looking for yours, in a mix of awe, hesitation and maybe a little of fear?

“That is what I have in mind lately” she whispers, her eyes still deep in yours. “I like you, a lot. But I know you have been hurt before and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, so there is no pressure. I just can’t hide it to you anymore. I really like you, Y/N.”

You look at her when she cups your chin while talking, needing several seconds to restart your brain. Ona is patient though, looking at you softly while waiting for your answer.

“I really like you too” you blush. “But like you said, I’ll probably need time and taking things slowly”

“It’s okay” Ona smiles, her thumb still stroking your chin. “We will take it slow, and you’ll be the one setting the pace. I just need you to talk to me if you don’t feel comfortable about anything, is that okay?”

“More than okay” you smile.

You feel warm inside and not only because Ona just kissed you. She’s probably the most understanding person in the world. You talked about the end of your relationship with her, and she explained to you how her former relationships ended too. You feel safe with her to be honest. But you don’t want to rush things and be hurt at the end again.

“Can I kiss you again?” Ona asks, almost shyly.

“You don’t have to ask to do that” you smirk.

She grins back and leans again, kissing you a little more confidently this time. Her hand on your neck, your hands go almost instinctively around her waist.

“You still need some sleep” you point out after several times.

Ona finally listens to you and goes to sleep. The only difference is that she takes you with her in bed, finally letting Coco have the couch for tonight.

Ona kept her promise and let you drive the beginning of your relationship. She still asked you out for several dates and you really had a great time. You chose places where you knew that you wouldn’t have any risks to cross her teammates’ pace or worse, your sister.

Because Mapi still doesn’t know about your relationship with Ona. Ona and you know how protective Mapi is. She doesn’t want you to get hurt again and probably doesn’t want you to leave Spain again. She invites you a lot to come to her house, scared that you are feeling lonely in Barcelona.

You made some friends at work, but it’s true that you find it hard to make some friends in a city as big as Barcelona. But you are happy like this, you don’t need a lot of friends to be good. You have your sister and Ingrid, some friends and of course Ona. You try to manage moments with her and others with your sister. You don’t want her to be suspicious about anything so you can’t refuse her proposition to hang out every time. Especially because she gets curious when you say that you already have plans.

“So, who is the girl you are dating?” Ingrid casually asks while you are chopping some onions for the diner.

You are currently in her kitchen, while Mapi is yapping in the living room with Alexia and Olga. And one of Olga’s friends that you are pretty sure Maria is trying to set you with.

You almost cut your fingers at that question, abruptly turning your face towards Ingrid. She’s smiling, seeming amused by your reaction.

“What are you talking about?” you babble, looking at her with teary eyes because of those damn onions.

“Please. I know that look, you have the same as Maria’s when she made a misbehaved”

You bite your lip, nervously going back to your onions. Ingrid is a nice girl, and you have total confidence in her. But you don’t want to talk to her to finally ask her not to talk about it to Mapi. You don’t want to create secrets between the two. You don’t want to be a burden and cause a fight between them if Maria learns that Ingrid knew.

“I don’t want to be intrusive. But you seem happy lately. You have a spark in your eyes and a smile that I’ve never seen before”

At that, you raise your eyes on Ingrid again. Your relationship with your ex ends almost at the same time as Mapi and Ingrid started dating. She probably never saw you really happy until today. That information makes you smile softly, your thoughts going straight to Ona. She does make you happy.

“I am” you say, carefully chopping the onions again before stroking your eyes. Bad idea. “I couldn’t have asked for someone better. She’s so understanding and sweet, you know?”

Ingrid nods, still smiling and gives you a tissue you accept gladly. You don’t add how beautiful and sexy you find Ona though; it probably would be inappropriate.

“I’m glad for you. Will we meet her soon?”

“I don’t know” you sigh, dropping the tissue in the trash. “I don’t want Mapi to freak out and ruin everything”

“Your sister’s a lot, but she just wants you to be happy”

“I know” you sigh.

You hear someone walking to you and by the sound of it you realise that it can only be Mapi.

“How are my two-favourite people?” she asks happily before looking at you in horror. “Why are you crying? What’s happening?”

“I’m just cutting onions, Maria” you roll your eyes.

“Oh.”

She then switches to something else, talking about some random cheese she once ate in Italy, and while she’s talking your ears off you exchange a look with Ingrid. Mapi is a lot, but you wouldn’t want another sister. You don’t know how you are supposed to talk to her about you and Ona, though.

Later that evening, you are at Ona’s place, half lying on her while watching Netflix. You are almost purring with satisfaction, Ona’s nails scratching your head while you are snuggling against her under a big fluffy plaid. Her skin is warm and soft against yours.

“We have a weekend free next week because we are playing on Friday night” Ona says at one point.

You whine when she stops her fingers, making her chuckle. At the beginning of your relationship, she couldn’t have guessed how cuddly you can be. She secretly loves it, though.

“Maybe we can go somewhere?” Ona asks.

“Where do you want to go?” you ask curiously, tilting your head to look at her.

“I don’t care, as long as I am with you”

“You’re so cheesy” you grin

Ona uses her hand which isn’t in your hair to pinch your ribs, making you yelp. Ona may have discovered your needy side since you started dating, but you discovered a teasy and almost cocky side in her. You like it, to be honest. She makes you laugh a lot.

“You like it though” Ona points

“I do”

Why would you even try to lie to her? You feel safe and comfy. And happy. You are half in awe, looking at her, while she talks about the different possibilities you have for this weekend. To be honest, you don’t care where you are either, as long as you are with her.

You finally chose to go to Sitges, a city near Barcelona. Ona manages to convince you to choose the room with a jacuzzi on the balcony and once you are in the hotel you must admit that you are glad about that choice.

The room is great, the view amazing and you have a wonderful time there. Mapi and Ingrid weren’t in Barcelona during this time too, so you don’t even need to find an excuse for your absence. And Alexia being Bagheera’s nanny, everything went perfectly great.

You are a little sad to be back in Barcelona two days later, you have to admit. Ona and you are in your honeymoon phase and if you could pass all your days stick to her, you would.

You are only separated during the day when you are working, to be honest. At night and in the morning, you are at one of your places, usually Ona’s because she has Coco to take care of. You sometimes go to walk him alone when Ona’s training sessions are late, and you have a good bond with the dog too.

Bagheera doesn’t seem to like your new smell though, she looks at you with disdain when you come to Mapi’s after one of those walks. Thank God, your sister doesn’t have the same sense of smell.

Three weeks after that, you and Ona had your first kiss three months before. Like from time to time, Mapi proposed to you to come to one of their team bonding. It is at a quiet bar this time, far away from the last one where you needed to shout to be heard.

You are sandwiched between your sister and Kika, both of them yapping happily about everything and anything. Ona is seated in front of you, on the other side of the table. It’s easy like this to exchange some glances, usually with a soft smile.

“So, did Mapi try to set you up with someone else those last days?” Cata asks casually at some point.

You tense a little bit at the question. Not because Ona doesn’t know it, you always tell her everything and you usually have a good laugh about your sister’s propositions. You don’t know why she seems so sure that you like blondes more than brunettes. But you didn’t know that Mapi talked about it to her teammates.

“Uh. She invited one of Olga’s friends last time” you admit.

You see Alexia retains a smile and Mapi seems a little uneasy. Apparently, she seems to understand that this kind of thing can make you a little weird.

“You’re not going to have any more friends to ask for single friends to introduce to your sister” Cata points.

“Maybe she won’t need it anymore” Ingrid says casually.

You cross Ona’s gaze again. You told her about Ingrid’s suspicion and the fact that you didn’t tell her she was wrong. But you know too that she didn’t say anything to Mapi, but now you wonder if she guess that your girlfriend is Ona too.

“What?!” Mapi asks, turning herself in your direction.

“I’ve met someone” you say after taking a deep breath.

There is a silence during which Mapi looks at you as if you had expressed the wish to become a nun. Everyone else is silent and Mapi looks at you with wide eyes. You don’t remember the last time when your big sister went silent for so long.

“When?” she finally whispers.

“It has been three months, a little bit more since we are together” you admit, almost shyly.

She seems under the shock of this news for a little bit more time before talking again.

“But… Why didn’t you tell me?”

You bite your bottom lip softly, trying to understand your sister’s feelings. She doesn’t seem mad for now; you hope she won’t be at some point.

“No one knows” you answer, looking quickly at Ingrid who is smiling softly. “We just wanted to keep things between us to make things at our rhythm, you know?”

“Okay, but how am I supposed to know if she’s good enough for you?”

Mapi is frowning now, and you can’t help but smile. She always protected you since you were little, you really couldn’t have asked for a better big sister. She shows you since the beginning that being you is enough.

“You don’t have to” you smile, still a little bit uneasy at the idea of talking about it in front of everyone, including your very girlfriend.

“How is she?”

You roll your eyes after hearing your sister’s tone. She seems severe and concentrated, her brow more furrowed than ever.

“She’s cute, she’s very respectful, she’s kind, sweet, funny, romantic… She’s special” you add, your cheeks becoming redder.

“Maybe we can let the León talk alone” Alexia finally intervenes.

There is a mumble of approval before they all leave. You catch Ona’s eyes when she stands up, smiling at her softly. You understand easily that she doesn’t know if you want her here or not, but for now it’s maybe better if you stay alone with your sister.

You take a deep breath before turning towards Mapi again.

“Are you mad?” you ask.

“I don’t think so” she answers slowly, like if she was thinking about it while talking. “I just wanted to protect you. I don’t want you to suffer like you did three years ago and more selfishly I don’t want you to run away again. I missed you too much.”

You take advantage of your position to nudge her shoulder with yours. You understand her, of course. If the things were reversed, you would probably do the same things.

“I understand. But I promise that you don’t need to be worried like this. She’s very nice and… You will have a good time together if she comes to a family celebration” you smirk.

“Why? Do I know her?”

You bite your lip again and your eyes go without you really wanting it in Ona’s direction. She’s standing a few meters away from you, looking from time to time in your direction too.

“Kinda” you mumble.

You turn your eyes again on Mapi, just to see your sister observing at her turn where you were looking for several seconds before. You can almost see the wheels turning in her brain while she’s looking at her friends.

Cata, Olga and Alexia, Patri, Ingrid, Ona, Jana…

“Wait… Ona?”

“I… Yes”

You never have been a good liar anyway, why would you try today? Plus, you are sure about your relationship with Ona, even if three months seems a short time for some people.

“Ona Batlle Pascual, come here, now!”

You jump when your sister raises her voice, smacking her on her shoulder.

“Quiet Maria Pilar, gosh” you scold her.

During this time, Ona came to the table again, Ingrid following her even if she chooses to stand unlike Ona who sits in front of Mapi and you. Ona and you share a look, only for several seconds. You are nervous, but Ona seems strangely relaxed.

“I thought I told all of you to stay away from my sister” Mapi says, arching an eyebrow, her arms crossed on her chest.

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything. Ona shrugs before answering.

“I know. I just can’t help it, Mapi. Your sister said that I’m special, but I think she’s the special one. What we have is special”

You bite your lip, your eyes now turned towards Mapi. Your sister hasn’t taken her eyes away from Ona for a single second. The good thing is that she knows Ona. She knows how respectful she is, she knows how close to her family she is and that she won’t hurt anyone or anything.

“I swear to God, if you ever hurt her…”

“It won’t happen” Ona says calmly.

It seems enough for Mapi who nods at this. You can feel her body relax next to you and Ingrid sent a wink to you before stepping in.

“Okay, can I have my girlfriend for a dance now?” the Norwegian asks, taking Mapi by the hand.

Several seconds after and they were gone, somewhere on the dancefloor. You turn your eyes once again towards Ona, who was already smiling at you.

“Care to get out of here? We can deal with all the questions of everyone later”

“Sounds perfect to me” you smile back at her.

Just like Ingrid several seconds ago, Ona stands up to take your hand. The only difference is that she drags you out, not to go dancing. But you like it better like this. You take an Uber to go home, and you are looking at the sky by the windows when you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket.

From Maria ♥ You better be home before midnight or I’ll tell mom and dad

From You Fuck off, Maria Pilar.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #woso one shot #ona battle #ona batlle x reader

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featherwurm · 4 months ago

Text

Thinkin' about Karlach's parents, Pluck and Carelach - and how much they loved their little mite (here about three or four.)

Some head-canons:

I think of Karlach's parents as both being tieflings.

Pluck and Caerlach adored each other as much as they loved Karlach, which is saying a lot.

Pluck's hair is sunbleached from his travel as a porter.

Caerlach keeps her claws filed to not snag on cloth at her job as a laundress.

Karlach had more red in her hair as a child, and takes a bit more after her mother, appearance-wise (she still has horrendously sharp little baby claws here).

Pluck and Caerlach changed the spelling on Karlach's name to make it seem more 'Bauldurian' and to try to eliminate some of the difficulties Caerlach had with people saying her name wrong.

Pluck and Caerlach lived in the Tumbledown area outside of Baulder's gate until just briefly after Karlach was born, when they were able to save up enough to rent a tiny place in the Brampton district near Cliffgate. (Pluck and Caerlach took on the last name of Cliffgate when moving to the city, having had both painful relationships with their own families, more below, under the cut.)

Unlike Tav’s huge, predominantly tiefling family, both Pluck and Caerlach had human parents and come from backgrounds much harder on their tiefling nature. These sorts of stories are familiar to a variety of tieflings throughout Faerûn – even if Karlach and Tav have escaped that narrative themselves through their own family’s love.

Pluck was abandoned by his family as a child, somewhere between about five and seven when it seemed nothing would ‘beat the devil out of him.’ At that time his family simply left him in Scornubel (where they were passing through), continuing on without him, no further word or explanation given. This was probably for the best in it’s own terrible way, as any much longer with his biological family and he likely would have suffered worse and possibly lethal abuse. He ended up running with a little gang of street kids who looked after each other with almost nothing to their names, taking up whatever labor they could find to earn enough to eat. Scornubel is a constantly shifting city, and fortunately the kids managed to survive there through whatever means they could. The group changed over time, with members coming and going as their fortunes changed, but they looked out for each other. Pluck was old enough when he was left to never really shake the feeling of being unwanted, but he learned to be strong, shrewd, and clever for those around him.

Caerlach was raised by her mother alone, her father having left the family at her birth, believing Carelach to not be his own child owing to her 'devilish' features (although she was, and it is from his line of the family they derive, though he could not have known this). Her mother was distant to her, poor from lack of familial support because of her daughter (she was disowned by her family for the same reasons her former husband did), moving frequently to try to improve her station, and when Carelach expressed that she was ready to make her own way in the world as a teen, eager to see her out the door. While she did not suffer as much as Pluck growing up, that was a low bar to clear, and she knew herself to be a problem that made her mother’s life difficult (though she would come to accept it as no fault of her own.) They had a strained relationship of limited contact after Caerlach left, and Karlach never met her grandmother.

Pluck and Caerlach met in Scornubel as teenagers working odd jobs and immediately hit it off. It was a bit of a whirlwind romance, but everyone that knew them would have described it as idyllic. They never stopped ‘courting’ each other, never failing to jump at the opportunity to make their affections known in whatever way they could with their limited means. They were married just at the start of their twenties, and were going to stay where they were, but Carelach’s pregnancy came as something of an… accidental surprise. It didn’t take the two of them any time at all to decide to go through with the pregnancy and keep the child – while young, they were still eager to start a family, and to try to give the best start to it they could, they left for Baulder’s Gate, to give their kid everything they possibly could. They were good people, and even though they made it to their 40s, their lives were tragically short.

They poured all of the love they were denied into their very much beloved daughter Karlach. They may have been poor, but they kept a roof over their heads and food on the table, even when it was a narrow scrape and there was nothing else to be had. Karlach never wanted for a feeling of safety or affection, and while sometimes work meant her parents had much to do, they gave her all the attention they possibly could. She was their pride and joy, and she misses them sorely.

#BG3 #baulders gate 3 #Karlach #Pluck #Caerlach #Art #Personal #Digital #Color #Sketch

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hirayalore · 7 months ago

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Hi :) Can you read "Sirius Black x Mudblood!Slytherin fem!reader" story. It can also be platonic because of the home and blood status of the reader.

Thank you already

[ sirius black x slytherin!reader | fluff | 2.9k words ]

note. hehehe made a few alterations so that it’d make sense why the reader is put into slytherin despite being “muggle-born” since i don’t think a muggle-born would be placed in the said house (i blame my brain for being too invested that i can’t let it pass hsdjhsjdh).

this is also kinda unedited (unfortunately i too am lazy) and went way longer than intended because i couldn’t resist putting in a little backstory!!! ALSO did i mention that this sirius has me on my knees??????

Everybody always wondered how the Sorting Hat decided to put you in Slytherin.

In their eyes and in their mind, you were a Muggle-born—a filthy Mudblood—the exact kind of wizard that Salazar Slytherin detested and insisted not to invite in Hogwarts during its establishment.

Even now when it has been 7 years since the sorting ceremony, you could feel the curious eyes of everybody in the Great Hall whenever it was hard to sleep, could hear how those Slytherins murmured amongst themselves and asked which family you belonged, taking into consideration that the last name you bore didn’t sound familiar nor seemed like it came from the Sacred Twenty-Eight to be worthy of being part of their Hogwarts house.

But what they weren’t aware of—and what you only came to discover yourself many years later during adulthood—is that you actually came from an ancient and noble pure-blood family, a lineage that was acclaimed to be one of the oldest wizarding clans in Britain until its believed downfall in the late 1950s.

It was just that your parents, who have died for a reason that remained to be unknown (yet believed to be the cause of the Dark Lord), left you at the doorstep of an unsuspecting Muggle family just days before their passing, believing that you were safer at the hands of the non-magic folk.

They were right, of course. The Muggle family that raised you did their best in making sure that you were loved and cherished in every way possible. Hence when you received your Hogwarts letter at the age of 11, although they were confused as you were, they did the best they could to support you and lead you to the world they were convinced you always belonged in.

But contrary to your real parents who had great judgment in bringing you to a loving Muggle home, your Muggle parents were misled to think that it would be good for you to be with others like your kind, oblivious to the discrimination and hatred that you faced for merely growing up with non-wizards.

“That’s my seat, Mudblood,” Mallory Flint practically hissed at you upon finding you in the common room, reading on one of the leather sofas with the thought that you could have some peace and quiet even for a day.

You sighed, closing your book.

At this point, you were smart enough not to fight back and give people like Mallory the satisfaction of being affected by their harsh treatment.

However, as you stood up and attempted to walk past her, she grabbed your arm, holding you in place. “You have something you want to say to me, ____?” she taunted, smirking. “You look angry ‘cause I’m making you leave.”

You press your mouth together, your teeth gritting in self-restraint. “No, I’m not angry.”

Her smirk transformed into a sneer. “Is that so?” she said. “Good then–because you should really know by now that there’s no place for people like you here in Slytherin. Or perhaps do you still need a reminder? A little knock on the head to help you with what you’re always forgetting?”

At the word ‘knock’, Mallory tapped your head with the tip of her wand, leaving a slight sting that you couldn’t pretend didn’t exist.

You bit the insides of your cheeks, a scowl casting your features that she noticed.

She raised her eyebrows, understanding now what ticked you off, and without hesitating, tapped your head again, this time harder.

“Seemed like you do need a few little knocks to get your brain working. Must be due to being a Mudblood and all.”

Her minions laughed at the statement, the obnoxious and annoying sound of their laughter leading you to grow more pissed off than you should be.

It must have been that, and your impatience this evening—and the way Mallory didn’t stop sputtering nonsense, and how the initial peace you thought you were granted earlier was stolen, that brought you to abruptly whip your wand out at the motion of her attempting to hit your head again.

She paused, scoffing, eyes growing darker at the manner in which you pointed it in her direction in warning. “You sure you want to do that, ____?”

At your silence, she gave you another sneer and another hard knock.

On the forehead.

You no longer thought twice, your hand was already moving before you could properly think.

With a quick swish of your wand and a whispered incantation, a hex was sent to Mallory’s direction, hitting her on the front of her face and giving her a minor whiplash.

“Bloody—” She began to scream in disbelief at your audacity, but her words cut off as her tongue started to change, elongating and hardening into a horn. It gave her the unsettling appearance of a twisted Pinocchio—only instead of an abnormally long nose, it was her tongue that had transformed.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the ridiculousness of how she looked.

But then Mallory’s friends turned to you (after fussing over their leader who was now red in the face and throwing some sort of tantrum), and you were immediately reminded that this standoff wasn’t over unless they already had their revenge.

So, in sudden fear for your life, you sprinted out of the Slytherin common room as fast as you could, hearing their footsteps follow after you with an even faster speed to catch up.

You had no idea where to go, and you were sure that it was past curfew already given the empty hallways that you darted past through. You kept on thinking of places to hide, of vacant classrooms you could run into for the meanwhile, yet given how your mind was in shambles and playing a loop of Mallory’s tongue turning into a frightening horn, you just couldn’t identify where the best hiding spot could be.

That is until you turned to the left corridor of the seventh floor and spotted a massive door you didn't recall ever seeing, its sight urging you to come closer and come in.

You took a pause, contemplating if it was wise to go inside a room you had a strange feeling about, but at the sound of your bullies’ footsteps getting louder, you deduced that you had no choice and grabbed the door handle, no time for second-guessing.

Quickly stepping inside, you tried to lock the door to prevent them from coming in if ever they realize that this is where you must have gone to.

However, such measures didn’t need to be done because as soon as you were in the darkly lit room, catching your breath and making sense of what was happening—the door began to slowly deteriorate in front of you, slowly being absorbed in the wall and vanishing subsequently.

“Shite,” you whispered, panic bubbling in your system at the realization that you might be trapped here for the whole night.

You took a step back, examining the entirety of the wall, trying to see something that wasn’t there to help you with your case. But there was nothing, only granite or stale or whatever material it was that these stones were made of.

“It’ll come back,” a sudden drawling voice interrupted your inner turmoil and made you freeze on the spot. “I’d say give it a few minutes or so.”

You swiveled around almost immediately, alerted by the presence of another person in this makeshift sanctuary the castle made for you.

The moment you did, your gaze landed ahead to where a boy with dark mid-length hair was leaning forward against the balcony, his back turned to you. You couldn’t see his features clearly, even when he moved his head to the side to reveal a cigarette between his lips—yet the moment he looked in your direction and your eyes met, it dawned on you who this boy was.

Sirius Black, one of the four infamous troublemakers in Gryffindor.

You blinked in surprise while he kept his eyes locked on you, blowing a ring of smoke in the air with unusual ease.

The both of you have never interacted before despite being in the same batch and a few classes since first year. You were sure that the reason behind that was perhaps his great hatred towards Slytherins, as you were no stranger to how he often delivered biting remarks towards Severus Snape and yelled insults to your house at every acceptable opportunity he could find (e.g. Quidditch matches).

Nonetheless, you’ve always been silently thankful that his annoyance towards Slytherin never extended to you, as you reckoned you were already suffering enough with the majority of your housemates alone to deal with another menace like himself.

“I hope you’re not planning to stand there all evening,” he said.

At his comment, you forced yourself to march towards the balcony, not knowing how you should approach this peculiar situation. A part of you was convinced that being here was no better than being out there, but the other part was telling you that Sirius hasn’t hexed you yet so that must be a good sign.

When you reached the balcony, the cool air greeted you and tossed your hair back in the breeze. You squinted a bit, brushing aside the slight burning sensation it gave your eyes, and took in the beauty of the night horizon. You didn’t even think Hogwarts offered such a view, maybe due to how your common room was in dungeons and you were far too much of a coward when it came to extreme heights to reward yourself with this kind of scenery.

You could see the school grounds, the distant ridges of the Scottish Highlands… the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch Pitch, the Black Lake that appeared serene in the moonlight…

“Wow,” you breathed out, not realizing that you said it loud enough for Sirius to hear.

He glanced at you. Then, his hand suddenly stretched closer to where you were, offering a cigarette with a casual gesture. “You seem like you need it.”

You didn’t know what that meant. Regardless, you took the stick from his possession.

Sirius waited, staring, and upon feeling like you were left with no option but to finish what you started, you hesitantly took a drag, inhaling far too quickly that as soon as the smoke entered your lungs, you were coughing it out—your throat burning and eyes watering alongside it.

A smirk flickered across his face. “You’ve never done that before,” he said, his tone making it very apparent that he was stating a fact and not asking for a confirmation.

You urged him to reclaim the cigarette with haste, still coughing while also fanning the smoke away. “Merlin, why do you lot—” cough, cough— “enjoy that? It’s like gulping down a mouthful of dragon's breath!”

“It can be therapeutic.” He brought it again to his lips and drew deeply on the cigarette, releasing a slow puff of smoke. “And you should have told me you’ve never smoked before. Peer pressure isn’t exactly my style.”

“I wanted to give it a go.”

“Which clearly, you hated.”

“Clearly.” You were still coughing, your mouth awfully tasting like ash.

Sirius grinned. “Well, at least you know better than to take a cigarette without knowing how to smoke next time.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.”

He watched in obvious amusement as you continued to cough, looking like you wished you could conjure water or whatever it was that would help the itching that you were still feeling inside your throat to go away. It was unlike you to go head on with something so unfamiliar and so… unorthodox as smoking, but there must have been something with the already unpredictable events of this evening or the presence of a mischief-maker as Sirius that coerced you to do it.

You twisted around once you calmed down, returning to your previous position to go back in admiring the starry sky, unbeknownst that Sirius was still staring at you. “Will it really take long before the door appears again?”

“Not too long.” He exhaled the last wisp of smoke away from you, then pressed the cigarette to the cool stone of the balcony, snuffing it out with a slow motion. “Just until the people you’re running from are far enough.”

Heat crept to your face. “I wasn’t running away from people.”

“Sure you weren’t.” That obnoxious smirk made a reappearance on his infuriatingly handsome features. “And I didn’t go here because I was running away from Filch.”

That made you scoff. “You were running away from Filch?”

“Yeah. James and I put Dungbombs in his office.” He seemed proud. “Then we almost got caught, and James ran back to the Gryffindor Tower while I went here to my favorite hiding spot.”

You looked at your surroundings, pretty much confused on which part of the castle you were supposed to be. “Where are we exactly?”

“No clue.” Sirius shrugged, unbothered by the fact that he indeed didn’t have a clue on where you two were exactly. “Only thing I know about this place is that it’s here whenever I need it. The first time I found it, it was last year when I was sneaking out at night and almost ran into Professor McGonagall.”

“Of course, you were.” You mumbled.

“So, who is it?” He asked, going back to the main topic, curious. “Was it Filch too?”

You shook your head. “No, it wasn’t Filch.”

“A professor?”

“No.”

“An ex-boyfriend?”

A snort. “No.”

“Then who?”

You sighed, relenting on just disclosing who the person was since you reckoned it wasn’t information that needed to be kept secret at all cost anyways. “It was Mallory Flint—well, her minions, actually—but it’s because of her. Always been. I’m sure you’re well aware of who she is.”

“I am.” He narrowed his eyes, pretending to think. “She’s that Slytherin girl who looks like she might have been conceived from a troll, isn’t she?”

The unforeseen insult caused you to laugh out loud, your laughter slightly echoing in the walls. “Yes, you are absolutely right.”

Sirius laughed as well. “What’d she do?”

“Oh, you know, the standard. Insulting me, taunting me, rubbing it in my face that I’m a—” You abruptly stopped yourself, this sense of awareness that you were babbling too much hitting you hard.

This was Sirius Black for Merlin’s sake. He hated Slytherins, and you knew that he came from a lineage of respectable pure-blood wizards too (qualities of his that were awfully contradicting). Venting about the discrimination you constantly faced and the bullying you had to endure since you stepped foot in this school might not be the smartest decision to make.

“A Muggle-born.” He finished for you.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. That.”

“Typical. They always think that they’re bloody above everybody else.”

“You don’t think the same?” you asked. “I mean, you’re not much different than they are.”

Sirius scowled at that, like the implication of your words offended him. “Being a pure-blood is not something worth flaunting about.”

“It doesn’t look like it to other people.”

“Well,” he breathed in deeply, gray eyes flickering to the view ahead, “those kinds of people have nothing to brag about other than being a pure-blood. A bit tragic if you come to think of it.”

“I suppose.” Your fingers were absentmindedly scratching the material of your robes. “So, does that mean you have other things to brag about other than being in the noble house of Black?” You then added with a tease.

His lips curved up, displaying an expression that showed a combination of a smirk and grin. “Obviously. With a face like mine, do you really think anyone sees me and immediately thinks about my bloodline?”

The confidence, the way he looked at you, and the fact that he was goddamn correct made you blush. It led you to be speechless for a good minute, staring at him and his face that really could make anyone forget about his last name—something that you know he notices with how his grin takes its full form.

However, before he could comment about it and make you wish that the ground would swallow you whole, his gaze shifted to the doors, and you followed suit, exhaling in relief as the exit reappeared, granting you a chance to escape.

“Uh, I should go,” you said immediately, a statement that he raised an eyebrow at in obvious amusement. “Wouldn’t want to be caught or anything.”

“Sure, love. You do that.”

You ignored the hard beat of your heart. “And you? You’ll stay?”

“For a few minutes more, yeah.”

“Alright. Well…” You trailed, already inching towards the door. “Bye, then.”

You muttered curses under your breath as you made a run for it towards the doors, scolding yourself for appearing like a damn fool in front of Sirius. You were certain that he was making fun of you in his head, or that he was going to tell this encounter to James Potter, or that when you wake up tomorrow, your housemates will find another reason to torment you because of being chummy with a Gryffindor like Sirius.

“Hey, ____.”

You stopped in your tracks. Not only because he called your name, but because you were shocked that he even knew it in the first place.

With a slow turn, you saw him leaning backwards against the balcony, elbows supporting him.

“Hm?” You tried to act nonchalant.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling smugly, and carried on uttering the words that you’d come to replay in your mind over and over again.

“Same time tomorrow?”

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gguk-n · 1 year ago

Text

Renewed Passion (Lewis Hamilton x Reader)

Summary- What happens when you meet your right person, wrong time after 18 years of actively avoiding him? Will the love that stayed dormant bloom in full spring or stay dormant? Will you give your heart a chance or will you listen to your brain?

I wanted to make this as cohesive as possible. Sorry if it's not. Google translated Italian. Kinda fucking long lmao. Implied smut.

Part 2

mio dolce bambino- my sweet child

Amore- Love

Il moroso- Sweetheart

[Reader's POV]

I opened the door to my neighbours house and walked right into the kitchen. Manuela was making pasta. It was our traditional bi-annual movie night with the Antonelli's. Our families have been neighbours and friends for generations. Me and Manuela had grown closer after she married Marco, so close in fact, that she made me Andrea's god mother when he was born.

Speak of the devil, Andrea walked into the kitchen and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. Andrea was on track to becoming a F1 driver. He had the passion and drive in him. I've watched him race a couple times. But I try to keep my distance from race tracks. "I missed you, zia" Kimi exclaimed. I smiled at him patting his back, "aww, I missed you too" "I wouldn't have, if you came to the race." he pouted. "Everyone had come. It was literally the home race and you didn't" he sulked. "I'm sorry sweetheart. I just had a lot of work" I reasoned while giving him a hug. The real reason I didn't go to the race wasn't work and it made me feel like a shitty aunt for not being there for this kid, I considered my own.

"Toto and the Mercedes team met me, again." Kimi announced. I looked at him quizzically. "If you had been present in your nephew's life, you would know." he chided. I apologised and asked him to elaborate. "Well, Toto needs another driver on the grid for Mercedes." he said. "Oh, does Lewis need a new teammate." I asked. "For someone who's nephew is a F2 driver, you know nothing about the sport." he declared. "You know I don't enjoy sports." I reasoned. Actually I stopped watching F1 after 2007. "Actually, Lewis is moving to Ferrari next year, so Toto needs another driver next year with Russel." I was shocked. "Zia, are you listening?" Kimi asked. "Oh, yeah, sorry." I apologised. "You have to come to the Monaco race." he demanded. "You know I'm so busy and I don't even get the race, it'll be so annoying for you." I tried to convince him. He was having none of that. Sadly, I was emotionally black mailed into attending the race in Monaco.

The race weekend was in full swing, Manuela was busy and couldn't make it, so I had to be present for the whole weekend with Marco. Formula one were honouring Ayrton Senna. I was forced by Kimi on to the paddock. With my luck, I almost immediately ran into Sebastian as Kimi left me alone to greet his friends. "Y/N?" Sebastian squinted at me. I smiled and walked towards him, raising my hand with a smile, "Yeah, that's me, Sebastian." I said. He shook my hand. "It's been so long, when did I last see you?" he asked, getting lost in thought. "Macau Grand Prix, 2005" I said. His eyes widened. "I'm surprised, you even recognised me." I laughed. "I don't think I can forget, you and Lewis were insufferable. Both of you made sure we felt lonely." he reminisced. I faked a laugh, "Yeah, that was so long ago. How've you been?" I asked trying to change the topic. "I've been good. I retired." he said. "I heard. That was a good run." I nodded along to my words. "What brings you here?" he quizzed. "My god-son is a F2 racer. He dragged me here." I replied. "Really?? Who is it? Do I know him?" he questioned. "I'm not sure if you do, but Kimi Antonelli is my god-son." I explained. "The 17 year old Toto is after." he chuckled. "It was nice meeting you. See you around Y/N" Sebastian said while leaving after being summoned.

I walked around the paddock. This was my first time in Monaco. I had been able to avoid most of Kimi's races when he was younger since he would believe whatever I said. As he grew older, it kept getting even more difficult since he is quite persistent and tenacious when he wants something; traits you want in a racer not your nephew.

I enjoyed the cool wind blowing through the paddock until I heard Kimi, "Zia" he shouted out to me. I turned around to see Kimi running towards me, "I want you to meet someone." he said dragging me to where he came from. We stopped in front of the man I spent the past 18 years avoiding. "Zia, this is Lewis Hamilton. Lewis this is my god-mother, Y/N Y/L/N." he introduced us. Lewis was always and will always be the love of my life. I kept up with the sport enough to know what he did. Eventually, I stopped obsessing over it. He slowly faded into my memories. He was the reason I never paid any attention to F1. I avoided it as much as possible. He was my right person, wrong place. I never truly moved on from him, I mulled over my thoughts as I was snapped out of them to quickly raise my hand towards him. He shook my hand. It was still slightly rough from all the years of driving; tears pricked my eyes.

Kimi couldn't stop gushing about me to Lewis. His eyes seemed so familiar yet so unknown. The years had treated him well, having won the World Driver's Championship 7 times and ageing like fine wine; I thought. I had lost track of what the conversation in front of me was until Kimi excused himself and asked me to keep Lewis company till he returned. My mouth hung open to protest as Kimi walked away. "You'll catch a fly, darling." Lewis said while using his index finger to close my mouth. I moved back from the sudden touch. "Do you still hate me?" he asked with a pained expression. I could never hate you Lewis, those words remained in my throat. "No" I mumbled. "That's a relief. I hope you only remember the good times." he stated hopefully. I just smiled at him. "I should get going" I announced, turning around until I felt a hand wrapped around my wrists, "Aren't you supposed to be in the Mercedes hospitality" he asked softly. I hated it when he was right. I turned around with a forced smile; "It's my first time in Monaco, I gonna walk around for a bit." I said pulling my hand away from him. "Then I can walk with you, since I've been living here for years" he exclaimed. "If I wanted to walk around with my ex, I would've said so." I stated firmly; walking away swiftly. This was going to be a long weekend.

After walking around for a while and tiring myself out, I met up with Marco who was in deep conversation with Toto. Both of them greeted me and Marco introduced me to Toto. I was a casual spectator in on their conversation when Lewis joined in. Marco knew of the history me and Lewis shared, he would be on the receiving end of my pining. They must've ran into each other at some point; did he never mention me? or Ask about me to Lewis; I wondered. "You look bored" broke me out of my thought, Lewis's lips extremely close to my ear. I shifted to the side, almost falling from losing my balance.I braced my self for the impact that never came, strong arms enveloped me, pulling me close. Time slowed as I found myself locked in gaze with my saviour. I could feel his breath against my face; a sense of warmth spread though my stomach. "You okay" he murmured softly. It was like time had stopped. My eyes slowly darted to the two other men in front of; I quickly pushed Lewis away and straightened myself. "I'm fine. Thank you for catching me. I'm gonna go get some water" I rambled, excusing myself to the refreshments. I almost sprinted to the table, grabbing a bottle; when Lewis took it from me and handed me back an opened bottle. "Still as clumsy as I remember" Lewis chuckled. I gulped the water down. This was not how I imagined ever running into my ex. Let's hope the weekend ends without any more trouble.

I was ready to leave mid-way through the day, but Kimi had a tight hold on my arm as he took me along to introduce me to his friends. I had brought some cookies and treats as a present for the other boys. They all seemed quite well mannered, I must say, for a bunch of teenager. Even when me and Lewis dated, it was like we had magnets attached to us, we'd always be gravitating towards each other. My eyes met Lewis's for a split second before I brought my attention back to Oliver Bearmen, a good friend of Kimi's.

Flashback

"Come on, Y/N. I don't wanna go alone." Mia, my roommate moaned. "Then don't go" I chided. The look of shock on her face was priceless. "Those tickets were fucking expensive and you said you'd do anything for me." she pleaded. "yeah, anything means anything around the house. You know I don't even like racing, it's so" I stopped looking for a better word but none came to mind "boring" I continued. "You did not just say that" she replied in disbelief. That's how I ended up at a Formula Renault UK race in Silverstone in 2003.

Mia had gotten us good seats, I decided to find some snacks to entertain me during the race so I excused myself to the stands to grab something. On the way there, I ran into a man. I braced myself for the fall instead two arms wrapped themselves around my waist steading me and pulling me closer. I opened my eyes to be face to face with a pair of chocolate brown eyes. My heart lurched into my chest. "You okay" he asked. "I'm fine" I replied still in his arms. "As much as I would love to have you in my arms, I have some where to be" he stated. Embarrassed, I fixed myself up. "Thank you..." I looked at him expectantly to say his name. "Lewis, Lewis Hamilton" he replied extending his arm out. "Thank you, Lewis. Y/N" I said while shaking his hand. "You're here for the race, right?" he asked. "Sadly, yes" I responded. A playful smile played across lips at the answer, "well then, let's meet after it's done?" he asked hopefully. "Sure, at least I have something to look forward too" I smiled. "I'll try to make the race eventful" he called out as he ran away.

I didn't know the guy I ran into was a racer. Only found that out when he won the race and was called on the podium. I decided to return to the same place we had the collision, in hopes of running into him again. I waited around until I heard someone call out my name; there stood a very sweaty and wreaked of champaign Lewis. "Congratulations" I commented. "Thank you" he replied. "Didn't take you for a racer" I cocked my eyebrow at him. "Did you like the race?" he asked with a cocky grin on his face. "Not really" I chuckled. "Well I can make it up to you, if you would like me to" he questioned. "And how would you do that?" I asked. "Go on a date with me" he asked with the softest and brightest eyes. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr Hamilton" I replied. I acted like I was thinking before I agreed to go out with him.

Present time

"Earth to zia, you there?" Kimi asked. "Yeah, what were you boys saying, again?" I asked. "Do you have a crush on Lewis?" he whispered in my ear. "What?" I almost screamed. "You've been staring at him the whole time we were talking" he pointed out. Fuck, that's gonna be so embarrassing for me. "You know, he is single and your age. Do you want me to ask him for you?" he wiggled his eyebrows at me. "No no, I just got lost in thought." God, this is going to be tough. "Zia, look he's coming here. Act natural." Before I could comprehend what he meant, I was being greeted by Lewis for the third time today. Can this day end already? "You still find races boring?" he whispered in my ear. I pushed him away, Kimi was staring. "Yes, I hate races" I stated boldly. "Maybe I can change your mind." he teased. "No, thank you. If you will excuse me. Bambino" I tapped Kimi's shoulder, "I'm gonna go get something to eat. Would you like anything?" He said he didn't want anything so I left to get some food.

The day ended with me thankfully no longer running into Lewis anymore. But I did enjoy watching Kimi during free practise. He finished P8 and I consoled him by saying that they were just figuring stuff out and how everything worked. He seemed to cheer up and we ended up having dinner at a restaurant near by. The city was lit up with the hustle and bustle of the race. I saw a couple more racers and people asking for their autograph. I teased Kimi about forgetting me when he's a formula one driver and being too rich and famous for me. He looked appalled at the suggestion. The night came to a close with us back in our rooms and back in bed but sleep wasn't going to come to me this easy.

Flashback

Lewis was finally back from the races. Following him around was proving itself to be quite challenging while being a full time uni student. I decided to make the most of the little time we had together by dragging him around to an arcade, to the mall and lastly my couch so that we could watch Finding Nemo. Lewis was willing to entertain all my childish demands, I realised. We were cuddled up together, our legs intertwined, one of Lewis's hand was under my head and the other rubbing my hand. "You're distracting me, Amore" I muttered. "Pay attention to me them" he pouted. I turned my head around and pecked his lips, slowly turning my body around to face him. I cupped his cheeks; "I missed you" I mumbled against his lips, kissing him again. He pulled me closer by my waist, deepening the kiss. "I missed you too" he whispered against my neck as he left open mouth kisses down to my chest. His hand squeezed my ass, while his lips started suck on one spot. He pushed me against the sofa and took his shirt off in one swift motion.

Present Time

Okay, I need to stop thinking about Lewis, especially naked Lewis. This isn't helping my situation at all. Why am I acting like a teenager? This was starting to get humiliating for me.

After a troubled sleep, morning seem to come very late. I was pulled out of bed by Kimi who was very annoyed that I was still in bed. I quickly got dressed and met Kimi back at the paddock. I spent the whole day following Marco around like a lost puppy. I didn't even see Lewis the whole day. I guess the schedules don't match for F1 and F2. Part of me hoped to see him. I found myself searching the paddock for him. At the end of day I returned back to the hotel heartbroken.

Sunday was my last day in Monaco, Kimi did okay at the sprint. I congratulated him none the less. We decided to go out for dinner and it would be my treat. "I just wanted to do well, for you" Kimi sulked. "You did well, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. You've come so far, mio dolce bambino" I said giving him a hug and pat on his back. I told him to rest and then we'll head out for dinner. I was looking for Marco to confirm the plan with him, when I saw Lewis, who looked visibly annoyed. "Hey" I waved at him. I saw him visibly relax and wave back at me. I found myself walking towards him, "Everything okay?" I asked. "Yeah, it's nothing. Just team issues" he huffed. "Sorry about that. I hope you can resolve it" I reassured. "Is this why you're moving to Ferrari, next year?" I questioned. "You know" he looked shocked. I laughed, "Kind of hard to miss, when Toto is actively pursuing my god-son." I chucked. "One of the reasons" he added. "Well, I hope you find success" I smiled at him. "Can I hug you?" he asked hopefully. I nodded and opened my arms for him, he found himself wrapping his arms around my waist. The sensation was so familiar, it didn't feel like we were hugging after 18 years. I started rubbing his back, whispering reassurances.

"How long are you here for?" he asked while pulling away from the hug. "I'll leave tomorrow morning." I replied. "You live in Italy?" he queried. I nodded. "Stay, for a few more days. I just, I've missed you" he announced. I bit my lip, "Do you remember why we broke up?" Lewis seemed to think for a moment.

Flashback

"Il moroso" I croaked, my voice hoarse from the screaming match we were having. "No, Y/N I don't get it. Why is it so hard for you to be there for me? It's the least I can ask for?" Lewis yelled. We had been going back and forth, I was in my third year of university and going to all his races while trying to pass the semester and doing an internship was proving to be difficult. It had put a strain on our relationship. He was only in the junior championships and required travelling a lot, I couldn't imagine how much he would be travelling once he was a formula one driver. I hadn't been to a race in a couple months and it was not something I was able to do as often as Lewis wished with the time and financial constraint. In all of this Lewis had seemed to forget that I had a life of my own that I was trying to build while in a foreign country trying to pursue my bachelors.

"Love, you know I can't make it to all the races" I reasoned. "Well, the others can. Some how you're the only one who is so fucking busy" he emphasised. I let out a sigh trying to calm myself down. "I really wanna be there for you Lew, but it's just not possible right now. I landed the best interning job for my degree. It'll help me with my future" I justified. "Your job is more important than me" he probed. I could feel the tears ready to fall, "No, it's not. But you're acting like yours is" I explained. He let out a strained laugh, "Just say it, you don't care about me" "You're putting words in my mouth" I argued. "There are no words to be put, when that's how you feel" he taunted. I ran a hand through my hair, almost pulling at my scalp; "Damn it, Lewis, I fucking love you and I want to be there for you. But you are behaving like a child" I called out. "If I am such a child, then break up with me" he snarled. We had fought before but never like this. We never even joked about breaking up. "I just want to support you and watch you succeed. But that doesn't mean I'll get to do that beside you at all time, I have a life of my own too, you know" I tried to reason with him. "I will succeed, whether I have you around or not. I can't be with someone who can't prioritise me" he said. I faked a laugh, "Ha, says the guy who can't see past his stupid cars, you know what Lewis, I hope you succeed, I truly do. But I also hope you miss me and yearn for the woman that supported you through so much every time you succeed." I declared. "Now, leave my fucking house. We're through" I shouted while pushing him out before my tears started to fall.

I spent the next few days crying, moping around, eating a shit ton of ice cream and having Marco console me. That man really heard me pine and crib for months. The only time I was truly happy during those sad months was Andrea's birth and being asked to be his god-mother. I took those duties very seriously. That kid helped me move on from my first adult relationship and heart break.

Present Day

I've dated multiple men after Lewis, but no one stuck. I never even settled down because deep down my heart was still stuck on him. I kept up with Lewis's life until I graduated and slowly lost the time to keep up with formula one. When I heard he had won his first world championship, I was in London, working at my 9-5 when my colleague ran to me to announce that a Brit was the latest world champion. I saw his face plastered on the news and felt some sort of relief, watching him succeed like he said he would. I had almost forgotten about it all, until Kimi joined the Mercedes drivers academy. I had kept my space from all his races after he transitioned to single seat racing.

"You know what you said, the day we broke up, came true" he uttered. I gazed inquisitively. "About me succeeding, but missing you" he stated. I looked at him in disbelief for a moment, before the words came back to me, I placed a hand on my chest in shock, "I didn't mean" I said before I was cut off by "I know you didn't. But I did miss you a lot whenever I won a race or for that matter my championships." he smiled at me, reminiscing all those moments. I smiled at him sadly. "I'm sorry for ruining your wins" I mumbled. "You didn't ruin them. But" he said with a glimmer in his eyes, "there's a way you can make it up to me" I peered at him with uncertainty. "Go on a date with me" he said. "Lewis" I responded. "Y/N" he replied. "You remember why we broke up, I still have a job that I love and my life has really worked out in my favour" I commented. "So do I. However, you can not" he stressed, "cannot hold what I said at 21 against me." he announced. I ruminated on that thought for a moment, "Ok, but this is your last chance." "Love, do you take me for a fool? I would never let this opportunity go. I'll never repeat the mistakes of my past, I promise" he said while holding both my hands in his. I leaned in and pecked his cheek. "I'll stay back in Monaco for a couple more days. This is your chance to convince me why I should date you?" I stated. "You'll know that you want me in a couple of hours." he grinned. "Don't get too cocky Mr Hamilton" I smirked. He just leaned in with his breath fanning my skin, "Can I kiss you, darling?" he requested. "You gotta earn it, Hamilton" I teased. "I've waited for so long for this" he mumbled. "Then you can wait a little longer" I giggled. I felt a pair of hands against my waist. "I could've if you weren't this close" he said with our lips almost touching, he intently eyed them. "Maybe one won't hurt" I thought loudly, my resolve breaking. "Thought so" he chuckled, while leaning in to kiss me.

I might do a part 2, but like if you guys want one. I know where I want to go with this, if i write another part. If you like this lemme know, it'll encourage me to write the next part then thank you for reading!! Hope you liked it!!

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