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taintandviolent · 17 days ago

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the flesh is weak ; Remmick x reader

summary: You had a happy, pretty life with your husband, living in your sweet lil' home in the Mississippi Delta. Everything was warm and sweet until it wasn't. Until your husband went missing. A few weeks later, a stranger appears at your door, claiming he knows an awful lot about your husband. And you. It's been so long since you've known the touch of a man...

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.8K | female reader, smut, unprotected sex, brief religious themes, mentions of death/grief/mourning, mental/sexual coercion, manipulation (remmick preying on a mourning woman), monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, vampire hive mind, shameless pussy eating (cos Remmick is a munch and we all know it), spit/salivia mention, spit kink, scent kink, biting, blood drinking, blood loss.

a/n: I'm not even going to try to explain myself, y'all know the drill by now. something something not immune to vampires something something obsessed with the vampire hive mind idea and Remmick eating pussy. not beta-read, we die like men. banner by @/saradika-graphics!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You'd been happy, the two of you. You really had.

It was springtime, nearing summer, where the days felt like they grew hotter and longer, when the nights wouldn't cool off either. You had met Wade at the market. You both reached for the same can of corn and touched fingertips, an electric current passing through you two. The way he looked at you, and the way that you shyly, through thick lashes, looked back at him. Neither of you said a word for a good moment, until Wade finally introduced himself. Everyone and their mother talks about love at first sight, but no one dares talk about the fiery connection when you touch your lover for the first time. A connection built on physical touch, on lust, on want.

It was a whirlwind romance after that, and before you knew it, you were married, joined under the good Lord, and he'd bought you a house with a porch and a dog. A shepherd.

Warm summer days were spent in the Mississippi Delta, in your quaint little home, set about twenty-five minutes outside town. He'd treated you better than you'd ever imagined a man could, made you feel like an angel on Earth. But the way he fucked you… was anything but holy.

Your nights were spent in passion, bodies entangled together like the branches of the trees outside your window, swaying back and forth like dancing lovers. You explored every inch of him, and he, every inch of you. There wasn't a freckle on either body that the other didn't know about, and you'd never experienced such happiness in your life.

Then… one night, after a particularly heated coupling, he'd just left. Kissed your forehead before lumbering out the front door to smoke a cigarette. The dog had followed him outside. And they never came back. Ever. It had been two weeks.

You assumed the worst — Wade didn't love you. He was just lookin' for an escape, for a clean way out. The marriage had been a mistake — too quick maybe — and he took the first opportunity to leave. He could've at least said goodbye, given you that last scrap of dignigty. Instead, he kissed your forehead and said, "I'll be right back, sweetheart."

You never thought for a minute that something bad had happened to him. He was a grown man, always took care of himself. Nothin' bad woulda' happened to that man.

So, here you sit, in your empty little house. It's not a home anymore, only the bones remain — tall and lanky and changing with the shadows that dance across the walls, moonlight filtering in through your lace curtains. You're nursing a cup of black coffee even though the sun's just gone down. It's as bitter as you are, drowning in your own sorrows and loneliness. The damn dog hadn't even stayed. Never liked you as much as he did Wade, really. You let out a plaintive sigh, bringing the cup to your mouth.

Outside, the wood of your porch creaks under some undisclosed weight. You set the cup down and abruptly scoot your chair back, standing upright. With your house being out of the way, visitors were rare, unless they were explicitly invited. Your attention's on the door, and though it's closed, you can feel the presence behind it, burning through the wood like an iron pressed against the grain.

You hesitate, staring at the door like you can see through it.

"Hello?" As though they can hear you.

Another creak.

You take careful steps forward until you're hesitating in front of the door. Your fingers wrap 'round the knob, twist it and pull it towards you with a sharp motion. The warm, humid night air rushes in, settling heavy on your exposed skin like a sheet that hasn't quite dried yet. The sounds of nighttime fill the space between you and the stranger, and your breath catches in your throat.

At first glance, there's nothing unusual about him; he's dressed like any other man. Light blue cotton shirt, suspenders, dark slacks. Put together. He's standing at the bottom of your porch, one foot perched awkwardly on the first step.

"Can I help ya'?" Your voice is laced with expectancy.

"Ah, I been walkin' an awful long time. Yer' the first one to answer."

You find that odd; you didn't answer anything. He didn't knock.

"Can ya' find it in yer' heart to let me in n' spare a glass of water, ma'am?"

He has a chain round his neck. Reminds you strongly of the one that Wade used to wear. The one that used to sway in front of your face as he fucked you, the one that you'd reach up and wrap your finger around, careful not to break it, but just tight enough to yank him closer.

You blink, coming back to reality just as the forest seems to loom forward around the stranger, but in an eeriely inviting sort of way, like a pair of giant hands beckoning you to just step into them. Something settles in your stomach and your eyes flit to Wade's shotgun leaning up against the door frame. The man notices this and shakes his head once.

"Now, don't go an' do that. Ain't necessary, ma'am." He whispers your name like a prayer, so quiet that you almost don't catch it. Almost.

"How you know my name? Huh?"

"I'm Remmick."

You furrow your brows. You hadn't asked his name, and you didn't want to know it. "I asked you a question. How d'you know my name?"

This must amuse him because a smile splits his face. He lifts his hands, feigning innnocence, and zeroes his gaze in on your features. He scans over them, one by one, and nods slowly.

"Well, ain't you every bit as pretty as he said you'd be…?"

The look on his face told you that he intended it to be a compliment, but something about it landed oddly. Made your skin crawl. "I beg your pardon?"

"Wade," he responds, defending himself. "I was just sayin' how he —"

"Wade?" You perk up like a dog. The name derails your intensity, and your gaze drops just slightly. Your question is breathless, desperate and mournful. "You talk to him?"

"Ohhh… Wade and I go way back," he says, sliding his finger underneath the suspender at his shoulder, pulling it forward. He pauses a minute and allows it to snap softly back into place. "Real shame he ain't with us no more."

No. God have mercy on his soul. That was the last thing you wanted to hear from a stranger's mouth. You're so grief-stricken that you don't even think to ask why Wade never mentioned this man.

"He… what happened to him?"

The man's brows pinch together as though he's filled with sorrow over what he's about to say. "Messed with the wrong sort of folks."

Your heart seizes in your chest, a desperate pump of blood to remind you of your husband and how much you missed him. The closure you didn't want, the closure you never expected. You dip your chin to your chest, trying to hide your disappointment, the feelings of grief. It takes a moment, but you harden. You force healin' over all those searin' open wounds and straighten up, setting your shoulders. If there was one thing Wade would've wanted…

"Well, you may've known my Wade, but I don't know you and —"

"Oh, but I know you," he says low. "I know everything about you, darlin'."

You furrow your brows in disbelief, taking a step back from the door. "No you don't."

"Sure… sure, I do. I know everything that Wade knew."

Not missing a beat, he takes a step forward, and something lurches in your stomach. Something that moves like fear, but tastes like longing.

Your grip on the doorknob loosens, and a shudder, a chill runs down your spine like cool water. Given the heat of the night, it ain't exactly unpleasant. Or unwelcomed.

"I know how you like to be kissed, from yer' neck to between that beautiful chest uh' yours… those soft n' tender kisses behind yer' ear, whisperin' about how bad yer' wanted. That spot behind your knee that makes you whine like a banshee. How you like it when you finally get to it. Rough."

His accent hangs heavy on that last word, the 'R' pronounced harder than usual.

You snap to attention, looking the man in the eye. They're dark, and seem to catch the moonlight in an odd way that chills your very bones. He wasn't wrong, and that was all well and good, but Wade would never tell anyone that. Wade would never divulge anything 'bout his personal life to anyone, no matter how convincing they were. Wade was a private person, and he stood by his secrets. Your facial expression doesn't deter the man at all. He continues, taking a step up onto your porch.

"…how you like to be eaten. How good you taste when you're screamin'. So, why don't you let me in and I'll see if he's good on his word?"

That chill returns, but you promptly feel a betraying heat pooling between your legs, soaking into the cotton fibers of your panties.

"You gotta' lot nerve, Remmick." His name falls off your lips like an expletive, a stark difference to the way he whispered your name.

He just smiles. Nods. Takes another step up onto the porch.

"Just let me in, and I'll show you what else I got."

You're suddenly lingering at the threshold, leaning forward as though you're prepped to wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss like a lover who had just returned from a long day's work. There's a pulling in your feet, your limbs seem to float towards him, as if he's willing them to him. Maybe he is.

I'm nothing if not strong, you think.

"I'm not… I won't."

"Sure you will. You ain't gotta' be afraid. I can make all that hurt go away. All that pain in yer' soul…"

There was pain. Lots of it. Plenty of it. You were lonely. Hungry. Desperate. And stood in front of you was a man that could smell it, and according to him, ease it. Something deep in your soul, rooted down like an old Cypress tree, told you that this was the closest thing to Wade you'd ever get again.

Remmick holds your gaze tight, coiling around you like a serpent — tighter and tighter as the seconds drag on. Something feels wrong, but something else feels right enough to make you forget the wrong thing. Your momma' woulda' warned you about men like this, if she was still with you.

You hadn't gone to church since Wade left, so you weren't in good graces, you knew that. Still, you bite your lip, clasping your hands at your breast as a last shot attempt at redemption, at some sort of understanding or forgiveness for the sins that slither in your mind. You lift your head to the heavens, and even though your lids snap closed, tears welling at the corners, you speak to the dark skies above in a hushed tone, barely above a whisper. "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Remmick grins and takes yet another step, like a man who knows he's already won the game. He's standing at your doorway now, hands tucked in his pockets.

"Let me in, won'tcha'?"

You open your mouth to speak again, to protest with your new found courage from the heavens, but instead, all that comes out is a squeak of a breath.

"I'll beg if need be…" His tongue glides appentently across his bottom lip.

"Wade used to beg," you say, forlornly.

"I know it." Remmick says, nodding, his eyes sweeping over the curves of your body, memorizing them, tasting them with his gaze. "For a sweet thing like you? He had good reason, I reckon."

With that, he says your name over and over again, longing braided into his voice. "Please, baby… don't you tease me like this."

Just like Wade used to say. Just like Wade used to say when you'd playfully deny him what he wanted most; your sweet, glistening cunt. Just like Wade used to say when you'd swat him away and he'd fall to his knees, pressing his face in between yours. Nuzzling between your kneecaps, forcing them apart, the feeling of his stubble scratching at your soft, plush skin as he pushed his way towards his goal. You missed that. You missed the feeling of being wanted… needed.

"Gimmie' what I want, baby… c'mon."

Hot tears prick at your eyes and well up in the corners. "S-stop…"

"Sure sounds good, don't it?"

You inhale sharply at his question, and nod. You can't deny him that answer, even if your whole body is screaming at you to.

"When's the last time you had someone appreciate you, darlin'? Huh?"

Though it's unspoken, he knows the answer and so do you.

"Just—" he starts, hardly getting the word out before you're cutting him off.

"Come in."

The flesh is weak.

Your hands fall from your chest, shocked at your own feeble resolve. The failure stings like a mad hornet when Remmick closes in the distance between you two, leisurely. Like he's got all the time in the world. He wastes no time in getting close to you, though. Real close. Too close.

He smells like iron, dirt and lust — something cloyingly sweet that makes your knees buckle. You know damn well what you smell like; the impure fragrance of desire seeps from your pores with the sweat and that smell has his nostrils flaring as soon as he's next to you. You're like a ripe peach, hanging low in front of his mouth. He parts his lips, exhaling over them as he nears you, presses his body against your warm one. You can feel the planes of his body through his clothes, and you know he can feel your soft, supple body underneath your thin sundress.

He's taking you in lungfuls, savoring you like he knew he would. You didn't know it, but everything he'd gained from your now late husband drove him crazy. He'd become obsessed with you from memories alone, memories he longed to run his tongue over, slowly, ravenously. For two weeks, he'd craved you in ways he understood deeply. A craving that he had to sate.

Your wanton gaze falls to his lips and it's then that you notice he's drooling. Really drooling. Not just wet around the lips — a generous stream of thick saliva cascades steadily from the corner of his mouth. It frightens you, but not as much as the way you want to kiss him. That terrifies you. He sees you looking at the spit, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. If he has his way, you'll be adding to it any second.

The feeling returns. The pulling feeling. It's deep, and tugs at your cunt in a pulsing grip. Remmick lifts his hand slowly, inching it towards you and you watch, wordlessly, as his fingertips near your feverish skin, tiny beads of sweat pooling up in the hollows of your collarbone. He runs those fingers delicately along your exposed skin, just underneath your neck. Your skin immediately flushes with heat in response, growing hot under his touch.

You shudder against the feeling of skin against skin. For someone who experienced the finer pleasures of the flesh on a daily basis, you were hungry, you'd been deprived for days and she longed to feel it again.

"He woulda' wanted you to be happy, y'know." As he speaks, his lips brush the delicately sensitive skin of your neck, trailing along it with chaste kisses. His tongue slips past his lips, dragging along the length of your neck.

The tiniest moan tumbles off your lips, hanging weighted in emptiness of your house. You feel her clench between your legs, leaking betrayal as your hand climbs to his shoulder, supporting some of the burdensome weight of your arousal.

He was so convincing when he spoke like that, playing to your worries and fears. Or maybe it was the way he was kissin' you. Maybe it didn't matter how he was talkin' or what he was sayin', maybe all that mattered was that he was touchin' you.

You tilt your head to the side, allowing him more room and his hands find your hips, taking fistfuls of your cotton dress in his hands. He starts kissing your neck in a way that almost overwhelms you; feverishly, hungrily, and quickly — kiss after kiss, smeared against the column of your neck. He continues his assault, but climbs towards your chin, then up to your mouth. He grips your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it down and opening your mouth. Without warning, he licks into your mouth and your lids flutter, tantalized by the sensation. His mouth is wet and inviting, and when he leans in, sealing his mouth with yours, you moan down his throat, making a fist in his shirt. You feel the sweat dripping down the length of your spine, feel the dampness of your dress as it absorbs it all.

Your tongue darts out to lap up the flow of saliva that coats his chin. A string of it stretches from your mouth to his as you pull back, just for a moment, just to breathe. There's something deeply sinister in his taste, something that you don't want to think too hard about. Something that leaves you breathless and wanting more. So you do. You lick at his bottom lip hungrily, and he catches your lip with his teeth, biting down just enough to cause pain. Any harder and he would've drawn blood.

Remmick's other hand winds around your back, holding you with a tight grip. It's the kind of grip that says you ain't gonna' make it to that front door. So you don't try. You aren't sure you even want to, because the way he's walking you backwards has your core muscles tightening in a way that you haven't felt in weeks. Anticipation.

"I wanna' taste that honey he talked so fondly of…"

You hit the wood of the table, and Remmick's urging you up onto it before you can protest. The half-empty coffee cup gets shoved off the edge and shatters, black liquid seeping into the floorboards like blood. Neither of you seem to notice.

Remmick continues talking, buttering you up and praising your body before he's even had the chance to taste it. It's working. You're slick and ready, wordlessly begging for him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you get comfortable, digging your heels into the surface of the table. The sound of your shallow, wanton breaths fills the small room, and Remmick presses his chest against your shins, reaching around your thighs to hitch your dress up around your hips. Greedy hands reach under the fabric, finding the hem of your underwear. With an esurient touch, he reaches between your legs and curls his fingers around the damp fabric, twisting it tight and tugging it down your legs. You hum at the quick brush of his knuckles against your swollen clit, bucking your hips forward. Remmick discards them, allowing them to fall lifelessly to the floor next to his feet.

His long, lithe fingers trail around your kneecap, and dip back, touching the sensitive flesh behind them. Your back arches, fingers clawing at the wood.

Without another thought, your legs drop open for him, revealing your aching, wet center. Having felt the movement, he raises a curious brow, looking between your bodies. "What's this now?"

He's looking at you, waiting. Waiting for you to explain yourself. Your chest heaves with breaths, but you don't answer; you ain't got nothing to say. You're done talking with your mouth. Your gaze bores into his, fiery and intense and filled with the desperation that your lips don't convey. His eyes widen, just for a moment, and you know he understands.

With one firm tug, he pulls you to the edge of the table — your back slides against the smoothed wood like butter. With his gaze locked on his target, Remmick lowers himself down between your legs one knee at a time, situating his face right in front of your cunt. The proximity has you reeling, writhing on the table like a cat in heat. You hear a low chuckle and feel the rush of his breath as he speaks, washing over your skin. "Well, ain't that just the prettiest thing I ever did see… you got yerself' worked up nice n' good."

It wasn't you. It was him.

You try to feel embarrassed, to feel shame, but the only thing that sizzles in your system is your pride. You're proud that he's about to do what he wants with you, proud that you're already wet for him.

You watch him between your legs as he looks at her, tilting his head to and fro, leaning in and inhaling your personal scent. He's clearly not keen on disguising his lust as his dark, glimmering eyes roll back in his head, jaw hanging slack. Another stream of drool. Fear bubbles up in your gut, but Remmick's fingers scratch it away as he grips the sides of your hips, kneading your flesh. Your head lolls back between your shoulders, heavy, as his tongue slips out to taste you, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your essence coats his tongue, pulling a low, gratified growl from his throat. Wade used to growl, but not like that. You ain't never heard a man growl like that.

You lift your gaze and your chest fills with air as Remmick presses his mouth into your cunt, lapping at it. Your next exhale comes out as a moan, and he digs in deeper, tongue stroking your clit, making your hips writhe unconsciously.

"Ah-ah, where you goin' now?" He asks, pulling you right back to the edge of the table. He knows better know, knows he can't leave that body unattended, so his hands, his fingers grip your hips tight, pressing them down into the wood. The table creaks underneath you, moans low like you do every time Remmick's dirty, hungry mouth seals to your cunt. The tip of his tongue encircles your clit, teasing it with single-minded precision. Pleasure. White, hot pleasure. The coil in your stomach winds tighter around itself, aching to snap. A few more passes of his tongue, and you'll be done for.

The curtain patterned moonlight stretches across your body, casting lacy shadows across your bare thighs, illuminating Remmick's fingers as they crawl around your skin like serpents, hunting for some unsuspecting prey.

The other starved beast, his tongue, delves further down into your slickened entrance, scooping back some of the nectar that wells up to meet it. You hear him swallow wetly, and close your eyes, digging your head into the table.

"Oooh, yer' close, I can taste it," he says between swallows. His voice is lower now, lubricated with his own tangible desire. You really were everything Wade had given him. Every thought rang true. "Sweeter than a summer peach…"

You whimper loudly, fighting against his grip. "Don't stop…. don't you stop…"

Remmick lets out a surprised chuckle before pressing his mouth back to you, tongue first. He slips inside you, humming in pleasure as you clench around the welcome intrusion. His tongue thrusts a few times, fucking into you with an unbridled hunger, before he swallows again and returns his efforts to your clit.

And suddenly, you're lost in a tidal wave of pleasure. Waves of euphoria crashing over you, drowning you. Your toes curl, muscles seize up. There's nothing but the feeling of his tongue as it laps at your throbbing cunt. A ribbon of sweat descends from your hairline, winding down to the hollow of your shoulder.

Your chest heaves long, shallow breaths, but your eyes pierce his with a sluttish intensity. You never were satisfied with just one orgasm. You longed to feel the searing, shivering pain of overstimulation.

"Fuck me," you plead as you stretch the suspenders over the curves of his shoulders. "Fuck me hard."

Remmick's head cocks to the side, as if to ask for confirmation. When you don't reply, he hurriedly pulls his shirts from his trousers, exposing his pale, toned stomach. It heaves with laboured, hungry breaths as he reaches for his belt, the button of his slacks. Nimble fingers make quick work of them both, and before you can blink, he's pushed his trousers down. You blink a few times, focusing on his face and realize… he's changed. His mouth looks bigger somehow and it hangs open like a hungry beast's. Sharp, jagged fangs have replace his pearly whites, and when he reaches up to wipe your slick from his chin, his fingers are even longer than before, lengthed by sharp claws.

The man you let in wasn't a man at all, but it was too late for you to care. Your cunt was too wet for you to worry, to protest now. This is it, you think. This is how I die.

"I love me a woman with a healthy appetite," he snarls.

His body folds over yours. His leaking cockhead nudges your entrance, like it, too, needs permission to enter and who are you to deny it? His gaze searches yours, and though it's laden with desire, there's a longing, a question, underneath it all. His hips jerk, pressing the velvet hot tip harder against you and Remmick lets out a whine, something that sounds like pleading. You grip his shirt at the collar, pulling him closer to you. There's a comforting familiarity in your grip and for a moment, you're latched onto the collar of your lover. You sigh.

It's all he needs. In a single thrust, Remmick bottoms out, sinking himself deep into your hot, slick walls. His rhythm, when he finds it, has intention. The force of his thrusts shake your body, your breasts move against your ribs with every drive forward. The wooden table creaks in a singsong melody beneath you, a sinful hymn of your coupled desire.

Your hands grapple furiously for his shoulders, finding comfort in the toned muscles that meet your grip. You wrap both arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him, and Remmick nuzzles into your scent, breathing heavy.

Still sensitive from his tongue, it doesn't take long for you to climb and fall from a second orgasm, clenching tightly around his dick. Your cries fill the house, staining the walls and your legs shake in his grip when he doesn't relent. Remmick whines again and leans forward, whispering something in a language you don't understand. He leans over you, looming above you and deepends his thrusts, bullying your cervix with each one. The gold chain sways in front of your face, and your lids flutter close.

Thoughts of your husband feel far away, because as hungry as he was and as much as he claimed your body, he never fucked you like this. Above you, Remmick leans back, his hips continuing to snap hard against yours.

He calls you girl, calls you sweet and withdraws himself to the head. Gazes down at your swollen, used cunt. With a sharp breath, he plunges himself back in. His release is imminent, and with a few more thrusts, he finds it.

Remmick's hand lifts, clawed fingers curling around your soft jaw to pull it to the side. He leans forward again, presses his lips against the nape of your neck, smearing them against the sweaty skin. You can feel your pulse thudding, visible against the delicate flesh, and know he can too. You don't scream when his mouth opens against your skin, tongue lashing out to taste the succulent flesh one final time. A sickening, squelching sound of flesh tearing fills your ears, followed by a wet swallow. You wince hard as his fangs dig into your flesh, but ease into the sensation of Remmick's mouth as it suckles around the mangled, torn skin, drinking your blood down in gulps as your arteries pump it out. You feel the blood as it cascades down your back, warm. There's so much pain — white, hot fire — that your body begins to quiver. But just for a moment. A single moment.

Your head lolls first before the rest of your body goes slack. Fingers fall from his shoulder, twitching involtunarily. Remmick doesn't let you go, though, if anything — he holds you tighter. Closer. Sucking you down and draining you of your lifeblood.

As your lids flutter heavily, the last image burned into them is his monstrous visage, and the last sensation is the gentle feeling of clawed cupping your face, stroking your sweaty cheek with his thumb.

"That's it," he insists. "Rest a while, darlin'."

#tumblr please let me post this don't be a hater #Remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick smut #remmick fanfic #vampire x reader #monsterfucker #vampire x you #vampires #vampire smut #vampire fanfiction #myfics

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nuwanders · 1 month ago

Note

While I respect what you're trying to do and I agree with the general idea and sentiment behind there's just the problem that boycotts don't work in our contemporary world unfortunately, especially on big companies like microsoft, I remember when this happened with hogwarts legacy and it didn't change anything, in the end that just became a sort of weird purity test, I din't buy that game cause I had no interest and even if I did I hate jkr, but I don't see any use in shaming people who do.

I don't think you're doing purity testing or anything similar, and the effort is admirable, but I think believing that people that buy the game don't care about palestine is wrong, I think it's more that they don't see the use in trying a boycott that will fail.

Btw I hope the boycott succeds I sincerely don't think it will, I myself am not buying the game for a while and will probably pirate it, but it's my personal choice and I don't see the use in shaming people for playing it as it won't win them over and will most likely make them bitter towards the cause, people are fickle and selfish by nature, and the same thing happened with hogwarts legacy. People said it revealed those who played ad unworthy allies, but I don't think we should exclude people by worthiness, you don't win by having "quality" you win by having "quantity".

That's just my two cents on the subject though

consumer boycotts can and do work. a few highlights taken from here (emphasis my own):

Affirming the role the BDS movement has played in the Israeli economy’s “spiral of collapse,” as 130 leading Israeli economists describe it, in September, the Chairman of the Israeli Export Institute said: “BDS and boycotts have changed Israel’s global trade landscape.” He added, “Economic boycotts and BDS organizations present major challenges, and in some countries, we are forced to operate under the radar.” Israel’s projected annual GDP growth rate for 2024 is 0%, according to leading credit rating agency S&P, and some 60,000 Israeli businesses are projected to have shut down during this year of ongoing genocide. Global sales of McDonald’s, a prime BDS target, “fell by 1.5% between July and September, the biggest decline in four years, more than twice the size forecast by analysts. It followed a 1% drop in the April to June period.” In October, fossil fuel giant Chevron, a priority target of the BDS movement, halted a $429 million expansion of an Israeli-claimed fossil gas field amid Israel’s ongoing genocide in Gaza and its brutal bombings in Lebanon, Syria, and beyond. In August, in a significant BDS win, French insurer AXA was forced to sell its investments in all major Israeli banks. In November, Carrefour closed all branches in Jordan due to BDS pressure. Carrefour’s partner in most of the Arab World, the Majid Al Futtaim Group, reacted to BDS Jordan’s boycott pressure by ending all business with the French retailer in Jordan. In November, the Boycott PUMA campaign confirmed that, following relentless BDS campaigns worldwide, the German company had ended its complicity with Israel’s apartheid regime. In December, the Strauss Group, a complicit Israeli multinational food and beverage corporation, was forced, due to an effective BDS campaign, to sell off its shares in the US-based company, Sabra, which mass produces the culturally-appropriated popular Arab dip, hummus."

looking further back, boycotts, divestments and sanctions played a crucial role in dismantling the apartheid state in south africa. from here:

Boycotts may have been a form of activism that was easier to implement on a variety of different scales, but it provided a very extensive impact on apartheid in South Africa. The very threat of boycotts of South Africa in the 1984 Olympics pushed the leader of the IOC to go against the Olympic Charter and keep South Africa out of the Olympics – making the decision as early as 1981. This showed the power the boycotts had built up, and the authority they carried. The boycotts were seen as being so effective that even the IOC would not be able to withstand their financial and diplomatic fall-out. South Africa would finally rejoin the Olympic community in Barcelona in 1992, “following the commencement of governmental talks to finally bring an end to apartheid.”

that targeted boycotts can be extremely effective is not up for debate. but i think the crucial thing to acknowledge here is that they are one of the most easy and accessible forms of protest because they do not require you to actually do anything.

your argument would hold water if i was demanding that everyone go out and start blowing up embassies or setting themselves on fire. but BDS is literally just asking people to do nothing at all.

this isn't a moral purity thing, it's a statement of fact that boycotts only work if people participate. and they fail because of the exceptionalist arguments you're spouting here: "it's my personal choice." ok, sure. it's my personal choice to not get vaccinated. it's my personal choice to vote conservative.

the other thing is that microsoft is one of the more egregious targets on the BDS list, for reasons better outlined here. i know that this isn't the fault of the folks working at bethesda, who will be several degrees removed from the heinous shit happening at the top. but BDS has specifically listed Microsoft's gaming division as a key component of the boycott, for the very fact that video games are perhaps the easiest product for the average consumer to opt out of.

tldr;

boycotts are effective

they are easy

they only work if people participate

BDS has specifically named bethesda

people should therefore boycott bethesda

i don't think i'm being unreasonable in expressing disappointment at the large swathes of TES fans who see themselves as above it

#obre #oblivion remake #oblivion remaster #tes #ask #also re the hogwarts legacy point #i don't think it's a fair comparison bc that was an organic (i.e. unofficial) boycott #whereas microsoft (+ bethesda) are official targets of the primary palestinian boycott movement

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arieslost · 1 year ago

Text

cinnamon whiskey | ln4

lando norris x fem!writer!reader

summary: you meet a famous race car driver in one of the last places you’d expect— the adirondacks.

word count: 4,578

warnings: drinking, minor injuries (small description of bruising)

masterlist — join my tag list here!

Your editor was going to kill you.

Every day brought you closer to the deadline for your manuscript, and every day you could hardly help yourself out in getting to your self-imposed goal of 1,000 words. It wasn’t a difficult feat; you’d done it before, and you didn’t have anything else to be doing. You had absolutely zero distractions: it was just you, your notebook, and your computer. There was only one problem.

The words just weren’t coming to you, and you’d already gotten a two week extension on the deadline. It felt like all your writing abilities had been rescinded.

“I’m screwed.” You professed to your best friend, falling into a pathetic heap on her couch. You needed a serious pick-me-up after struggling to write a measly paragraph, and she had readily offered a girls night.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Scoot over.” She replied, shoving your legs out of the way so she could sit. “Maybe you just need to get out of your house.”

“And go where? I can’t just pack up and take a vacation right now.” You grumbled into the couch cushion.

“Why don’t you go upstate?” She suggested after a moment of silence.

“Upstate?” You repeated.

“Yeah, go to the Adirondacks. My dad owns a house up there, remember? We had a blast the last time we were there.”

You and your best friend had gone up to the Adirondacks when you graduated college, and you always prefaced the retelling of it with, “It was one of the best weeks of my life.” You almost felt silly for not thinking of doing something like that in the first place.

“It might be a good idea… Do you think your dad would be okay with me staying there?”

Your best friend laughed. “Yes, you idiot. He’s let me stay there by myself, he’ll definitely let you.”

A mere 24 hours went by, and you were settled in a cozy cabin in the Adirondacks with the desperate hope of having the rest of your manuscript ready by the end of your stay. Otherwise, you might as well just fire yourself and save your editor some time.

It wasn’t the only cabin in the area– it was more like a very small community made up of six houses built exactly the same. The area was usually used by people with a decent amount of cash lining their pockets, so you were extra grateful to your best friend’s father. He had taken one look at the dejection on your face when your best friend had mentioned her grand idea, and simply handed you the keys with the promise that your stay would be free of charge.

You did feel a little out of place, though– you could have sworn one of your neighbors was in a movie you’d just watched, and another one was just so ridiculously attractive there was no way he wasn’t famous for something. You’d seen him out on his front porch when you arrived, and had to force yourself not to stare or salivate over his bare torso.

The change of scenery around you helped tremendously. At first. You always felt refreshed when you went somewhere new, particularly if it was somewhere you felt more connected to nature. You had gotten into the habit of taking walks to calm yourself when you got frustrated, and having new sights was definitely an exciting prospect for when you inevitably slammed your computer shut and stormed out the door like you just did a few moments ago.

You’ll be the first to admit it: the story just isn’t coming together. Your main character has a goal, a purpose, but she is entirely lacking any kind of driving force to get where she needs to go.

She has no motivation.

You can appreciate irony, but there’s nothing funny about it right now.

The dirt and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk down the first trail that you see. It branches off from the main path that runs between all of the houses: yours, the attractive guy’s, and one other, and then the suspected movie star’s and the other two on the other side. Right now, you just want to see nothing but the path before you, the trees in your peripheral vision, the gentle summer breeze in your hair, and maybe a chipmunk or a squirrel here and there.

But, of course, you can’t even have that. You’re alone with your thoughts for all of two seconds before you hear a crash off to your left that sends a few birds flying. You would have ignored it if not for the groan that immediately followed.

“Um… hello?” You call out, doubling back to try and see just what the hell had happened.

If you were in a horror movie, this would most certainly be your death scene.

“Ah…” It’s definitely a man, and he definitely sounds like he’s in pain.

“Are you okay?” You step off the path, getting closer to where the noise had come from.

That’s where you find him— your insanely attractive neighbor, practically in the fetal position, entirely focused on the camera in his hand. His jaw is clenched, whether in pain or concern for the camera, you don’t know. You just know he has a sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and curly hair.

Ugh, you could cry because he’s so good looking.

He looks up at you, eyes meeting yours, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.

“What the hell just happened to you?”

“I, um… I fell out of that tree.” He confesses, pointing to a branch, not too high up, but now dangling in half.

“And you were in the tree because…” You trail off, gesturing for him to explain further.

“Right, well, I was taking pictures and had an idea for a good one from a higher vantage point, so I climbed the tree. Thought I had a good balance, but—” He winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I didn’t.”

“No kidding. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” You marvel, hands held out in front of you just in case he falls over when he starts standing up.

“I’m not too sure about that.” He huffs out a pained laugh.

“You wouldn’t have been able to stand up so easily if you had, and your wrist and shoulder look fine.” You point out. “I have no doubt that you bruised your side up pretty badly though.”

“Yeah? How would you know?” He leans against the tree he just fell out of, his miraculously unbroken camera hanging from the strap around his neck.

“I’m a writer. I’m like a black hole of useless information.”

“I don’t think it’s useless anymore.” He takes a step forward and his face immediately contorts into a grimace. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Well, you’ve already asked so much of me, but if you really have to, then sure.” You tease, and he laughs again.

“I’m probably going to need some help getting back to the house,” he begins, and then continues after taking in the surprised look on your face. “But you don’t have to. I can just crawl or something. Maybe I’ll get lucky and make it back before nightfall.”

Not just attractive, but funny too? You might as well make the most out of these two weeks and use whatever you can to help you finish that dreaded manuscript. Besides, the only other person you’ve ever met who can hold a torch to your sense of humor is your best friend. This has to be a sign of some sort.

“Alright, but at least tell me your name first.”

His name is Lando, you’ve known him for an hour, and you think you’re in love with him.

Sure, you’re frustrated that he completely ruined the solitude that you craved, but the ice maker in his house is broken and he desperately needs some for the bruise that you know is darkening by the second underneath his t-shirt. So he’s sprawled out on your couch, and you’re in the kitchen collecting ice cubes to wrap up in a hand towel.

“Alright, lift your shirt up,” you instruct, walking into the living room and taking a seat beside him.

“I usually take a girl out before I let her see me half naked.”

“But it’s okay if everyone else sees you out on your porch half naked?”

“You were looking?” He tilts his head down a little and raises his eyebrows. “Liked what you saw, did you?”

You blush. “Just shut up and lift your shirt.”

He hums a little to himself as he pulls his shirt up, revealing the beginnings of a bruise on his tan skin that is already swollen and definitely going to get worse over the next couple of days. It looks like it continues below the waistband of his boxers, but you’re not about to tell him to pull his pants down.

“That’s ugly.”

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs, biting his lip when you gently rest the makeshift ice pack against his side.

“You have a habit of falling out of trees?”

“I have a habit of being in potentially life-threatening situations. It’s kinda part of my job.” He says it like he’s waiting for you to figure something out, waiting for something to click.

You take a moment to just look at him again. His fluffy curls, his infuriatingly handsome face, his thick neck, his toned stomach. And then something you’ve heard your best friend say a million times echoes in your head.

I bet every F1 driver’s contract has a clause that says they have to be hot in order to get in. I mean, you have Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, and don’t even get me started on–

“Oh my God. Lando Norris?” You exclaim, almost jumping up from shock but stopping yourself so you don’t jostle him. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I thought you knew!”

You glare at him. “Cocky much?”

“Well, what did you think when I told you my name?” He asks defensively.

“I don’t know, I thought your parents really liked Star Wars or something.”

He scoffs at this and smacks your hand away, holding the ice himself. “That’s real creative.”

“I’m sorry! My best friend is really into Formula One, but the most I’ve seen is bits and pieces of a race. I’ve never seen you, y’know, not in your car.” You feel like your eyes are practically bugging out of your head. “Wow, this is insane.” You knew he was too good looking to not be famous.

“Want me to sign something for you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I will punch you right in your bruise.”

He stays for a couple more hours, readily enduring your endless stream of questions that follow your revelation of him being a Formula One driver, only getting a reprieve when the ice melts and you have to go get more.

He compensates for recounting his entire journey to Formula One by asking you his own questions the moment he’s done. You tell him more about how you became a writer– how you got your bachelor’s degree, got out into the world, and realized you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life, so you took a retail job. It paid a dollar above minimum wage, but it was worth it when something you heard a customer say once inspired you to craft a narrative that your editor liked enough to pick it up. She’d taken a gamble on you; you were her fourth client and the book wasn’t finished yet.

“So that’s why I’m out here,” you pause to catch your breath. “I need to have the manuscript done two weeks from yesterday, and I wasn’t getting anything done at home.”

“Needed a change of scenery.” Lando nods, like he can read your mind.

“Exactly.” You say quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious under his intense gaze but refusing to look away.

The energy in the room shifts as the two of you look at each other, and you break the sudden eye contact when you take note of the fact that it’s dark out.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he breaks the silence, pulling his shirt back down and letting out a quiet groan as he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow? There’s no way someone will be able to get up here to fix my ice machine by the morning.”

You blink at him a couple times, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you just spent hours talking with Lando Norris, all because he fell out of a tree. You didn’t even offer to make him dinner or anything, and he’s making plans to do this all over again.

You still haven’t spoken, so he waves his hand in front of your face. “Oh! Yeah, of course. Be careful, okay?”

He gives you an obnoxious salute. “I’ll try to survive the 50 steps it takes to get to my place from here.”

You go running for your laptop and start writing as soon as he’s gone.

He’s at your door in the morning, and spends the whole day with you. Then the next, and the next, and the next thing you know, you only have four days left in your best friend’s dad’s house and it feels like you and Lando have known each other your entire lives. He isn’t able to do much in terms of physical activity, and when he trips over a root after insisting he’s fine you make the executive decision to go back to your house.

“Make some room, would you?” You sigh, looking for a place to sit thanks to the fact that he’s taking up the entire couch.

He simply lifts his head up.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m in pain. Don’t you want me to be comfortable?” He pouts at you.

“You’re insufferable, and a liar.” All the same, you sit down, and he rests his head in your lap.

He ignores you, eyes closed with a satisfied little smile on his face.

For his antics, you decide to disturb his newfound peace by putting the ice pack directly on his face and laugh when he bats it away.

“That’s just mean,” he whines, pressing his lips together when you put the ice on his bruise.

It’s mostly yellow and green now, like a weird rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Lando had made a game out of poking it two nights ago that ended just as quickly when he poked himself too hard and blamed you for it when you had been in the middle of telling him not to. After that, he hadn’t touched it, and now it looks a lot better. The ice probably isn’t needed anymore, but you’d prefer to err on the side of caution.

“You’ll live,” you say now, patting the top of his head to distract him from the discomfort.

“The last time I had a bruise this bad was when I crashed in Vegas last year.” He says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Took a while to go away.”

“I think I remember hearing about that. You crashed pretty early, no?”

“Yup. Barely got to race.” The sentences come out very clipped, like he’s still upset about it.

“It was a bad crash, huh?”

“Pretty bad.” You don’t have anything to say in response to that, so you start brushing your fingers through his curls. He relaxes instantaneously.

He almost falls asleep with his head in your lap, and that’s when you can’t take it anymore and have to kick him out. He’s almost to the last step when he stops and turns back, making direct eye contact with you.

“Y’know, it’s too bad you weren’t there when I crashed.” He gives you a soft smile. “You’re pretty good at taking care of me.”

Well, shit.

There’s a bottle of cinnamon whiskey sitting in one of the kitchen cabinets that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to open. You should drink it now when you’re thinking about him, but you decide to wait until you see him again.

You open your laptop and write until you fall asleep.

By the time you let him in the next morning, you’re stumped again. You only slept for a few hours and expected to get right back into your groove the moment you woke up, but when you read over what you wrote last night, your brain just refused to comprehend it. It feels like you’re back to square one, but you can’t be too upset about it when Lando makes his way through the door. He doesn’t mention anything about ice like he usually does, which makes you equally happy and disappointed. Happy that he’s feeling good enough to forego the ice, disappointed because that means that there’s really no reason for him to come over anymore.

But if there’s one thing you can expect from him, it’s his spontaneity.

“We should go out tonight.”

“And where exactly would we be going?” You ask, watching him kick back on the couch like he’s the one that lives here.

“I dunno, just outside, I guess. You like stargazing?”

“I love it.” You reply enthusiastically. “I bet the stars are gorgeous out here. I’ve been cooped up every night, I haven’t had the chance to see them.”

“It’s settled then. Cancel your plans, you’re all mine tonight.”

“I didn’t— never mind.” You silently will away the flush creeping up your neck. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d those pictures come out? The ones you were trying to take when you fell?” You lean over the back of the couch in order to actually see him as you’re talking to him.

“That was two questions.” He laughs when you smack his shoulder. “I got a couple action shots as I was falling. They’re terrible, but I’m thinking about keeping them for the memories. Fun story for the kids, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” The kids?! You’re definitely breaking out the whiskey tonight. It’s the first (and only) thing you grab when he goes back to his place to get a blanket.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You ask the moment the two of you step onto the trail, and he puts a hand over his heart.

“Your concern for me is adorable.”

“I’m only asking because you almost ate shit last time.” You burst out laughing at the immediate change in his expression.

He ends up leading the way for a mile or two before you reach a clearing that you would’ve discovered had he not fallen out of the tree.

“This is beautiful,” you muse, taking in your surroundings as Lando lays the blanket on the ground.

The sun is just about set, a light breeze passing through; a few different wildflowers are waving throughout the clearing. You look around and can’t see any sign of civilization. While that should make you nervous, since you’re with a guy you’ve only known for less than two weeks, it instead makes you relax. You forget entirely about your computer waiting for you back at the house and busy yourself with getting the top off the whiskey bottle.

“Found it the second day I was here. I’ll have to show you the pictures I got once I upload them all.” Lando says, furrowing his eyebrows as you struggle with your task. “Need some help there?”

“Be my guest,” you hand it over and have to force yourself to remain calm when he pops the top off like it was nothing.

“Ladies first,” he hands it back.

With pleasure, you think to yourself. Maybe getting drunk will help you stop acting like a schoolgirl. You take a generous drink, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing out slowly. “That is strong.”

“Hand it over.” He lets out a low whistle as soon as he swallows and returns it to you. “Wow.”

“I actually had a dream like this once,” you say, wincing at the burn of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. “I was just laying there, staring at the stars, with no worries. It was so peaceful.”

Lando takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. “I don’t dream.”

“What?!” The high pitch of your voice slices through the night. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” He takes a long sip from the bottle before placing it down in the space between you. “Never have.”

“That’s- that’s crazy.” You shake your head.

“I’d think it’s nicer that way, no?” he counters. “I probably sleep better than you.”

“I mean, I guess. But then you don’t have any crazy dreams to share.”

“You always remember your dreams?”

Now, you blush. You’re not sure why you’re embarrassed. “I, um… I keep a journal.”

Lando’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“I have dreams written down all the way back to 2015.” You confess, reaching for the bottle again.

He starts laughing, like he thinks you’re joking.

“I’m serious!” You exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “In my defense, I’ve actually come up with some ideas from my dreams. Fat lot of good they’re doing for me right now, but…”

Lando hums, eyes skimming over your now crestfallen expression. He passes the bottle back.

“Thanks,” you mumble, tilting the bottle up to your lips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some type of inspiration while we’re out here.”

“I only have two days left, Lan.”

He gestures for you to pass the bottle back, and you do. You watch as he takes a sip, looking from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck, to his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. You’re really going to miss this view. He lets out a quiet hiss. “Damn, that’s strong whiskey.”

“I told you.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and then he speaks again. “My ice machine got fixed.”

“That’s—”

“Last week.” He cuts you off, doing that stupid thing he does where he stares directly into your eyes.

Your heart is in your throat, and your voice is small when you reply. “Okay…”

“And I was supposed to leave three days ago.”

Now your jaw drops. “Why… Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re still here.” He answers evenly, the alcohol clearly working in his favor. “I initially came here for the same reason as you– needed a change of scenery. It’s summer break right now, and my friend Logan told me it was super nice up here. It is, but then I had my little mishap and… it’s been a lot better since you showed up. So I decided to stay a little longer.”

He’s close to you now, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, so you say the only thing you can think to say. “I can’t believe you fell out of a tree.”

“I can’t believe you took care of me this whole time.” He brushes your hair out of your face, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

Your internal giddiness rises when you realize he’s actually about to kiss you. Your stomach is doing Olympic level gymnastics and you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you let the whiskey do it for you: you kiss him first.

You can’t remember the last time you kissed anyone, but the moment he pulls you on top of him you know that you won’t ever forget kissing him.

“Lan…” you break away from him to catch your breath, smoothing his curls back from his forehead. You can just see the glint in his eyes as he stares up at you, and it’s borderline painful knowing that you only get to enjoy this view for two more days.

You don’t remember what you were going to say to him. It’s way too soon for “I love you,” and not the right time to say “I already miss you.” You still want to say both.

Like he can hear your inner turmoil, he silences it by touching his forehead to yours. “Kiss me again, please,” he whispers.

You don’t waste a second in giving him what he wants, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips against yours again. You’re careful to avoid his side as he lays back on the blanket, keeping a firm grip on your hips so you don’t go anywhere. You try to convey everything you want to say into the kiss: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I know I’m going to miss you. Please don’t let me go.

He holds you closer and gently slips his tongue into your mouth, and you melt into him, knowing the whole while that Lando Norris has effectively ruined all other men for you.

Six Months Later.

Your phone is ringing in the other room as you’re in the middle of recounting the kiss to your best friend for the millionth time.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you apologize. “It might be important.”

Thinking it’s your editor, because who else would call you at this late hour, you don’t look at the caller ID before you answer. “Hi, listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

“The love interest falls out of a tree, huh?”

Your mouth falls open. “Lando?”

“That would be me. Or should I change my name to Darren?”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I thought you were never going to call me.”

You’d finished your manuscript the day before you went home. He’d been sleeping right next to you as you wrote the final words, and you should’ve brought it up that morning. Instead, you left your number on his porch the day you left, too deep in overthinking mode to actually face him and properly say goodbye. You truly didn’t expect him to call you after that act of such cowardice, especially after the two of you spent almost the entirety of your last days together at various levels of undress.

“I really wanted to,” he admits. “At least ten different times. I think Oscar might have assaulted me if I chickened out this time.”

“Yeah, because you won’t shut the hell up about her!” A voice in the background exclaims, and you hear something go flying.

“Get out!” Lando snaps, and you can hear Oscar’s laughter fading.

“Sweet of you to subject him to hearing all about me.”

“Come to the race at Silverstone.” He says before you can even finish your sentence. “I’ll pay for the flight, the hotel, everything. Just come.”

You feel like the floor just fell out from under your feet. “Lan—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” It’s said in a nearly unintelligible whisper, but his tone changes so suddenly you have to sit down.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.” You confess. “That’s… kind of why I wrote you into my book.”

“Please, come to Silverstone,” he repeats, practically begging. “Come be with me.”

And when he finds you in the crowd after taking the win at his home race, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours for everyone to see, you’re immediately taken back to those two weeks you spent in the Adirondacks, where you finally found the inspiration you’d been missing your entire life.

note: this one goes out to my fellow writers who desperately wish their inspiration would fall out of a tree— writer’s block will never defeat us.

this got a little long, so if you’re reading this, thank you thank you thank you.

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @anathedivine @xfuckoffx @architect-2015 @violetiss3lfish @havaneselover08 @paigeworlds @whatever7justchillin @xoredmoonlightxo @dovieloovie @totowolffstablexoxo @maddie-bell @lalisgs11 @rrrraaaalllluuuu @formulasportworld @madisonbidaddy @anedpev @estherapz-blog @jess-wither @loveyatopluto @athena-artemis-dorian-gray @lou-larcher5 @clearlyabi @fizzpopsnap101 @fluerlaurent @mcmuppet @positiveaspirations @notturlover @crazymofo-96 @chanthereader @apollo-axolotl

#full fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic

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lenoide · 1 year ago

Text

The Big Slip

+18 | one shot | Toto x reader | romance, smut, drama, pinning.

Summary: Your life as a struggling arts graduate in Monaco, coming from a working-class family who lives on the outskirts, is about to change. Toto Wolff enters your life not only by giving you the best sex ever but also by making you love somebody for the first time. Arranged marriages, a horrible breakup, and an induced coma, plus his terrible parents, were a complete surprise. Author's note: Get ready for a ride!

More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist - Toto hasn't been to his parents for a couple of years.

His relationship with them has gotten, how do you say it politely? Problematic?

The older and more independent he gets, the more he notices the enormous pressure they have inflicted on him from a young age.

Being the firstborn in a blue-blooded, deep-pocketed family, carrying the Wolff last name around places an immense weight on his shoulders.

He is required to be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect gentleman, the perfect businessman, the perfect big brother, and the perfect heir.

"There's a lot on stake, Torger, not only millions," his father tells him at his massive and fancy in-home office. "You can't lose focus, this," he gestures with his finger around in a circular movement. "It will be all yours one day, and that," he points to a big and beautiful architectural model designed by Foster + Partners of their new offices and latest and giant factory based in Austria laying on the large meeting table made of expensive agarwood. "Will be yours to lead".

His dad isn't a normal one. Every time Toto gets called into his office, he feels nervous and timid, something that has never changed over the years.

His dad is a businessman first and a father second.

"Every choice you make matters, son. One day, you will become head of this family, an ambassador for our last name. Make us proud," he says, pouring himself and Toto a drink into a beautiful set of glasses. "Let's toast to that, to your future legacy."

He clinks his glass with Toto's.

Being an heir of the owners of the "Silver Wolff Mercedes F1 Racing Team" and "Wolff & Co." is supposed to be fun.

Being a part of that accelerated, fast-paced world full of excess, wealth, luxury, and stunning seductive women, a land with no limits.

Yet it isn't. It's a golden cage that people would give everything to get locked into, but it's still a cage.

"I'm moving to Monaco after graduation," Toto informs his father, again in his office, but years later, with all the courage he gained over the years, he feels ready to break those bars in his cage.

His parents sent him to study university at the LSE (London School of Economics), giving him a spoonful taste of freedom.

But he barely partied and slept around. He was required to be the perfect student, the top of the class, and the ideal college kid his parents could show off in social gatherings.

"Monaco?" the expression on his father's face is priceless.

"Yes. Water motorsports are on the rise. You know how much I love water! I could develop a racing team there, create a new branch for Silver Wolff, and enter the yacht market for Wolff & Co., handling it by myself."

"Before you return to your duty, the real one, this company, to Silver Wolff Mercedes. It will serve you as a pilot. Think of it as a five-year project."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," his father hugs him and kisses him on the cheek.

Toto feels proud of himself as he heads out of that office.

"Torger?" he turns around at his father, calling his name. "Don't lose focus."

What can you expect when you give total freedom to someone who hasn't tasted it before?

Parties, excess, women, all kinds and types of sex, alcohol, weed, everything, what he wanted, he had, he satiated all his appetites.

But at the end of the day, of the rush, he is alone.

Completely alone, with no real or deep relationship with anyone.

Toto built his life based on a "this is just a one-time thing only, a just-for-the-moment" philosophy, knowing that everything in his current life was temporary and that he isn't the actual owner of his life choices.

That's why he is not interested in building new friendships or having a girlfriend.

His real friends are his childhood friends, the kids of wealthy, upper-social-rank families his parents approved of and hung out with.

They are the ones who get him, who know what he is going through. And Obasi, his only real friend from college, Toto loves Obi.

Being the heir of a build-from-scratch empire of a Nigerian-rooted family that escaped the dictatorship, made it to England, and became incredibly successful is a burden more challenging than his.

Obi's parents expected him to make no mistakes, a margin of zero, and they had for him higher than the sky expectations.

The night is fully set in Monaco, and your boss gallery's lights illuminate the sidewalk as the prestigious Galerie d'Art 3816 is holding an exhibition.

Located on the famous Boulevard de la Croisette, it's buzzing as art lovers and collectors gather for the exclusive opening of "Lumière," a small but exquisite collection featuring an array of stunning paintings.

You worked your ass off to earn a spot and get featured, showcasing tonight two pieces as part of that exhibition, earning a well-deserved place.

With luck, a sponsor may see your work or art buyers will acquire them.

As guests enter the gallery, your boss greets them warmly and offers glasses of champagne.

The large room has white walls and a luxurious, polished grey marble floor. It's well-lit, and soft music plays in the background, creating an intimate atmosphere perfect for appreciating the displayed pieces.

As the evening goes on, champagne and canapés travel around while conversations flow freely.

At the same time, you attend the people interested in your paintings while some of your work colleagues sell and promote their own in their places.

Then your world spins around as you notice the tall guy, at least 6'2", whose presence seems to fill the room.

He is looking over the artworks on display one by one, his eyes lingering on each piece with an air of discernment.

His dark hair is styled perfectly, with a hint of messy charm, and the lighting in the gallery accentuates his sharp features.

The Greeks seemed to have carved his chiseled features, perfectly sharp jawline, and strong facial structure.

His suit, tailored to perfection, fit his broad shoulders and athletic build like a glove.

You can't help but feel a flutter in your chest as he moves towards you, his long strides eating up the distance between you.

"Oh! Mr. Wo-" Your boss tries to greet him. She approaches him in a rush, distracted by the other guests, without noticing when Toto enters.

"Mr. Bednarczyk, I'm Christian. It's nice to meet you," Toto lies to you, introducing himself, much to your boss's surprise, and cutting her off.

She plays along while he offers you a handshake and adds as you two lock eyes with each other, "Mr. Bednarczyk, we are glad you joined us." she says.

"That's unique," he points out, looking at the art in your painting, admiring every detail. Your boss takes this as a signal for her to leave you discuss.

Not before whispering to Toto's ear discreetly, "Christian Bednarczyk? Toto, what!?"

"My middle name and mom's maiden name. I don't want all the attention the Torger Wolff name drags around here."

He is right.

People in Monaco may not know what the Wolffs look like, but they have heard their last name and know what type of family they are.

What should have been a five-minute conversation between Toto and you lasted almost an hour.

You told him all about the meaning behind the painting, the techniques you used, your creative process, and more, feeling an instant connection with him.

A couple of other guests gather around to listen. In the end, a French businesswoman buys it.

"Happy for how it went?" Toto asks you.

"Yes! I sold the two paintings I got allowed to exhibit!" you answer as you do a little dance for him.

He looks only a few years older than you but seems full of youth and energy.

"So, now, can I buy you a drink?" he flirts with you.

"Yes, please." you feel your knees shaking.

Accepting his invitation to get some drinks results in a night of passion.

Toto's lips and teeth clash against yours, his tongue demanding entry. You part them, letting his tongue swirl around yours.

His hands roam your body, feeling your curves, then he squeezes your ass, pulling you closer to him.

You can feel his hardness pressed against you, and you reach for it; he groans, deep and guttural, his breath hot on your neck as he picks you up and carries you to the bed in a hotel room.

He lays you down gently, his hands cupping your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the light fabric of your dress.

"Fuck, so sexy," he mutters, his voice full of desire. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch.

You are desperate for more, desperate for him. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body responding to his touches.

Toto's fingers work fast, pulling out your dress and exposing your undies before getting them out of the way. He groans as he takes in the sight of you fully naked, his eyes dark with lust.

"Beautiful," he whispers.

He leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he teases it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

"You're fucking wet," he says, his hands now exploring your slick folds. You whimper as he circles your clit with his fingers, "I want to taste you," he states, his voice low.

You nod eagerly, unable to speak. Toto wastes no time.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and dives between your thighs. His tongue is warm and wet, tracing a path up and down your slit.

You moan as he explors with his mouth, parting your folds, his breath warm against your clit.

You bite your lip as he flicks his tongue against it. The sensation is intense and immediate. Your hips buck as Toto sucks it.

"Oh my god," you moan, digging your nails in the sheets beneath you. You are so close already, your body coiling with need.

Toto's fingers slide inside you, and you moan even louder. He presses against your G-spot, and you feel an orgasm rising inside of you.

And then, just as you are about to explode, Toto pulls away. You let out a whimper of protest as you feel your orgasm fade away into nothingness.

But Toto isn't done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

"You taste so good," he moans as he crawls up your body, pressing his hard cock against you. "Do you want me inside of you?"

"Yes!" you answer while moaning as you feel his tip brush against your entrance. He is teasing you, and you love it.

You want him inside of you so badly it hurts. He pushes against you, inch by inch, until you are stretched around him, finally joined.

The feeling of his hard length filling you is indescribable, and you let out a gasp of pure ecstasy.

Toto thrust into you, his hips moving in rhythm. Each stroke brings a new burst of pleasure that almost brings you to your knees.

You grab onto his biceps to stay grounded.

Your moans become louder, more primal as he pounds you, sensing the pulse of his cock deep within you.

"Goddammit, Chris. Yes... yes..." you let out, your breaths becoming shallow gasps. Your muscles tremble with exertion, and sweat drips down your forehead.

You close your eyes, lost in the sensory overload, as he continues to thrust deep into you.

Your breasts are bouncing with each impact, and your heart is on the verge of exploding.

You are nearing the end but want to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Savor every moment of this encounter.

"Tell me how it feels," Toto demands. "Good god, you're so tight, so fucking perfect." Toto murmurs, continuing to pump hard into you.

You let out tiny cries, knowing that you are close to cumming. "Goddamn, you feel so good inside me. Your body is pure perfection," you moan.

He shifts positions, his body dominating yours again, and you wrap your legs around his waist. His hands hold your hips, pulling you closer. He kisses you passionately as his pace quickens, bodies moving faster.

You can hear the wet sound of skin slapping together with each hard thrust. Your body quivers in delight, feeling his strong hands grip your hips tight.

The way Toto moves inside you is delicious. He moves deep, giving you long, slow strokes as he continues to kiss you passionately.

"I want to hear it all, every dirty little thought that goes through your mind. I want to feel you clench around my cock when you get what you want."

His words send a thrill down your spine, igniting a fire. You rock your hips harder against him as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more urgent, more frantic.

"Oh, fuck yes. Yes, Chris. I want you to claim me, to make me yours. I want to feel every inch of your thick cock stretching me open."

"Fuck, Y/N. That's what I like to hear."

"God, yes!" you cry as he hits the right spot.

"Tell me you want it," his voice raw. "Tell me you want me to make you cum."

You look into his eyes, seeing the desire and urgency reflected there, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"Make me cum, baby," you stammer; you are so close.

Toto's expression changes at your words, and he looks more determined than ever to make you finish.

With a low growl, he increases his pace, his hips snapping against yours with animal urgency, taking your breath away.

Your hands go to Toto's ripped abs; you can feel his muscles flexing as he drives into you with fierce movements.

"God, yes," you pant, trying to hold on as best you can.

Toto's hips are a blur, his body moving with intensity you have never experienced before. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your sweat-slick bodies slamming together.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, your voice hoarse with pleasure. The orgasm is building.

Your whole body is trembling, and you can feel every inch of you tingling with anticipation. You sink your teeth into Toto's shoulder as he continues to pound hard into you.

"Yes, yes, YES!" you cry out, surrendering to the pleasure, giving yourself completely to him. The orgasm hits you suddenly, and you feel your body convulse, releasing.

You hear yourself yelling out his name as Toto keeps thrusting, mercifully prolonging your orgasm. His hips continue to snap into you as a guttural moan tears from deep from his throat as he comes too.

He moans so deliciously as he finishes, firm chest going up and down, you running your nails on it, as he recovers his breath.

"It was spectacular," you say the following day while sharing breakfast, looking at him with adoring eyes. Oh, the things he did to you were just wow.

"I totally agree." he gives you a cheeky smile.

"You seeing someone? Maybe we could..."

"Sorry, I can't. This was a one-time thing, sadly. I'm not looking for that, but I can give you my number if you want to be friends." Toto explains, looking at the dismay on your face.

"Sounds good, better than wiping you off from existence!" you chuckle.

And you two become "friends"!

"Friends" that text each other daily and hang out at any minute possible.

Who were you kidding?! FRIENDS?!

You are utterly into that man. And he seems also into you.

"Well, that was a complete failure." You sigh as you close the gallery.

Only eight people attended your personal art exhibition, and you did not sell a single piece.

Toto is carrying your stuff around in a box. You two cross the street to grab a seat on the pier, which overlooks the harbor and the sea, and hang out a bit more.

"You okay?" He bumps your arm with his, looking at your sad eyes.

"I want to make my parents feel proud of me. I know they haven't asked me for that. They only want me to be happy! But I know the effort they made to put me through college, and you know, I want to be successful so I can help them out so they don't have to work that hard anymore. They aren't that young," you answer.

Toto looks fondly at you and catches the single tear sliding down your cheek with his thumb finger before caressing your face tenderly.

"You are a good daughter. Even if your parents haven't asked you for anything, you feel a need to deliver. It will come! Don't get impatient! No one starts with instant success. Usually, there are a couple of years of struggle before it. Focus on what lies ahead."

"Why are you so smart?!" he smiles shyly at your question, his cheeks blushing. "Can I kiss you?" you come closer to his lips. "I know you told me we'd be friends only, but can we be of those friends who kiss each other?"

He laughs softly before claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. "I don't think those friends exist. I don't think those are called friends." Toto replies.

You laugh. "Damn, you got me!" and after a couple of minutes, you dare to ask. "What is it about me that doesn't convince you?"

"It's not, listen, ahem..."

"I'm single and have a boyfriend job opening right now. There is no need for an interview for you, in case you are interested," you invite him shyly, asking him to please date you.

To which Toto blushes and looks down at the floor.

There's a silence break in which you slowly take distance from him, returning to where you were sitting before kissing him.

"Can I change your mind?" you ask softly at his lack of reply, which sounds more like a plea.

He turns to look at you but doesn't say yes, which hurts you. He can see it in your watery eyes.

"It's getting late. So I bett-"

"Don't leave, please." He sounds earnest.

"Chris, I'm not sure I can only be your friend with these dumb feelings I have for you. I don't know how to be around you without wanting to be with you. I'm sorry."

"This amazing idea you made of me may be wrong. I'm not that ..."

"You are kind and fun. I love those dumb reaction faces you do," a small smile forms on your lips. "You are very gentlemanly, holding the doors open for me and standing up when I arrive. I have never seen that one before! Also, holding my hand on stairs and carrying my stuff around, you make me feel so special."

"Every time we talk, it feels meaningful. Gosh, I love sharing life with you. You are so full of great advice, you know?" you continue.

No one had shown Toto such earnest affection before, not so openly.

"I can be your life coach if you have that job offer available," Toto says. You can feel his eyes piercing your skin. He is looking at you with such intensity.

"I don't know. You, you feel too meaningful, this," you gesture with your finger between you, "Feels special. And let's not talk about all of this going on here," you move your hand around, gesturing to Toto's face and body. "All this tallness hotness stuff you got going and under gets even better," you quickly add, every word speaking faster. "Those things you did to me the other night, Jesus! We could, you know, repeat it sometime or many."

A huge smile forms on his lips before he relaxes again, watching you joke around.

"I really gotta leave, tho," you say.

"Can I at least drive you home?" his voice sounds slightly sad.

"Oh, hey, no worries, it's far. That's some gas you are going to spend. I can grab the transp-"

"Please"

"I live on the outskirts projects. Do you know where those are?"

His father's best friend's real estate company developed the units in those buildings. Of course, he knows where those are! "Yes, I have an idea, but you can guide us there."

"You sure?"

"Hundred percent"

It's a quiet ride at first.

"Gaga, really?"

"What?" he looks at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road as "Shallow" plays in the back.

"Are you a pop girlie?! That's... you know."

He starts laughing at your reaction, judging his music taste. "Unexpected?"

"Give me." You grab his phone from the car's cup holder on the central console.

"Password?" you ask.

"941123"

"Does it have a meaning?"

"It's a birthday."

"From who?"

"A girl"

"Oh," your mild jealousy showing.

"My sister's, not... there's no one else, so you know."

There's silence for a bit. So, you keep searching on Spotify for a song you like.

"Then, why not me? If there's no one else in your life," you ask before thinking, shit! It would be best to stop pushing him, but you can't.

He gives you no answer again, and things start to feel awkward for a few streets while Arctic Monkeys play in the back.

The streets of Monaco never look more attractive as you observe them through the car's window, not being able to look at Toto and feeling embarrassed. Rejections are uncomfortable.

"Do you have or had someone?" he asks, trying to regain your attention, feeling awful too.

"I had a boyfriend for years. He was my neighbor, and he still is, sort of, he moved a couple of buildings away. Let's say he forgot he was my boyfriend before having a new girlfriend. That's a cool photo on your locked screen! I have never skied, and those snow outfits always look so cool. So handsome, gorgeous smile. Turn left here and go all the way there. Oh, you went the other way, ahem."

"You said left; this is left," Toto informs you, side-eying you.

"Oh!" you smile at him. "It was to the right, then." You make a funny oopsie face.

You open the Apple Maps app and pin your address before passing him the phone at a red light.

"Okay, got it now." Toto gives you his phone back.

"Have I told you when I got "lost" downtown? My parents went crazy! It turns out I never left the street; I just went right thinking it was left."

"WHAT?!"

"Oh yeah, get comfy on your seat, Chris. The wackiest shit always happens to me," you tell Toto before sharing that memory with him.

When you finally arrive in your neighborhood, it takes you forever to get to your home because you keep telling him anecdotes and memories of things that happened to you in various spots.

Toto slows down the car, amused and more than engaged in the conversation.

"And on that sloping street we used to bike down! Oh, and on Charlotte's birthday - a girl that used to live in that house in that street - we went to slide down during her party held in their front garden, and I hit the sidewalk there and flew to the grass next to it. My dress got all green in the belly and chest, and I flashed the entire party with my Hello Kitty panties before my mom rushed to see if I was okay and pulled down my dress; well, at least the guests got to know me!" you two laugh heartfully. "And that's me." You point to a building.

Suddenly, your eyebrows frown, and a concerned look fills your face.

"You good?!" Toto asks you, worried.

"Why is my dad in PJs out in the street?!"

A big guy wearing no shirt, belly on full display, not a fit body at all, and pajama pants bottoms wearing sandals was in a rush walking around the street, looking for something.

Toto parks the car, and you get out of it quickly. He follows you.

On your way to your dad, you find your mom, also wearing pajamas, hair a mess, crying in your building's entry hallway.

You instantly hug her.

"I left the door open a second!, just to get the Amazon package inside! And "Chico" went off, he ran so fast down the stairs, we can't find him anywhere! It's my fault!"

You comfort her before getting all emotional, too, and scared for Chico's well-being. Your dog flew the house; he is tiny, old, and almost blind, which is not good.

After one hour of searching, your family, Toto, and some neighbors still haven't found Chico.

You turn around, all desperate, and bury yourself in Toto's chest, weeping, where he wraps you in his arms and comforts you, rubbing you.

"Let's keep looking. Chico must be near."

"What if he got run over?"

"Shh, don't think of that." Toto kisses your head and soothes you. "We will find him, okay?" He bends a bit to rub his nose against yours softly and gives you a couple of brief kisses.

Your parents witness it all.

Around two hours later, Toto goes exploring further away from the park again.

This time, he hears muffled dog cries in the distance, so he follows the sound to find Chico under some tall bushes in a neighbor's open yard.

His little leg got stuck between the big branches, so Toto rushes to get him out and leave before he gets in trouble.

He returns to your building with Chico in his arms, who looks even smaller in those muscular arms and is all dirty.

Your mom and you run to Toto and pat Chico before hugging the Austrian from both sides.

"Our girls' hero!" your dad approaches you all and tells the dog. Chico, don't scare us like that!" before addressing Toto. "Okay, let's go. I buy the beers. We still can catch some of the game." He pats Toto's arm, assuming he is your boyfriend.

"Let me see what I can make for dinner." your mom tells you.

"Go ahead," you ask them two, wanting to have a time alone with Toto.

"Please, give me a chance. I promise you won't regret me," you beg him.

He nods.

Toto can't keep ignoring his feelings for you, which is reckless, before you two kiss while leaning on Toto's black Mercedes car - the one he told you he got lucky to inherit from his late godfather - and while holding hands.

"Honey?!" your mom calls you from the window on the second floor. Your apartment faces the street and a small grass patch. "Can you go get some cheese?"

"And more beers!" you hear your parent scream from inside. You have that bad habit of doing that.

Your relationship feels like a dream. It's healthy, romantic, supporting, and spicy.

There are weeks you can't keep your hands off each other or your clothes on.

Everything is soft and tender between you, helping and supporting each other throughout the day's challenges.

You talk a lot, but he is pretty reserved. You respect that and hope that time and love will change it. You want him to feel secure and loved enough to open up.

Toto extends his visit, staying longer after his sister's baby's christening mass and gathering in Austria at their parent's state.

He loves his young sister more than anything in life.

He wanted to spend some time with her and her kids, who were also staying there, but as soon as they left their childhood home, he remembered why he had stayed away.

The following day, at the garden breakfast table, his parents bring up the always-expected topic: "Torger, my dear, your father and I are worried. It's been almost seven years since you left for Monaco, two more years that agreed."

"We need you around, son. I'm afraid you are falling behind on how to handle the business only with your brief appearances with the team and at the factory," his father adds.

"I have known how the business works perfectly since I was a child; that is all you taught me. Haven't I succeeded with the new assets I created?"

"Yes. Monaco has been a total success. But you made a promise, and a Wolff keeps them. Your duty is with Silver Wolff Mercedes and this family. Man up to it." his dad gives him the ultimatum.

"I know it, believe me. But fine, I will prepare everything for my return."

"When will this be?" his father asks, growing impatient at his current lack of control over his son.

"By the end of this year. It's time enough to handle our aquatic racing team to another team principal."

"Perfect," his dad looks pleased.

"There's also another subject we would like to discuss," his mom has the word again.

Okay, this one is unexpected.

"We can't keep avoiding the fact that you have reached an age to settle down with no proper prospects. We think we could help you with that departm-"

"Hold your horses there." Toto steps in.

"Did you interrupt your mother? Your manners also stayed in Monaco?" his father looks at him sternly.

His dad has this really angry-looking resting face, but he is actually quite easygoing and even goofy sometimes.

"Sorry, continue"

"Most of your friends got married the past few years, your cousins are all fathers now, and even your baby sister has welcomed her second child. It's time for you, too. The daughter of my friend Anya is a perfect and stunning fit. She has always liked you."

"I can get girls on my own, mom, thank you."

"Yes, of course you can! You are smart, successful, handsome, fit, and wealthy. What's not to like?!" His mom gives him a look.

"Then, the problem is?"

"That finding the fit for you is not that easy. You need a girl that matches everything listed before to be even."

God! Toto had forgotten how old school his parents are.

"We are arranging this for you," his dad informs him.

"Are you like for real?! Arranging for me a marriage? Oh! Man," Toto's expression is priceless.

"Why are you articulating like that?" his dad looks at him, not in a good mood anymore.

"Like a commoner!" his mom adds. "Didn't we give you higher education? What's on the water in Monaco? It's not doing you well."

Toto chuckles but does not answer. Spending time with you and your is showing.

"Well, it's not like your father and I precisely met on a cruise, didn't we? Our parents arranged it, yet we formed a successful marriage with wonderful children."

"Understood." Toto plays along with it, not feeling like fighting it. They were sort of right.

You go to a fancy restaurant for your one-year anniversary. Toto never lets you pay for anything, and you tell him several times it isn't necessary.

Monaco is expensive for the working class, and you know the struggle. You don't want him to feel that type of pressure on him.

You know he works as a coach on an aquatic racing team in town, which is not a high-salary job precisely.

But he insists, and any hint of you putting a fight tonight goes away the moment he picks you up wearing that fancy suit, looking unbelievably handsome.

You are left speechless, and he closes your mouth with a finger on your chin before kissing your lips and hand.

"Wow," he whispers to you while he looks you up. You are wearing a fancy, tight blue dress, all glam up. "I'm so lucky." Toto lets out.

During dinner, an "I love you" scapes your lips.

Toto gets saved by the bell in the form of a marriage proposal happening in the following table.

You two clap for the couple like the rest of the people at the tables surrounding them when she says yes.

When Toto turns around, he sees you looking at him in a way he wants to shoot himself.

What had he done!?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

He hates himself for being unable to say no to you from the beginning.

While you two make love passionately, you ask him while riding him, his dick filling you completely as you rock your hips eagerly, bouncing on him while holding hands and between moans that he stays forever.

Toto has a full-on panic attack in the bathroom of the hotel suite you went to spend your anniversary night while you peacefully sleep after fucking your brains off, not knowing what to do now.

You shouldn't be part of his life. This wasn't supposed to happen!

But the fear of losing you is equal to his fear of hurting you.

To confess is not an option. God! You will hate him when you discover the truth and that he lied to you about his life since the day you met him.

This Christian Bednarczyk is a facade that hides something worse, Toto Wolff.

"A what?!" Your parents and you all turn to look at him with a funny face, all situated at the outdoor table.

You went camping on a family trip for the weekend.

"What's with all those fancy words you say here and there?" your mom asks.

"Yeah, right? I also noticed!" you add, pointing.

"You went to one of those "big farts" schools?" your dad questions him while biting his steak.

"Baby, do you want something else?" you ask Toto as you continue placing food on the big plate in the middle of the table and still taking ribs from the grill.

"No, love, I'm so full!" Toto rubs his belly.

"We ate half a cow already." your dad colorfully adds, as usual, still a bit of food in his mouth.

Toto and your dad nod, recognizing themselves as guilty.

"I used to read a lot," Toto answers his question.

"That's from where your posh English comes from. Makes sense! Honey, pass Mr. Thesaurus here another beer?" your dad messes around and requests you.

Their relationship is as great as yours is.

Toto loves to hang out with your family. Sometimes, he is even at your parents' tiny apartment, where you still live, not yet able to afford a place of your own, when you are not.

Where they constantly and unintentionally embarrass you in front of him, creating lots of funny moments on both sides.

Your parents knew no shame, and Toto's out-of-touch secret silver spoon upbringing sometimes made him say and do things that made him look like he was from Mars. Not teasing him was impossible.

But all in good spirits!

It's Sunday morning.

Toto and your dad watch the race in the living room while you are in the kitchen sink, blending acrylic paints and listening to their funny, excited little screams.

They are both fans of the F1. As the race is in the final laps with a clear winner and they go to commercial break, Toto goes to the fridge for a can of Coca-Cola.

"Pss, pss," you grab his attention.

He turns to you to see you approaching him and softly pushing him to the broom closet; he puts no resistance.

"Yes?" he asks you suspiciously, standing beside a mop.

You steal a passionate kiss from him first, and as you pull away to catch your breaths, you explain.

"Mom and I are saving to get tickets to the race here in Monaco for dad as a birthday gift. Do you want to come? We plan to have breakfast at that seafood place he took us once."

"The one with the delicious baked coconut shrimp?"

"Yes, the one with the cook owner with a lazy eye."

"Captain Evil Eye"

You two invented a whole backstory in which that dude used to be a pirate in his prime.

"And then, off to the race! We plan on going all dress the same, you know, dad's team."

The idea of Toto showing up in Ferrari gear was hilarious. That man had poor taste in all senses, but especially in teams.

Actually, it was a great and iconic team, but their fierce rival was so it was an instant and natural despise.

"I would love to, but I'll be in Austria, remember? I plan on giving your dad his birthday gift before leaving."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot! Son of a Biscuit!"

"Yup!" Toto says it like you do.

"What are you two doing hiding there in the broom closet?!" Your dad says as he gives you THE LOOK, now standing before you, opening the door. "I would like to remind you, Chris, I'm a police officer and have my gun in that drawer," your dad messes around.

Toto raises both hands and gets out of there and away from you. "I didn't even touch her," he says while collecting his stuff and heading to the door. "Oh, but she did!" he jokes, quickly closing the door after him as your mom and you die of laughter.

"You better run!" your dad says aloud.

"See you at night! It's sushi night!" Toto screams from the street as you and Chico appear on the window.

"Have a great day, sweety!" your mom warmly screams Toto goodbye.

He was coaching today.

Toto hates to lie to you.

He did not travel to Austria. He is there at the race, but at the pitlane in his team's garage, away from the cameras, next to his dad running this thing.

The live coverage crew knows they can't shoot any of the Wolff family members, and they don't dare disobey, so there is no risk since you and your family are in a sector far far away.

By this point, Toto's family has been trying to arrange a marriage for him with his father's goddaughter for months. Her name is Emma. She is a lovely girl, but she is not you.

Toto's parents think they successfully brainwashed him into thinking he is old enough now to settle down and form a family.

Not only to keep the family's social rank and prestige but also to bear beautiful children with a gorgeous rich wife and grow the fortune of his future heirs.

Toto plays along with it, but he is no longer interested in anyone after being with you.

Be dating you is the best well-kept secret that he has held from his parents throughout his life.

Only Obi knows about you. He won't risk his other friends opening their mouths, spreading the rumor among the elites, and reaching his family.

There is no part of you Toto didn't explore, a corner of your body he didn't touch, or part of you he doesn't own.

On a Thursday after work, you meet Obi, Toto's roommate. Since they both share a tiny apartment without privacy, Toto never takes you there.

Obi is so handsome and tall, with a gorgeous smile and a sexy British accent; he looks like an African prince. He is super fun, light-spirited, and a clear best friend of your boyfriend.

Thanks to him, you get to know a bit more about Toto's life, well, about Chris's life.

They met in college.

"Two broke kids with crazy parents," Obi says among laughs.

Then you find out that Toto is not close with his parents, that's why he never mentions them.

You want to know why Toto's relationship with his parents got strangled. Maybe you can help to fix it.

When you ask the real questions, he dodges them, along with your requests to meet his family, even though he has met everyone relatively important in your life, even your dog!

A month passes, and Toto picks you up to go on a date, but you forget your paintbrush roll-up bag upstairs in the workshop, where you work above the gallery.

He offers to get it, and while you wait for him, you grab his phone to put your shared couple's playlist with songs both of you like.

Whenever you unlock his phone, it warms your heart. Toto changed his password to your birth date.

Amidst choosing a song, a text arrives from some "Emma,"

You aren't toxic, not one of those people who routinely nose in their partner's phones, but this one makes your jealousy monster come out.

Why is this girl calling him "my love"?

God, you wish you hadn't opened that conversation.

As Toto opens the door to get back inside the car, he gets welcomed by you, holding his phone and looking mad before asking him:

"Whose Emma?"

FUCK!

TORGER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

FUCK!

"Let me explain to you, please."

Tears are filling your eyes.

"Wait, not, please don't do that, don't cry," he looks desperate.

Then, you finally discover he has been seeing another woman for potential nuptials due to his parent's idea of arranging his marriage. You are a secret he has kept from them.

"So all this time, I was the "meanwhile," an entertainment for when the real one arrived." you sound so hurt and bitter.

"Don't say that." Toto looks anguished.

"That's why you didn't say it back."

"What?" he asks.

"When I told you I love you,"

"I hate myself more than you can imagine for hurting you like this. I didn't plan for any of this! It happened, and I couldn't be more grateful to have you in my life. You have no idea how much you have healed me. I was completely lost before you, and I don't want to break your heart..."

"Too late for that! Thank you, asshole, for exploding it into pieces." you interrupt him. "I will help you and your parents with that; I'm going to stay the fuck away of your life. I'm a fucking idiot!"

"I'm the fucking idiot here, for not being honest with you, for the lies, for everything. Please forgive! Don't leave me," Toto is begging for his life.

"Does the sorry for everything part also involve me?!" tears are everywhere on your face, but rage is starting to show, too.

"For hurting you! Do you think I regret any of this?! That I regret us!?! You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me!" Toto confesses now in a loud voice, too heated.

"Yet not great enough apparently to put an end to that shit circus going on with your family. If you truly loved me, you would fight for me, for us."

"Y/N, you don't know them..." Toto barely murmurs.

"Wrong answer," you say, lips trembling, before exiting the car and slamming the door.

Every step you take away from him kills you. You are so disheveled that you can't even show up to your parents.

As the weeks go by, you still look like a depressed mess, a shell of a person living life.

Not wanting to leave the bed, shower, eat, or go out.

Your mom and dad are distraught. Your dad even suggests you go to "the looney."

God, he tries! But that is how concerned he is.

It is clear to them that Toto and you broke up, and they are sad about it, too. They considered him part of the family, but there isn't a clear explanation yet.

To touch the subject with you is impossible, so they cease.

Time plus painting helps you heal, and your art becomes more edgy and moody, which sells well. At least a positive outcome of this!

You blocked Toto out of your life. And you are still trying to erase him from your mind, heart, and body.

Five months have passed since you two broke up when a call comes from an unlisted number.

You answer your phone a bit dubious.

"Miss Y/N Y/LN?" the voice of a professional-sounding woman answers.

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"I am contacting you from the front desk of the ER at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco" Fuck! Something happened to your parents! You start to panic. "On behalf of Dr. Gastaud, you appear listed as Mr. Torger Wolff's emergency contact. He is curre-"

"Oh, wrong number, then. I don't know that person." You feel a brief sense of relief.

"Oh? But all your information is on our system. Are you sure you don't know patient Torger Christian Wolff Bednarczyk?"

"Christian! Yes, of course, is he okay!?" you feel your heart in your throat.

"We just moved him to intensive care. We need you here as soon as possible." She sounds so calm in comparison to you.

"I'm on my way!"

As the male nurse rushes Toto's IC bed across the doors, the doctor explains to you as you two walk alongside it at the same pace.

"Apparently, he was on the deck of his yacht where he slipped and hit his head. His staff brought him here."

His yacht? His staff?! What?!

"The blood tests showed a high ingest of alcohol in his system." The doctor continues.

But Chris doesn't drink like that! He barely likes beers. Why?!

"He hit his head against the yacht's railing and has lost a lot of blood; according to the x-rays and the MRI, his brain is a bit swollen, and his arm got broken. I need your approval, miss."

The doctor stops for a second, grabbing the clipboard at the end of Toto's bed, next to his feet.

"What for?!"

"To induce him into a coma," the doctor answers.

You feel like fainting.

"I, I, I..." you are entering a state of shock that the doctor immediately recognizes as being used to dealing with those.

"Miss Y/LN," he snaps his fingers, getting you back. "We are losing time. It's the best option to stabilize and prevent him from leaving us. Do you approve of it?" The doctor shoves the clipboard to you.

"Yes," you feel your soul leaving your body.

"Sign here and wait there. It's going to take time," the doctor informs you.

You notify your parents about the situation. They immediately come to the hospital to join you while you wait for Toto's procedure to finish.

"We brought you dinner," your mom sweetly mentions.

"Thank you, mom, but I'm not hungry. Actually, I threw up a bit ago," you confess.

"Let's pray, then." your mom grabs your shaky hands.

After it gets done, they move Toto to an intensive care room; tons of tubes, cables, and saline and meds bags get plugged into him.

This is and looks like a nightmare.

It feels so wrong for you two to reunite like this since you called it quits.

Then, as the hurtful memory of that day hits you back, an even worse crosses your mind.

His parents. They need to know! Do they know already? Did they get notified, too?

Around 3 a.m., you gather the energy to go to the front desk. Your mom stayed with you at the hospital to spend the night. She will look over Toto as you investigate.

This room and the whole private area look expensive. It would be best to ask about Toto's insurance and the bills here. You are already worrying about how he is going to pay for it. You have some savings he could use if needed.

"Hi, miss. Did Mr. Wolff's parents get notified, too?" you ask the lady who called you.

"We only notify the people on his emergency contact list; you were the only one registered there," she explains.

"Oh..."

"But you can contact his insurance agent. They usually notify the patient's family. Personally, I never rely on the insurance people; sometimes they are the worst," she whispers to you, hiding behind her palm.

You look at her with a blank expression.

"Would you like the phone number to call?" she looks at you, a bit confused.

Why would you ask her for all this essential information about your husband? He registered you as his wife on the list.

Only if she knew.

She prints a sheet of paper and underlines some numbers with her blue pen.

"Thank you so much."

After a lengthy exchange with the insurance people and many revelations you didn't see coming, you obtain the number of Toto's father's office.

They indeed live in Austria. Toto's insurance covers him up to millions, a shocking amount, and the "Wolffs" are an important family you should know about.

You check on Google if it's a suitable hour to call Austria before remembering this is an emergency.

Toto appears stable, but he is not progressing as the doctor hoped. There is still not much brain activity on the damaged part.

You gain the courage to hit the call button after going over and over about how to introduce yourself and explain what is happening.

"Miss Y/N, hold in the line for a second. Thank you," Toto's father's beautiful assistant, sitting at her desk, tells you as she pushes a button on the intercom while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Mr. Wolff! I have a girl on the line who says she is your son's girlfriend. She needs to inform you something about Toto. It sounds important."

Emma?! Did Torger propose to her? His dad thinks. "Yes, communicate her."

His dad picks up the phone.

"Emma? Good afternoon, dear. How can I help you?"

So Toto is still with her?

"Good night, Mr. Wolff," your voice takes him by surprise. "I'm Y/N Y/LN. Your son is in intensive care at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco. We don't know how, but he slipped on a yacht deck, hitting his head with the railing. The hospital notified me, so I came as quickly as possible."

"How is my son doing? Please send all the information to my assistant's number. We will arrive there soon." He sounds genuinely concerned.

"He is stable, sir," you feel your voice cracking. "But he is not progressing as the doctors expected."

"What doctors? I need the names and the medical records sent to me. We would go through them on the jet on our way there. We have many top-tier medical professionals on call."

"Ahem, give me a second. I'm searching for the full names," you say as you ask your mom to pass you some papers. Mr. Wolff hears other voices around you.

"Is this a scam?!" he sounds mad now.

"Sorry?"

"Whose there?"

"My mom"

"I have no idea who any of you are or why my son is in there with you. Hold," he pushes a button and asks his assistant to contact Torger.

No answer, she tries again.

"Could you tell Mr. Wolff to keep the conversation on the other line?" you answer from Toto's phone.

The nurse just handed you a bag with the belongings Toto was admitted with at the hospital just a second ago. His bloodstained clothes disturbed you deeply.

This would have been very helpful hours before.

It turns out his phone is still on, and Toto hasn't changed his password.

"Mr. Wolff, why would I be joking with something as serious as this?"

"It's unexpected news."

"For all of us, I asked the nurse for the medical records. I already sent the doctor's names to your assistant."

"Is my son heavily medicated, resting, or is he able to talk to us?" Toto's mom is also present and listening through the speaker.

"He is in a coma."

"WHO PERMITTED YOU TO INDUCE MY SON INTO A COMA! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? ARE YOU AWARE HOW DANGEROUS IT IS? THE MINIMAL MISTAKE COULD DAMAGE HIM FOR LIFE IF NOT KILL HIM."

You can hear the screams coming from inside as Mr. Wolff is at a reunion with the doctors.

Your parents and you are sitting on one side of the narrow hallway, and Toto's mom is on the other, right in front of you, without talking to you.

Toto is getting "showered" by the nurse, and you all leave the room to give him privacy.

His mom is so beautiful and well-dressed that you feel almost ashamed of how you look at the moment, but those were the clothes you were wearing when they gave you the news. You haven't left the hospital for a second.

"Mom, could you please bring me some fresh clothes and my things."

"But honey, we don't want to leave you alone."

"No worries, Mr. and Mrs. Wolff are here, too."

"Are you sure?" she asks, concerned because they don't appear particularly friendly toward any of you.

You nod.

"We'll return faster than a kid getting chased by a dog," your dad says, waving and loudly addressing Mrs. Wolff. She scrutinizes him and slightly nods.

After some minutes alone, she asks you.

"Why brought him to this cheap hospital?" she looks around, not pleased with what she sees.

"It's near the harbor where his yacht apparently is."

"Young lady, if you had any involvement in his accident, you should speak right now; our detectives will conduct an investigation."

"Detectives?"

"Well, our son is worth millions, and our family billions, and you, out of nowhere, appeared as his emergency contact, also as his caretaker and the primary beneficiary in case something happens to him." she says, her eyes piercing brown eyes looking into your soul. Toto added you some months ago without telling you anything. "And suddenly, this happens."

"WHAT?!" Okay, this is just not real. "I wasn't even there when it happened, and I had no idea about everything you mentioned."

Toto's parents want you out of the picture as soon as possible. Now it's clear to them you are the reason why Toto keeps pushing away his engagement with Emma.

They act cold to you and yours. However, the hospital and doctors allow you to stay and partake in life decision-making regarding him and the procedures he needs since you are also Toto's legal caretaker, much to their dislike.

"How much?" his father catches you off guard one afternoon.

"Pardon?"

"How much money do you want to stay away?"

"I'm not here for any of that. Please don't ask me that again; it's insulting," you warn Toto's dad, not letting you be intimidated by him and holding his stare.

This surprises them and earns you some of their respect.

Your life becomes being by Toto's side at the hospital, swallowing your social life, job, and income.

Toto's parents listen to the call in which your boss, against all her will, has no other remedy to fire you. You take it easy before returning to shaving Toto's beard tenderly and fixing his hair with a comb.

A brief, empathetic look crosses Toto's mom's eyes.

Still, your parents support you, knowing how much this and he means to you, yet unsure why you two ended things up since you both seemed so in love.

You remain silent under Toto's parents' continuous demands to know all about your relationship, current status, and details.

"Did you were sleeping around with our son?" his mom asks.

"We were in love and were in a relationship."

You refuse to speak more than that about it because it is personal, it's none of their business, and it also still hurts, and you don't want to give them the pleasure.

One day, they arrive with Emma; that girl is stunning and as classy and elegant as them.

She rushes in and places herself on the side of Toto's IC bed before tenderly caressing his cheeks and kissing his lips.

All in front of you, inside, you want to smack her away from him, but you know she is in no way responsible for this situation; she was dragged into this mess, too.

You remain quiet, watching it unfold before you. To Toto's parents' surprise, they expected a big drama.

After she leaves, they talk to you, explaining why they believe Emma is a better fit for Toto than you in all aspects and that if you love their son, you should step aside since you and your family don't belong with their kind.

A couple of days later, Toto undergoes another surgery but fails to stabilize.

Doctors are unable to make more progress with him, so his father ponders moving Toto to a better hospital in Austria or Switzerland after finding a legal grey area in the caretaker clause, which sends you into a frenzy and full panic that they take Toto away.

"Moving him is a risk, a gamble," you warn them.

"We don't see enough progress here."

"And over there would be any different? They can assure you that?" you ask.

"No, they can't."

That idea doesn't materialize anyway because, throughout that night, Toto's condition gets worse, and you all learn he could die.

That causes you to enter into the worst depressive mood you have ever had and look significantly affected in the eyes of Toto's parents.

This raises questions in their mind that you might be more than a side chick and your connection more profound than just sex and financial interest, as you claimed several times, to their disbelief.

Toto needs to undergo a risky procedure. There's a tiny chance of survival, but a speedy and total recovery awaits him if he does.

Your family and his gather to say goodbye as Toto gets moved at the doors leading to the operation room.

You don't know what to say. You're full of fear, so your dad goes first.

"Hey, big guy, once you told us you were strong enough, with those big arms of yours, to take down John Cena, I'm sure you will be strong enough to tackle this down," you and your parents chuckle at the inner joke.

The three of you remember that day you all got in the new furniture up the stairs.

You laugh until your laughter quickly turns to tears, and you break down for the first time. Your dad hugs you tightly.

"He loves you so much, enough to not run away from you and us after that day!" your mom adds, looking at you with a tiny smile. "You can do this, sweetie." she grabs Toto's hand and addresses him.

You are a total mess when you get close to him. You rest your temple in his. "Please don't leave me, please; I love you, Torger," you beg him, using this name for the first time.

Toto's family observes you say goodbye, giving you the space to it.

Before they come closer to kissing his son's forehead, "We love you, and we'll see you soon."

He survives, Toto is out of risk, and he is in excellent condition for a transfer to another hospital.

So you make a deal with his parents to not take him away from you.

They will allow Toto to remain at this hospital and you to be by his side till he finishes recovering fully.

But after that, you will be out of his life for good.

Two weeks later, Toto's health improves, bringing him out of the coma.

Toto's vision is blurry. His eyes cannot focus well, and the light hurts him a lot. He also hears a loud whistle in his ears.

He thinks he hears people say, "He's baiting his eyes." "Yes, he is opening them."

He rubs the palm of his right hand against his face, closing his eyes again before being able to focus more. Shapes become more precise as he turns his head to the side and sees you.

"Y/N?" his voice sounds so rough and crackly.

"Hi," you let out in a cry.

He reaches your face with his hand, touching around, not seeing you well.

Toto feels dizzy and confused. "I wanted to make sure you were real this time," he closes his eyes for a second and exhales. "I v o," he murmurs.

"Sorry?" you ask.

"I love you," says louder. Toto thinks he sees your big smile. "Love of my life," he adds, staring at you.

"Hi, son," he hears his father's voice on the other side of his face.

"Dad?"

He feels his hand on his.

"Welcome back," his mom squeezes his arm and holds it tight.

"What?" he is so confused.

Before the accident starts coming back to him, he tries to pull himself up, but his head hurts a lot, no strength at all.

"Easy, easy," you rush to aid him when the nurses and doctor enter.

"How are those Bambi legs doing?" you ask in a brief imitation movement as you greet Toto, to his amusement.

"Look at these tighs, stronger than ever," he jokes back.

"Strong enough to choke out John Cena?" your dad asks him, joining the fun and giving him a friendly shake.

"How are you, sweetie pie?" your mom greets him.

"Feeling better, the headaches are getting less intense."

His parents watch you interact, still not mingling, but not as judgy as once they were.

His recovery therapy has been a long journey. Most of his damage showed up in his physical motor skills, so there were lots of sessions on walking, coordination, and more.

You have been by his side every second of it.

During his remaining and final weeks at the hospital, his parents see Toto behave as they had never seen him before. He looks so happy, full of life, and in love.

They also notice how well you take care of him and his recovery.

The soft touches you two share and the looks you exchange show undeniable affection and love.

When he finally leaves the hospital, he holds a small dinner to celebrate and thank you for all your support.

It's your first time visiting his apartment. He never lived with Obi, and it turns out that guy is even richer than him.

It's a penthouse luxurious as fuck.

There is a lot of food and drinks, and everyone looks so happy, everyone but you.

You know that tonight is the night you say goodbye to him. His parents give you a hint that this is the moment for you to stay true to your word.

So, after everyone leaves, Toto approaches you on the balcony.

"It's a sick view!" you softly say, feeling the sea's breeze on your face as you admire the panorama.

"I kind of miss Ms. Telbot's awful curtains," he says, referring to the neighbor across the street from your parent's place.

"Oh! She got new ones! They are even worse!"

You two share a laugh.

"Could you give me a second chance? I promise you I won't disappoint you." Toto asks you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to throw yourself into his arms and for him to take you straight to his bed, but you can't.

"I'm sorry. It's best this way," you barely whisper.

"I know I hurt you a lot, and I screwed things up, but please, allow me to fix it." he looks hopeless.

"It's not that. I now get the full picture and understand why you made those choices. You belong with someone who suits you and your life better. It's going to make everything easier for you. I respected your choice, and I hope you respect mine," you say with conviction while trying to hold back your tears and eat your feelings.

"Why this feels like a goodbye?" he asks, choking up.

"Because it is. You are the best thing that ever happened in my life, too, and I'm so happy we made it through that and that you are still here. You deserve an amazing life; we both do, but we are not made for each other."

As the Wolff family jet leaves Monaco the following day, Toto looks out the window while crying in silence, tears flowing down his face.

His parents exchange looks, feeling the guilt.

A week later, as Toto finishes the recovery exercises he still needs to do, his dad checks on him; Toto has looked like a complete mess since they arrived.

"Emma wants to see you. She is being insistent. It could also be good for you, some company and warmth."

"Who?" he looks confused for a second. "Oh, yeah, the Rothschilds girl, yeah, dad, I'm, my head is hurting a lot today, maybe tomorrow."

His dad nods before leaving, knowing it wasn't a time to push him.

A month passes, and Toto hears a couple of knocks on his childhood room's enormous, regal wood door, where he is staying for the moment, as he finishes fixing his tie.

They were expecting the Rothschilds over for a "special dinner."

"This ring belonged to your grandma, then to my mother, then to me, and now it belongs to you," his mom says, giving him the vintage red velvet box.

Toto looks at it, leaving a big sigh to escape his lips, and unenthusiasticly nods. He seems beyond resigned.

As they wait for their guests to arrive at the Wolff state, sitting on the elegantly set garden table, Toto looks miserable. He is there, but he indeed isn't.

"You are feeling this way because of Y/N?" his mom asks him, not being able to see his son suffering a minute more.

Toto's eyes go up at the mention of your name. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway."

"Why?" his father asks.

"She didn't have me back. She wants me out of her life."

"That's not true," his mom adds.

"Excuse me, but how could you know that?"

"We may have made a mistake," she confesses, looking sad and guilty.

"What do you mean?"

"We judge her poorly. Her family is something peculiar, the father..." she puts a face. "But the love she feels for you is undeniable. You know she never left your side at the hospital? Not even a second."

"She lived in there. She even lost her job," Toto's dad explains.

"WHAT?!" Toto looks now concerned. That was your only source of income! "Wait, what did you do?!" now he looks mad.

"We did what we thought was best for our son, but it wasn't."

"What did you do?!" he sounds so severe right now.

"We... found a grey area... in the caretaker clause, so we thought it was best for us to transfer you to a hospital here in Austria, where we could look after you."

"Away from her." Toto sounds judgy, eyes piercing them.

"Yes, so, she, we, made a deal," his mom continues explaining. "She would stay out of your life after it if we let you stay there until she saw you leave the hospital fully recovered."

"That's why those words didn't sound like hers that night. How could you do that to me, to us?!" he sounds resentful.

"Because we didn't know Y/N and had no idea how strong that bond between you truly was. Her love for you is indisputable." His dad tells him.

"She never cracked under our pressure; she fought hard and fair and did an amazing job caring for you." He continues. "It's our fault, and we are deeply sorry."

For Toto's dad to apologize and for his mom to look this ashamed it was something so significant and never seen.

"So now what?! Emma and her parents will be here any minute." Toto says.

"Only if you had a jet waiting for you to leave for Monaco," his dad expresses, winking an eye.

"Only if you had a ring to offer to Y/N," his mom tells Toto, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

You arrive at the gallery, finally back at your job, and glad your boss hired you again! You are so excited to paint in the workshop.

You finish pushing the door, which is already slightly open. Someone must have arrived early, too, but the place is empty, to your surprise.

You don't think much of it. You go straight to the easel with your name on it, pull out all your brushes and materials from your bag, and remove the dust white sheet on top of the empty canvas.

You look perplexed as you read the freshly brush-painted letters on it: "Will you marry me?"

"I found the truth," Toto's voice makes you jump slightly.

You turn around to watch him smile big at you with adoring sparkling eyes before you answer his question.

"Yes"

- More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist

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xi4oyan · 30 days ago

Text

Ah... I missed the war

Above the thick veil of golden clouds, in gardens where flowers were born already singing and fish soared in schools of impossible colors, you existed — or rather, you survived — between naps too long and sighs even longer.

Your temple, lost in the forgotten fringes of the Celestial Court, was a chaotic sea of scattered cushions, abandoned scrolls, and half-eaten bowls of eternally fresh fruit.

Your robe? A spectacle of glorious negligence: ancient blue fabric embroidered with tiny stars, the silver threads frayed at the edges. The sleeves, far too wide, dragged across the marble floors as if trying to clean them for you. There were even rumors that tiny fairies had built a nest in your cloak folds, but you never had the courage (or energy) to check.

You had once been an important deity, yes. Guardian of the tides, or perhaps of that faint gleam before dawn? Something like that.

But time had the nasty habit of smudging memories... and even faster, of making others forget.

So when the Jade Emperor — in the middle of a loud meeting filled with shouting and alarming reports about "that infernal monkey" — pointed his gleaming scepter at you and commanded:

"Go. Calm that monkey."

You nearly fell off your cushion from sheer surprise.

"Me?" you blinked. "Are you sure?"

Maybe he wasn't.

Maybe he had simply pointed to the first person (or deity) awake enough to react.

But orders were orders.

And so you descended from the Celestial Heights, floating on a misty platform, yawning so hard you scared golden crows from a distant temple.

༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈

The mortal world was warm and dusty, filled with the scent of burnt grass and tired flowers clinging to the lazy breeze. The sky looked like a vast golden lake, and beneath it, atop a wind-swept hill, a lone group stood against the horizon.

Tripitaka, dressed in light robes and wearing an expression that shifted between patience and existential exhaustion, gazed into the distance.

Zhu Bajie fanned himself dramatically with a banana leaf large enough to be used as a ship's sail.

Sha Wujing remained as still as part of the rocks.

Yulong, in his horse form, snorted as if rethinking every decision that had brought him here.

And there, a little apart from the group, burning like a private sun, was him.

Sun Wukong.

He looked carved from ember and storm: golden armor cracked and dented by countless battles, the red headband flowing like the tail of a stubborn comet. His golden eyes sliced the air — too alive, too dangerous, too free for Heaven’s tastes.

You adjusted your crown — an absurdly oversized thing that sank on your head as if meant for a giant king — and walked toward him, your sandals crackling over the dry ground.

"So you're the famous... furry inconvenience," you said, hands tucked behind your back, tilting your head like inspecting a suspicious fruit at the market.

Wukong raised a furry eyebrow, a crooked smile carving across his face.

"Sent another babysitter for me, huh?"

You chuckled. "Not exactly. I prefer to think of myself as... a stubbornness inspector."

And so it began.

Instead of spears and thunder, your duel with Wukong was made of sharp words, ridiculous faces, and side-long taunts. You lounged on a sunbaked rock while he balanced lazily on tree branches above, both tossing barbs like they were sweets.

You quoted ancient celestial regulations.

He answered by mimicking your voice in falsetto.

You pointed at divine conduct treaties.

He threw ripe mangoes at you, with the perfect aim of someone who once knocked down generals with pebbles.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, something strange happened.

The group... started getting used to your presence.

Tripitaka offered small, patient smiles.

Sha Wujing, ever courteous, brought you fruits or found you shady spots to nap in.

Zhu Bajie stole your snacks but laughed as he did so, which was almost a form of affection.

Yulong huffed and grumbled but no longer flinched whenever you approached.

And Wukong?

He laughed at you, mocked you, but sometimes — sometimes — his gaze would find yours with something dangerously close to tenderness.

༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈

Meanwhile, high in the heavens, the Jade Emperor observed, increasingly alarmed.

"Erlang Shen!", he barked, summoning his ever-reliable warrior, "go fetch them! That deity is getting distracted!"

Thus, Erlang Shen descended like a polished thunderstorm: gleaming armor, crimson cloak slicing the air, Third Eye already burning with barely-restrained exasperation.

When he found you, you were sprawled on the grass, arguing lazily with Wukong about which celestial fruit tasted better. (Wukong argued for the Peaches of Immortality. You, just to provoke him, defended nectarines he had never managed to steal.)

Erlang almost choked at the sight.

"You were supposed to control the monkey!"

"I am!", you replied, stretching like a cat basking in the sun. "Look: nobody exploded. That's a win."

In the end, Erlang returned alone.

His report was dry and clipped:

"She chose to stay. To... 'observe closely.'"

༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈

But the truth was far simpler, and far more beautiful.

You stayed because, for the first time in eons, someone laughed at your terrible jokes.

You stayed because there was dust in the air, wind in your hair, and stories being written — not by gods, but by imperfect, wonderful people.

You stayed because, in Monkey's wild grin, there was a silent invitation: "Stay. Let's be free together."

Oh, and of course —

You also stayed because, during the great Havoc in Heaven, when armies clashed and towers fell, you had been... peacefully napping.

Curled up on a cloud like a celestial cat, snoring gently while chaos unfolded all around.

Wukong never let you live that down.

At night, under quiet stars, he'd nudge you and murmur:

"Sleepyhead... you missed the best part."

And you, with a slow, genuine smile, would think:

Maybe I missed the war... but I found something better.

༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈༶•┈┈┈┈

That night, the world was made of silver and whispers.

The stars stretched lazily over the velvet sky, some twinkling with the mischief of drunk fireflies, others blinking slowly as if about to doze off themselves.

The campfire crackled low, painting everything in tired orange — Tripitaka slept upright like a collapsed tent, Bajie snored like a small army, and Wujing was keeping a silent, gentle watch nearby.

You lay sprawled on your back over a patch of soft moss, your cloak tangled around you like an oversized nest, hair glittering faintly with stardust. The cool air smelled of wet leaves and river stones. Somewhere, an owl hooted, probably offended by your very existence.

Then you heard it —

the unmistakable light footfalls of someone who never learned how to properly walk without looking like a mischief about to happen.

Wukong plopped down beside you, elbows propped up on his knees, tail flicking lazily.

"You’re gonna catch a cold, lying like that," he muttered, tossing a stray twig at your face.

You barely flinched.

"You sound like an old uncle," you yawned.

"Old? *Old?*" He clutched his chest dramatically. "I'm a blooming youth, thank you very much."

You smiled, lazily cracking one eye open to look at him. His armor was thrown half off, golden plates scattered around like sun-drenched leaves, and his hair was an untamed halo around his head.

He looked — for once — not like a force of nature.

He looked... young. Mortal. Free.

"You missed the best part," he said, softer now, gaze tilting skyward. "Back then... when I fought Heaven. The whole sky was fire. Clouds broke apart like torn silk. Screaming, running... It was ugly. It was *beautiful.*"

You hummed sleepily.

"Sounds exhausting."

He chuckled, low and hoarse, a sound you felt more than heard.

"Yeah. Was. And you —" he poked your forehead lightly, like tapping a drum, "— were probably drooling on some cloud while I risked my pretty tail."

"Was dreaming important dreams," you murmured. "Very critical... strategic... dreams."

"Of what?"

He tilted closer, curious.

You opened your other eye, catching his face — that mischievous, stubborn, impossible face — illuminated by starlight, and said, utterly serious:

"Of sleeping more."

For a second, Wukong just stared.

Then he burst out laughing — real, helpless laughter, the kind that cracked open the night and scattered all the ancient worries from your chests like autumn leaves in a storm.

He fell back onto the moss beside you, still snickering, his tail flicking against your ankle.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You just lay there, two small, chaotic specks against an infinite, careless sky.

After a long while, Wukong's voice came, almost a whisper:

"...If you ever get tired of Heaven... or tired of pretending you're not lonely..."

He shifted, folding his arms behind his head.

"...You can stay with us."

You turned your head, finding him already looking at you.

Not mocking. Not challenging. Just... offering.

The stars spun lazily above.

The river sang somewhere out of sight.

And you — deity of forgotten tides, sleeper of crucial dreams, wearer of wrinkled robes and crooked crowns — smiled a small, real smile.

"Maybe," you said, voice barely brushing the night, "I already have."

Tag: @pastelle-bears

#sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #lmk x reader #lmk sun wukong #wukong x reader #sun wukong x y/n #journey to the west x reader #jttw sun wukong x reader #black myth wukong x reader #jttw sun wukong #journey to the west sun wukong #wukong #lmk wukong #black myth wukong #𝑿𝒊ǎ𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒏

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getaapologist · 2 months ago

Note

I shouldn't even request because I'm too much of a creature of habit, but I'll never stop wanting both Geta and Caracalla to get some love (they're touchstarved and desperately need affection)!!!!

A/N: In my writer's block, I tried to write something different. So here's a little Caracalla? I'm not sure how to write him yet, but I just needed to write SOMETHING or I'd lose my mind. I will return to Geta as soon as I can. Hope you get something out of this! Hopefully I will be back to writing your regularly scheduled programming soon.

Copper hair. Seafoam eyes. A wide grin.

An apology tumbled from your lips. You knew you should not be here. But with the hour so late, surely he should have been asleep. Not in the gardens. No, at night, this was your haven.

And yet.

“Please, don’t mind me,” he spoke, his words both hurried and unhurried at the same time. Like he was scrambling to form thoughts as quickly as he could, as coherently as he could, before he lost them. But he wasn’t used to living his life at anything other than a snail’s pace.

“The hour is late, Emperor,” you noted, asking the question without asking.

There was a flash of something in his eyes. His grin slid wider.

“Dondus,” he answered. As if that explained everything.

“Emperor?”

He looked up, much higher above, and your eyes followed, a screech announcing the reason for the surprise visitor to the gardens.

“Dondus,” he repeated, clarifying.

“Oh.”

The monkey flitted about, hopping from branch to branch gracefully, at home in the treetops.

“Sometimes this is what it takes to get Dondus to sleep,” Caracalla explained, taking a few steps forward. “Too cooped up, I guess.”

“I can understand that.”

You could. It sounded uncomfortably familiar.

“You are also up late…” he said, also asking without asking.

Heat filled your face. Head bowed slightly, your hands squeezed each other before you. “I–It’s too warm in our quarters, Emperor. For me, anyway. I cannot sleep.”

Who am I to burden an Emperor with these small problems?

“Too warm? Do you not have a window?”

Embarrassed, as if you had built the palace yourself, you shook your head ‘no.’

His brows furrowed. Confusion. Indignance.

“It is an interior room,” you added, as if to ease his reaction.

He said nothing more about it, but he was visibly occupied with the information.

Standing there awkwardly, you allowed yourself to look upon him. He wasn’t an intimidating figure, not like his brother, and it added to his unusual charm. He appeared much younger than his brother, despite them being the exact same age. Down to minutes. Minutes that made all the difference, it seemed.

He was cute, in his own way. Like Cupid, youthful and meddlesome. The story of Cupid and Psyche came to mind, but you pushed it away just as quickly. He was an Emperor. Not someone to have daydreams about.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, interrupting your thoughts.

Embarrassment filled you. You scrambled to piece words together in a way that wouldn’t offend or betray your true line of thinking.

“You are not what I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my brother does his absolute best to portray me as some monster,” he frowned.

Panic, concern. “That is not what I meant, Emperor. I only mean… you are… charming.”

A large smile spread across his face. A glint in his eye. Pink dusting the tops of his cheeks and ears.

He was blushing.

“What is your name?”

His question did not frighten you as it could have. He sounded genuinely curious.

You provided him with your name quietly, cautiously, as if it was some secret. Even as he repeated it, it felt forbidden.

“I imagined you as more of a ‘Luna’ myself,” he admitted.

Whatever gave him that notion, you couldn’t pretend to know. But it seemed so very Caracalla.

Glancing up overhead, you could see the moon looming large, bright and full, in the sky.

“Uh, I am sure you may call me whatever you like, Emperor.”

“Good,” he beamed, approaching you. “What do you do here?”

It felt wrong to be looking upon him, to be holding a conversation like this with an Emperor. But the flicker of excitement that bloomed with each passing second couldn’t be denied.

“I work in the kitchens.”

He brightened at that. “So I have you to thank for our delicious meals?”

You quickly dispelled that notion. “No, no, I am no great cook, Emperor–”

“Caracalla,” he corrected.

“I–what?”

“We are friends by now, surely,” he chuckled. “The ‘Emperor’ stuff is so boring.”

This felt so significant. And yet, it seemed like no big deal to him. As if he were just exercising a preference and not doing away with a layer of formality.

“I, uh, I prepare some ingredients, Caracalla. In the kitchen.”

“A noble task. Someone must. I’m glad it is you.”

Heat fills your face at his warm praise. To feel such a thing is dangerous. Because you will never want it to stop.

Caracalla laughed as Dondus leapt out of the tree and sought purchase on his shoulder, tiny hands grabbing the cloth there tightly.

“That is our cue, I believe, mea luna. It was nice meeting you.”

“It was also nice meeting you, Caracalla.”

And it was. He was quite different from how you expected, with how his brother fretted over him. Perhaps a little unusual, but you didn’t mind that at all.

“Mea luna,” he smiled, “I’ll keep your secret.”

“My secret, Emperor?”

A wink before he turned, walking out of the gardens.

“Wait, Emperor!” you called out. “What secret?”

You got no answer.

#emperor caracalla x reader #gladiator ii x reader #gladiator 2 x reader #emperor caracalla #blurb #fred hechinger x reader

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hplonesomeart · 1 month ago

Text

Here’s an short unsuccessful test I did today; attempting to create an animation in a program I quite literally have ZERO experience with using ahaha :’)

Storytime/long ramble (unimportant):

I wanted to be like the “cool kids” and shift out of my comfort zone—no more relying solely on FlipaClip! Gotta branch out to a more effective program (ideally one that has an interface resembling animation software used directly in industry work)! I’ve seen people make good use of AlightMotion and figured it’s worth a shot!….that goal quickly fell apart <<

There’s definitely a wide variety of tools and especially emphasis on built-in editing features. I was intimidated by the sheer amount of mechanics going on at first, but gradually you get used to navigating stuff (even if some stuff I’m still trying to figure out the purpose of lmao). The only issue is that (to me at least) AlightMotion seems to handle tweening better then frame-by-frame animation. Which immediately lands me in a predicament of sorts since uh…can’t say I’m good at tweening. That would require me to actually finish coloring characters/have the ability to polish things using clean linework :P

Tweening (from my perspective) is about making something visually appealing by rigging separated assets of characters (like you would for puppets) rather then the whole. Or alternatively, some people tween by slightly moving the same drawn lines around on a singular drawing…so TLDR the exact opposite of frame-by-frame. I’m not an illustrator, I’m a storyteller. I can only manage rough line work with uncolored motions. Usually the smooth flow of frame-by saves me, else it would all look rather unfinished. I know where my strengths and my weaknesses lie; I’ve given AlightMotion a shot, but unfortunately it’s not gonna be solving the FlipaClip replacement problem 🥲

Was still beneficial challenging myself to play around with an unfamiliar environment! It’s a step in the right direction to encourage myself to try different things/figure out what works or doesn’t. If my patience didn’t wear thin, I’m sure I could’ve attempted authentic tweening instead of trying to push the program to work with frame-by-frame (it kept crashing, lagging, and pixelating while I tried to force it to comply with my methods. Think it’s safe to assume it doesn’t like me fighting against tweening lol). Who knows! Might return to AlightMotion in the future or might not. Depends on how adventurous or up for a challenge I’m feeling :3

Also goes without saying that online video tutorials would have probably helped—I’m just stubborn & prefer taking hands on approach sometimes. Learning any new program is gonna be overwhelming and scary at first, it is normal! I don’t think anything bad about AlightMotion. Just not for me at the moment. Was fun to play with while it lasted

#hplonesome art #mr puzzles and leggy animation #mr. puzzles and leggy #leggy and mr. puzzles #smg4 leggy #smg4 mr. puzzles #mr puzzles smg4 #smg4 mr puzzles #leggy smg4 #update #(not feeling up for other tags since I kinda deviated too much in my rambling :P)

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pureomi · 3 months ago

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˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ "I have been living for an eternity, yet I only feel alive when I see you."

includes: xiao! x reader. 1.9k wc. becoming xiao's world, one step at a time. twist at the end. [ mentions of death, slight mentions of reader liking skirts/makeup, adoration before devastation lol ]

a/n: started this for lantern rite but didn't finish it on time. been going through a writing slump lately and just needed to indulge in xiao again to find that comfort of familiarity. he is my beloved :) first time writing for genshin here so I don't have any expectations, just need xiao in my blog hehe

for thousands of years, the world had turned beneath xiao, each rotation bringing nothing but devastation and calamity. he had seen empires rise and collapse, the stars shift their positions in the sky, and mountains crumble into dust. for him, the measure of time had far ceased and was merely an additional backdrop to the eternal solitude that defined his life.

until you changed everything.

the first time he saw you; it was in the midst of a brutal downpour of rain. it soaked everything in the path, including you and your frantic search for your beloved cat. you were shaking from the cold and looked helpless. he noticed the little creature with mild difficulty, trembling on a high brittle branch atop a river.

he was clearly injured, with tattered skin on his arms, his breathing manual, and yet—he carried himself over to finish his last duty of the night.

when he had approached you, you looked distraught, your tears blending with the rain. the sight of your cherished companion in his arms brought a sob of relief to your lips.

you tried to thank him, to offer him aid, but he turned to leave, his figure fading into the storm as if he were part of it.

he had just acted on instinct, dashing to grab the feline from the weak branch before it could plummet into the river below. as someone who is always on guard, this was nothing to make a big deal out of. it was a flicker of a moment in his endless existence. his job was done, and he had no requirement to accompany you further. as he disappeared into the rain, a faint sense of reassurance had settled within him—a feeling he couldn’t quite place. he knew the cat would be safe with you, cared for with the same tenderness and devotion that had driven you into the storm to begin with. for reasons he didn’t understand, that thought brought him a quiet sense of peace compared to the guilt that usually consumed him every night. so, when you found him again (after searching for him tremendously, apparently), he couldn’t comprehend why. “you’re xiao, aren’t you?” he nodded reluctantly, unsure what to make of you. your tone was hopeful, almost casual behind all the excitement, as though meeting an adeptus was the most natural thing in the world. “i’ve heard stories about you,” you continued, undeterred by his silence. “thank you for saving my cat—for saving us, really.” xiao remained quiet, unsure how to respond. gratitude was something he neither sought nor knew how to accept. he turned as if to leave, hoping to avoid further conversation. but you weren’t finished. “wait, I forgot to introduce myself!” you called after him, your voice bright and unwavering. he lingered around just enough to catch your name; one he heard for the first time. “i’ll see you around, xiao!” he didn’t expect to see you again. yet, somehow, you found him. time and time again. at first, it was irritating. your presence was a disruption to the walls he carefully built around himself. you were persistent, dragging him into conversations he’d rather not have, asking questions that left him both baffled and amused. “what’s it like to live forever?” you asked one evening, eyeing him with adoration, sitting beside him. he glanced at you, conflicted as to why he was still sitting here. after a long pause, he admitted quietly, “it’s… empty.” you turned to him, your eyes softening as if you understood. “then i’ll fill it,” you said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. it was a promise. in the depths of his heart, he secretly hoped you would keep it.

and terrifyingly, somehow, you did. over the months and years that followed, your laughter became a constant in his life. you never asked for anything in return—only his presence, his company, his happiness.

slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to let you in. he found himself smiling more often, though he still denied it when you teased him about it. he began to look forward to your visits, to the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, or the way you tilted your head when you were lost in thought. at first, he tried to ignore it but he began to notice the small things you loved—the way you braided flowers into your hair or lingered by shop windows, admiring silk garments and flowy skirts. It made no sense to him why such details would matter. yet, despite his efforts to remain detached, they kept resurfacing. the soft way you spoke to animals, your smile when you found the perfect trinket—he couldn’t shake the thought of how much he enjoyed seeing you this way. it wasn’t long before he found himself paying attention, not out of obligation, but because he wanted to see you smile. he despised it when someone stole your smile. or worse, when someone else other than him was the cause of it. he never understood why that bothered him. he didn’t know how to dote on you in ways you would receive, in ways that were enough for someone like you. but, he tried. he started bringing you little gifts—an intricate anklet that jingled every time you ran to his arms, pigment for when you wanted your cheeks to be rosy, and anything that reminded him of you. the first time he gifted you something, it was a simple jade bracelet that he threaded himself. why? because “you said you liked jade.”

the adoration in your voice and the way your lips met his face in a sweet cheek kiss remained in his mind for days after.

his affection for you became undeniable, even to himself. he started to consider symbols of love, which you introduced to him. although, it wasn’t intentional.

“a wedding ring is like a promise,” you said, holding your hand up and pretending to admire an invisible rock on your finger. “it says, ‘i choose you, forever.’ isn’t that beautiful?”

he didn’t answer, but the words stayed with him. xiao had lived longer than anyone could understand. he thought love was too fragile for someone like him. but when you spoke of promises and choices, something stirred inside him. he didn’t fully understand the idea of forever until he realized he had been living it with you, in every quiet moment shared. love terrified him—it was human, delicate. but with you, for the first time, he wondered if that fragility was exactly what made it worth fighting for. it wasn’t long before xiao found himself standing at zhongli’s residence, the faintest hint of hesitation in his posture. his request was brief, delivered with his usual stoicism, yet it was clear to zhongli that this was no ordinary matter. “you’ve never been one to concern yourself with such worldly traditions,” the elder archon raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his amber eyes as he retrieved a collection of ancient rings beaded with adeptal craftsmanship. after a long moment of contemplation, xiao spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "my god, i have served you since i was myself,” he presented the piece of sapphire to him. “in behalf of my devotion, please… lend me this ring.” when xiao tied himself to you, it wasn’t with grand gestures or declarations. it was a simple promise, a shared moment beneath the quiet glow of the moon, where his heart found its place in yours. the sapphire ring, worn by your hand, symbolized everything he never thought he needed—forever intertwined, forever yours. "i love you," he finally whispered, the words rich with the weight of everything he'd ever feared to admit, yet now, that was all he was. for that brief moment, the world held its breath. it was just the two of you, your love sealed in the constellations. but time, as it always does, moved on. and then, as the years passed, the inevitable happened.

you withered away, your light dimming with each passing day. xiao was helpless, watching as time claimed you piece by piece, as though the world had decided it would not allow him such a precious thing as happiness. you spoke then, with a weak hand caressing his face, something he would never forget, no matter how much he tried to push it away. “even if i’m not here, xiao…you’ll remember me. that’s enough.” he had served eternity, his existence defined by duty and distance, yet your love had been the only thing that truly belonged to him. and now, you asked him to let you go, to let you live on only in the fragile frames of his memory. how could you ask that? how could you so unfairly slip away from him, knowing the unbearable weight it would leave behind? the pain of your words settled deeper when your final breath left you, a soft exhale that seemed to take all the warmth with it. xiao’s hand shook as it brushed against your cooling skin, his entire body trembling with grief. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, a vow he made silently, one that would last until his time came. it was a promise of love, that no death could sever. and then, you were gone. — it had been eons since you left, and still, the weight of your absence never truly lifted. centuries passed. the world changed. people were born and died, and xiao remained, alone in a world that felt emptier with each passing year. he wandered through the ages, his soul still bound to the memory of you. and then, this lantern rite, amidst the laughter and the glow of a thousand lanterns, xiao found himself walking through the crowd. the familiar, soothing sounds of the festival filled the air, but he was lost, drifting through memories of you. then, something in the crowd stopped him cold.

he saw you. at first, it was just a flicker, a face in the crowd, but his heart pounded in his chest as he stared, unable to look away. the features mirrored yours—eyes, smile, the way the hair cascaded down in the same soft waves. for a moment, it was as if time had shattered, and all those years of grief and loss came crashing back in a clashing wave.

xiao’s body trembled, his steps unsteady, as the weight of familiarity swallowed him whole. his breath came in ragged gasps, and his vision blurred. the festival, the lanterns, the laughter—everything faded into a distant hum. his heart threatened to shatter once again, and he stumbled, nearly falling, before he crashed into what feels like you.

"are you okay?" a voice both familiar and strange asked, as though the echoes of your warmth had seeped into this being.

xiao’s heart pounded in his ears, his entire world crumbling around him and for a moment, he dared to hope. could it be? was this truly you? his hands shook, and he trembled, barely holding on.

through glassy lenses, he studied the face he knew oh so well, desperate, searching for any trace of the one he loved. his eyes locked onto the sparkling irises that once belonged to you, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

“do you know me?” he hears your voice say, carrying a nervous uncertainty, unaware of the war he’s fighting within himself.

xiao’s throat tightened. he wants to say yes. wants to remind you of the nights spent beneath the stars, the promises made, the love shared. but he can see it in the eyes—this is not the same soul. this is not your soul. this is not you.

“no,” he forced out, voice low and strained, stepping back. with one last glance, he turned to never return. “we’ve never met.”

#—🍓#˚｡୨♡୧ ishika writes.#xiao x reader #xiao #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact #genshin imagines #xiao genshin impact #xiao genshin x reader #genshin xiao

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bakugoushotwife · 2 years ago

Text

inextricable (sasuke x reader)

a/n: just gonna dip my toes in the naruto water..see what we think. It's been so long since I watched Shipudden so if I get something wrong...no I didnt xoxo. this is definitely gonna need a second part, I wanna see if anyone likes it before I get too ahead of myself.

summary: Itachi spared two souls that night, his brother and the sister of the man he held most dear. No one can find the second Uchiha, no one can find out that there is a pureblood male and female still alive, ones that were born to be...inextricable.

pairings: sasuke x reader, maybe some naruto x reader if you squint

warnings: mentions of blood and death, angst!!! asshole Uchiha nonsense, dad mode Kakashi, reader is a bully lmfao, uhhhh long as shit

wc: 7840

next final

You were born to be best friends. At least, that’s what each of your parents had in mind. When Hae Uchiha told Mikoto that she was once again pregnant, the latter practically jumped for joy. She was a few months along with another boy, and she imagined your mother’s next child would make a perfect pal for her second born. Itachi and Shisui got along famously, the two borderline inseparable.

Mikoto extended her hand to cover Hae’s not-yet showing stomach. “How far along?” She asked with a warm smile on her lips.

Hae closed her eyes and returned the same embraceful grin. “Just a few months, she should be born soon after your boy!”

“She! How exciting, I’m sure Sasuke will protect her for her whole life! Have you decided on a name yet?”

“Y/N…I always dreamed of naming my daughter Y/N.”

Mikoto returns her hand to her own stomach, her bump showing through. “That’s beautiful, Sasuke and Y/N…yes, they’ll be another version of our Itachi and Shisui!”

Hae beamed, knowing that her daughter would have a forever ally.

Well, she had hoped, anyway.

Nonetheless, you and Sasuke never spoke. He went out of his way to stay out of your path and you did the same for him. Truth be told, there was a great reason. There was hurt, and anger, and most forcefully, the fear, and what you had to do to hide.

You had been friends, once. Just like your mothers had wanted, from birth, the two of you became inseparable. Where Shisui was a few years older than Itachi, feeling like an older brother to two now; Sasuke was only a few months your senior, making the two of you closer than even your own siblings.

Make no mistake, Shisui’s love for his younger sister was widely known and highly regarded. One might mistake you as his own daughter, if he wasn’t just nine years old. You were a much anticipated gift to the boy, he had been begging for a sibling for years. And his parents tried and tried to fulfill this wish, overjoyed when it came true. You truly were the pride of your branch, as hard as it may be to believe with Shisui’s reputation. Itachi was always kind, about six years older than you. Itachi would often babysit the two of you, being the perfectly responsible young man he was. Itachi was just happy to see Sasuke happy, and bonus points for you as well. He seemed oddly relieved that Sasuke had someone to grow attached to.

So you were, for about six years. You learned to walk together, he learned how to spell your name before he learned to spell his own, you refused to take naps without him. Once, Shisui and Itachi built little tricycles for the two of you, Sasuke’s purple and yours green. You rode those tricycles all over the village, laughing in the hot Konoha sun. You would traverse to the mountains and collect fruits to bring back for your mother to bake into sweet pastries. It was magical, it was perfect. Until that infamous night.

That fateful night, the night that tore apart mind and soul, body and spirit. You thought it couldn’t get any worse. A hole had been left behind when Shisui died, something irreparable and ever painful. You couldn’t call it a void, for it was too powerful. It was nearly two years ago now, your tiny body and soul already weighed down with his loss. It created a rift between you and Sasuke, too. Itachi was blamed for his death for a while, and it hurt even more to feel so alone. You felt like you were drowning and no one was there to pull you back up, no one to even notice you slipping away…

You had grown numb to the life that was without Shisui and Sasuke, you went to training and classes like you were supposed to. You did what you were told at home, your parents just as much a shell of themselves as you were. Everything that was colorvision faded to dull grays and empty blacks. Where you once saw beauty, you saw injustice. Where there was once love there was now ugly pain that had rooted, hatred growing in its place. Hatred for who? For Shisui, for dying? For Sasuke, for letting rumors pull you apart? For the forces of the universe that caused it all to begin with? You weren’t quite sure, maybe it was a mixture of all three.

When you came home that evening, it took you a moment to realize. The house had been quiet since Shisui passed, there was simply no joy without him. Yet still, you were used to the sound of your father’s footsteps shuffling through the kitchen, the clink of dishes. The sound of your mother turning pages in her book–everything was silent. Eerily so. A dread washed over you, familiar with the haunting ache. What was left of your heart sank in your stomach as you realize there was blood on the walls. Your breathing became rapid and shaky, you crept down the hall, hoping it was some cruel joke from the village or–or maybe it was paint!

There was no humor in what laid before you that night. Your parents lay slumped over, almost like they were sleeping. Kagami laid propped up against the wall, seated perfectly on the floor with his head tucked into his chest. Your mother’s head lay in his lap, her torso twisted at an awkward angle, legs sprawled.

Tears cloud your vision immediately. You could feel your knees wobble and buckle, seemingly too heavy for yourself all of a sudden. You fell forward, hands and knees catching you and making a sickening squelch. You realize the stickiness soaking into your skirt was blood, the dark red blood of your parents. You scream. It’s more of a wail, your entire body wracked with emotion so strong, your eyes begin to burn. It hurts, it gives you a headache, and when you force your eyes open again, the world looks different. It felt…slower. You can see a glistening trail of what you can identify as chakra, it glows all over the house, coming in through a window and leaving through the front door. This had happened before, when Shisui died. Your sharingan was activated for the first time. This was different, it felt like a new level. You pull yourself up, running at the door. You throw it open and run into the street, tracking the chakra house to house where you only find more slumped over bodies. The entire clan, everyone…they’re gone. They’ve been slaughtered, every last one. You can’t bear it when the chakra trail leads you down Sasuke’s path, knowing you would find the last of your home in there. You never got to make amends, never got to reunite. Sasuke would be dead, just like everyone else you ever cared for.

You’re stopped in your tracks when you see a figure in the street, you notice glowing red eyes, the pattern so familiar you couldn’t help but gasp. “I-itachi?” Your chin wobbled, the tears coming back as you ran closer, relieved to find someone alive, someone you know.

“Back away, child.” His voice thundered, it chilled you to the bone. He had never spoken to you like that.

“Itachi, it’s m-me! Y/N, you know me! I-I’m scared Itachi!” You plead with him, the new vision of yours highlighting the blood on his clothes the closer you got to him.

“The second tomoe..” He revered, a nod of approval following, just as quick as it came, the familiarity left. He was icy again when he spoke, “You should be scared. You’ve realized what I’m capable of.”

You fall back, astonished. This couldn’t have been, no, you refuse to believe such a thing. Itachi wasn’t…capable of this? He looked as if he was going to speak again, but another figure moving rapidly towards you grabbed his attention. It was Sasuke, alive after all.

“I don’t believe it!” Sasuke said, tears streamed down his face, “This is too unlike you, Big Brother. I mean…” He looked around wildly, finding solace in your presence, relief. You couldn’t help the tears, the same relief he had coursing through your own mind. Itachi had spared you both, but why?

“You have the potential to become my opponent.” He directed his voice to his younger brother, ignoring you completely for the time being. “You are someone who could be able to use Mangekyo Sharingan just like me…” The wind blew ceremoniously, whipping up leaves from the ground and sacrificing them to the sky, to the full moon that was the only light to go by. “However, on one condition…that you must kill your closest friend..Just like I did.” His gaze flickers to you then, making Sasuke’s eyes widen.

Sasuke gasps, as do you. Itachi really did kill Shisui. He has now killed your entire family. Your brother, his best friend, died senselessly to the little brother he never had. You were wrecked, this realization makes your head spin, the boy you’ve known since birth…Itachi Uchiha was a cold blooded killer, and your life was forever destroyed because of him.

“That was…your doing?” Sasuke’s brows knit together in shock and confusion. “Big Brother, you…killed Shisui?”

“That’s right…and because of that I obtained these eyes.” Itachi replied stone-faced. As if you needed the confirmation, but hearing the words from his very mouth absolutely ruined whatever remained of your soul. You felt your eyes burn once again, the vision skewing, leaving you momentarily blind before you blinked and everything was clear again. It was clearer than before, you could sense the movements of two brothers before they did them, this shouldn’t be possible. You had just awoken your second tomoe minutes earlier, had you already gained the third through this extreme emotional distress? There was rigorous training involved to level up your eyes, you could feel the drain it put on your body as it began to sway in the wind, feeling light. You couldn’t hold on much longer, you knew that, but you were in danger…and so was Sasuke, you had to fight for consciousness.

“If you attain these eyes, you will become the third person including myself to utilize the Mangekyo Sharingan. However,” He turns abruptly, startling you both. “Neither of you are worth killing. And one day, Sasuke, when you have the same eyes I do…come and stand before me!” Itachi challenges, his eyes swirling into his familiar triangular pattern.

“And you…” Itachi says, beckoning you forward with the point of his finger. “Come here, child.” He says, issuing an order. Sasuke makes a strangled struggling noise before he falls to the ground, the emotional distress leveling his eyes too fast as well. He was in a genjutsu, you realize, by the sounds he was making on the ground, crying out in agony.

“Let him out of that! I’ll go with you, I won’t fight. Let him out.” You plead, not in the position to make any demands yourself. Even fighting wouldn’t get you out of this, Itachi was far too powerful, you could never hope to escape.

Itachi chuckled dryly and shook his head. “No. He needs this. He will foster hatred and turn it into immense power. You…you have to be hidden.” He says, his voice in a dream-like state. He was thinking deeply, wondering what he should reveal to you. Enough to keep you alive, and nothing more. “You will stay away from Sasuke…until it’s time. No one can know your identity. It’s imperative you understand this, child.” He says, and if you didn’t know any better you would think he was panicked. Itachi kept calling you that, child, as if he were not. He was only 14, but he clearly felt much older.

You were confused, but didn’t even know where to start asking him questions. He didn’t wait for a response, just sweeping you up in his arms and jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he was in the trees with you, Sasuke long abandoned on the outskirts of the village. Itachi was taking you somewhere, apparently to be hidden. “Itachi-san–please, I’m scared, I don’t understand!”

“You need to be scared! You have to understand. Force yourself to. They can’t know that I left you alive, they know Sasuke will live…they can’t know that you do as well…it would be most troublesome…” Itachi explains without explaining a single thing. Who are “they”, and what involvement do they have in this? “A male and a female Uchiha could save the clan, they will not let that happen. I owe this to Shisui.” Itachi says quietly, dropping down in front of someone’s door.

A man opens the door before Itachi can make a single noise. He was waiting for Itachi, you realize.

“Here she is.. Train her to be strong, stronger than you. Keep them apart, keep them safe.” Itachi pleads, or as close to it as he can get. He sets you down, letting you see your new caretaker for the first time.

“I understand, Itachi. It’s best if you get a move on, they’ll be on your scent soon.” The taller man says, the cover of the night obscuring your vision of him.

Itachi nods, taking one last look at you with a trace of pain in his eyes. You look down at your feet, not sure what to make of the situation, everything happened so fast. “Thank you, Captain.” Itachi says with a curt nod before disappearing into a puff of smoke.

It was silent. The wind blew again, whipping your hair into your face and pushing the clouds across the moon like it was a normal night. You begin to cry, everything so overwhelming you couldn’t help but do anything else. You’ve lost everything. Your family is dead, every single one. You, the sole survivor, have been placed with a stranger by the very man that murdered everyone you love. The last person alive that you care for is trapped in a genjutsu, lying on the pavement outside the house of his murdered family.

The man crouched down to be on your level. He looked young, but you couldn’t really tell. His face was mostly covered, his shinobi headband covering his left eye and a black mask pulled over the lower half of his face. The most notable thing about him was his tall and spiky gray hair. His one brown eye looked at you sadly, and at once you knew he understood. You felt more at ease nearly immediately. You were still wary, after all he seemingly knew what was going on and had worked with Itachi. But the look in his eye and the expressive way he puts his hands on either arm of yours makes you feel safer. He knew sadness too, you recognized it in him.

“Hello, little one. I know this has been…a horrible night, to understate…but you’re strong. You’re safe now, I’m Kakashi, and I’ll make sure of that.” He nodded determinedly, searching your expression for your next move. He frowns under his mask as you cry, unsure of how to console a young girl at his age of twenty two years.

“What’s wrong with your face?” You ask, sniffling out your sentences and wiping viciously at your eyes. Your mind was all over the place, you didn’t want to think of this night anymore but the only other thing you could ponder was why the man in front of you dressed like that.

He chuckled earnestly. “Oh!” He pushed his headband up to reveal a long scar running lengthwise over his eye and down his cheek to where the mask starts, but most strikingly a sharingan sat in the eye he kept covered. The sharingan consumes a massive amount of chakra for non-Uchiha wielders, so you gather that the eye was given or stolen almost immediately.

“That’s partially why he left you with me. I can help with some of your training. You’re in luck, little one. The Hokage has just released me to be a jonin Sensei. So you’ll get first class training living with me. I…I know I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or hell..even understand what you’re going through.” Kakashi slipped his mask down just for you in this moment, wanting to earn the trust of his new foster child. “I will protect you and make you strong, smart, and ready for this world. It’s you and me now. I set up a room for you..” he adds rather sheepishly, sliding his mask back up after a nervous smile. “We can..make changes to it as time goes on, I wasn’t sure what would best be suitable for a girl of your age.”

You blink at him,eyes still bleary from leftover tears. You wipe at your eyes, your own sharingan taking in his full appearance and making a mental note. His half-baked motivational speech was partly moving, and you could tell he was genuine in this. You tilt your head to the side to analyze him further. He was young, taking on a six year old at his age was surely difficult. He was nervous, you could see that much, but his chakra was powerful and in a way, calming.

“What about Sasuke?” You managed as he opened the door to his place.

Kakashi sighs. “He will be taken care of, don’t worry. We have to keep you separate for now, it’s for the best. When you start school it may be different. Do you remember what Itachi said?” He asks, partly wondering what all the boy even told you.

You nod. “He said they can’t know he left me alive. I don’t know who they are though.” You say, feeling everything all the time all at once. Pain, numbness, sadness, fear, nervousness and wonder. Your eyes were wide and your sharingan kept glowing, a red beacon in the dark night. You looked inside the home, small and neat. It looked like…a real place, which surprised you for some reason. With the night’s events it was becoming difficult to predict what would happen next, in your mind he was going to open the door to a slaughterhouse or some medical lab for testing. You were relieved to see it was a completely normal apartment. The young man led you to a decently sized bedroom right across the hall from the bathroom. It was decorated haphazardly, pink cherry blossom wallpaper was slapped on the wall, a little bed covered up with pink blankets sat in the middle of the room. There was even a closet outfitted with a few changes of clothes, luckily regularly colored. It was a nice effort, you recognized. It was natural for any young man to assume a six year old girl would love pink. Your favorite was green. It reminded you of rolling down hills and the bushes you would pluck fruit from, the trees the sun peeked over, the tricycle your brother built…and Sasuke’s was purple.

“I hate pink.” You say solemnly, feeling bad almost immediately, he had tried to think of your comfort and here you were, being rude. “B-but it looks nice! Thank you…” You looked to him a bit confused on how you should address him.

“Kakashi, that’s fine for now.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously, feeling a bit embarrassed for giving you a stereotypical girl room. It was clear that there was nothing to be assumed about you. “What color do you prefer, in that case? I can work on a replacement tomorrow.” Kakashi offered with a closed-eyed smile.

“Purple.”

Kakashi followed through on his promise. The next time you went into your room, the walls were painted a deep plum, the covers that decorate your bed were as purple as the evening sky after the sun had left, and on a table you noticed a few more trinkets and accessories. There were hair ties and clips, little earrings and a purple headband. He heard the word purple and ran with it. Kakashi wasn’t sure why he displayed all this effort, well he had an idea.

He had knocked against your open door, just to alert you to his standing there. You still looked so sad. It had only been a day after all. At least you had stopped crying, he would happily take the progress. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his chest. “I hope some of those things make you feel a little more at home, Kurenai helped me pick them out…” He mentioned, once again, scratching at the back of his head nervously.That was his nervous tick, you noted.

“Thank you, they’re pretty..” You say with a small smile, reaching for the headband and slipping it over the long black locks signature of your clan, luckily it was also a common characteristic of the citizens of the Stone village. That’s the story, anyway. Kakashi found you on a mission while in Iwagakure. You were newly orphaned, and had no one else to take you in. Which, now that you think about it, isn’t much of a lie at all. You were new to the Leaf village, and Kakashi was your young and kind foster father. It gave him a reason to change, and he didn’t know if he liked that yet; he did know that he wanted you to grow into a powerful kunoichi, and he had no doubt you could accomplish that.

He cleared his throat. “You know, Y/N…I..” He hesitated, wondering if it was worth mentioning at this moment. He sighed out and continued. “I lost my father when I was six, as well. I don’t pretend to know everything you feel, but I do understand some of your pain. You can talk to me, when or if you ever want to. I’ll listen.”

You look to your feet, the tears pooling in your eyes again. His kindness was overwhelming at times, you hadn’t expected him to be so warm. He just retired from the Anbu after all, and you were old enough to know what that meant. You nod your head after a minute, picking up a purple fuzzy stress ball. You squeeze down, finding it helps temporarily.

“Mhm, I will..thank you for being here.” You mutter out after a few beats.

“A-Alright. We’ll go out for dinner around 7. I’ll come get you.” Kakashi hummed pleasantly, touched by your gratefulness.

You were thankful that you wound up with someone like Kakashi. Last you’d heard, Sasuke was set up in a nice apartment, well taken care of and monitored by Lord Third himself. But he was alone, and that worried you. He was sure to become a cold shadow of the former joyous boy he had been, just as you are. But even you had another person around, someone to at least distract you from the constant pain. Sasuke didn’t have that, he didn’t even know if you were alive. The last thing he saw was his older brother sweeping you up and leaving with you.

The purple made you feel better. It helped you feel just a little closer to where he was. You hoped he would make friends with the kids in his building, if there was any. You hoped he could power through and find happiness in the little things. Would he try to remember you? Find you, even? Your heart ached, you physically covered it with your hand and winced.

You decided you hate Itachi. That you would do everything and anything it took to get to him and kill him. You came from a powerful line of the clan too, Shisui was a prodigy and the youngest to ever awaken his sharingan before you did it at four from his death. You committed, promised yourself in Kakashi’s apartment that you would train until your eyes bled, you would master genjutsu just as Shisui had, you would master chakra control. You would learn everything Shisui had mastered, and you would kill Itachi the same way he had killed your brother.

Little did you know that Sasuke had made himself the same promise. He would avenge his family, your brother in your honor, he would become a worthy opponent and he would use Mangekyo to kill the man that had caused all this pain.

He was beyond lonely, there was no word to describe the hell he was living. He relived his parents’ death again and again, trapped in a genjutsu by his older brother. But the nightmare was reality. He had no one, everything was destroyed. The only person left was missing at best, dead at the worst. Even once he was released from the genjutsu’s chakra control, the only thing burned into his eyelids was the scene of his parents' slaughter. The only thing he can hear is the sound of your tears as Itachi admits to killing your brother, it’s miserable.

Why did Itachi spare them both, did he really just want to fight? Well, Sasuke could give him that. He couldn’t wait to start the academy, to refine his talents and find a rival and friend that could fulfill his needs for the Mangekyo Sharingan his brother wants him to have so badly. There wasn’t a reality that existed where he would kill you for it, as his brother insinuated. He was sure that his new friends would suffice, when the time came.

Kakashi had arranged for him to proctor your bypass exam the following year. The rules for the Academy aren’t concrete, and you were a prodigy after all. Kakashi stressed your physical prowess and shadow clone jutsu to get you through the Academy in just one year, passing your genin exam easily.

Over time, your numbness had resided. You found yourself motivated by revenge and desire for rebuilding what was taken from you. Kakashi was a friend and mentor, and he helped you train your eyes and genjutsu regularly. He had to, as you weren’t allowed to display this power outside of the training grounds with no one else around. You had to train harder over the next few years, both your sharingan abilities and those you would use to cover your identity.

Kakashi and yourself had landed on a plant style jutsu, where you could summon different plants, both poisonous and strangling variations. It reminded many of Hashirama Senju’s wood style jutsu. Your chakra control was impressive, and your inclination toward medical nin was just another tool in your arsenal. You owe most of this to your mentor, who, so far, has followed through on his promise to make you as strong as he can.

He was impressed by you, a prodigy indeed. It was no surprise you were Shisui’s younger sister. He wondered how you could have absorbed so much from him since he passed when you were so young, now a girl of twelve. He can’t believe he’s had you in his charge for six years now, and how you’ve grown in that time. He cared for you like his own child, even though he was not much older than a kid himself when he decided to take you in.

It was hard work, especially now. He had been assigned as Sasuke’s sensei, along with two other promising shinobi. He was splitting most of his time between his new team and the child he’s been training for years. He found it hard to hand you over to Kurenai, even though the woman was somewhat familiar with your delicate case. She didn’t know your true identity, as Kakashi would never risk that knowledge to anyone, but she had helped Kakashi with the more delicate matters of your girlhood your entire life. He had kept you in his own training since you graduated the academy, it was time for you to join a team and attempt the chunin exams. He knows you’ll pass easily, so why is it that he’s so nervous?

Because he knows the days of keeping you and Sasuke apart are over. He knew he wouldn’t be able to prevent it forever, but he wasn’t ready for you to revisit that time in your mind. He didn’t wan your hard work to crumble once you faced your old friend again, under the guise of an adopted Hatake. Would Sasuke call you out immediately? He hadn’t been given the same warnings to stay away, as far as Kakashi knew. The boy was angry, and he was boiling over with immense talent. He had been working with the boy on chidori and other sharingan practices that he had once done with you. Kakashi knew that there was nothing he could do to prevent Sasuke from seeking revenge, and it bothered him…deep down inside he knew you were the same way, your anger tamed to your own mind. You were quiet all the time, your chakra a lime green–just a few shades lighter than your brothers. He could feel your emotions and recklessness bubble inside you. It was just a matter of time, but the seasoned shinobi worried what would come of the girl once she was faced with the Lone Uchiha, and what would come of him when he saw her.

You were first. The beginning match was you against a girl named TenTen. You thought she looked silly. Ridiculous, almost. Her speciality was weapons, you heard her talking about it as all the chunin hopefuls piled into the colosseum type building. As far as you could tell, she had no special control of chakra or any impressive jutsu. This would be over quickly.

The two of you stepped forward, the sound of your first name making Sasuke’s heart stop. He looked over at the scene, brows knitting together in confusion. His teammates, Naruto and Sakura started whispering about the match. But they truly don’t know how to whisper, Sasuke tuning into their every word. Y/N? Hatake…? It looked like you, at least close to what he could remember. But you were definitely an Uchiha, and surely he would have known if you were living in the village this whole time?

“Kakashi Sensei’s daughter?” Naruto asked with a sense of disbelief. “I didn’t know Kakashi Sensei had a family!” He adds.

Sakura slaps him lightly on the arm. “He rescued her from the Stone! She was six when her parents died and the villagers were just too busy to take care of her, that’s what I heard.”

Sasuke arched his brow in curiosity. Kakashi really hadn’t mentioned you, and the way you walked around the battle ring piqued his interest. You were confident, cocky even. You let TenTen throw a few exploding kunai at you, easily outjumping them. You weren’t using sharingan, he noted, but there was no mistaking that smirk. That truly hadn’t changed a bit, your features easily identifiable to him. It seems like Kakashi attempted bleaching your hair at one point, but it had grown out now. You had dark black roots, your eyes big and dark brown. It was you, there was no argument to be made otherwise. You chuckled at TenTen, making her scrunch her nose up in anger. She charged at you with another kunai. You grasped her wrist, quickly turning it and making her drop the weapon, kicking her hard in the stomach, sending her flying through the air.

The crowd gasped, knowing the other girl would be seriously hurt if she landed on the hard ground from that height, the power of your chakra control something to be feared. You closed your eyes and weaved a hand sign. Out of nowhere, a giant lilypad caught TenTen, keeping her from serious harm. As the crowd sighed with relief, everyone watched more vines burst free from the ground, tying the opponent to the lilypad without any fuss.

Needless to say, you won the match effortlessly. Kakashi took a deep breath of relief, wandering over to his own team of hopefuls.

Sasuke stared at you, watching you help TenTen out of the plant trap once the winner was announced. He didn’t even notice Kakashi coming up behind them.

“Certainly an exciting first match!” Their sensei said with delight, as if he didn’t know anything about you and was just as surprised as everyone else.

Naruto nodded with widened eyes before remembering that Kakashi hadn’t mentioned being a father. “Hey, Kakashi Sensei, how come you didn’t tell us you adopted that girl?”

Sasuke tore his studying gaze away from you to hear the answer to this.

Kakashi shrugged. “It never came up, of course. My job is to train you as shinobi, not teach you my life story.” He replied coolly, as if they were unreasonable for wondering.

Sasuke narrowed his gaze at Kakashi, identifying that there was more to the story. There was something he was missing, why would they change your name and try to hide your hair? Why would Kakashi be involved? He needs to find you and ask you himself, because he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with his sensei.

But how could he be certain you would talk to him? The last memory you share is his brother basically saying he kept you alive so that he could kill you later. Maybe you were trying to distance yourself from him specifically. Maybe you didn’t know he was here just as much as he didn’t know you were. It was his turn to fight next, but he planned to track you down after the battle was quickly won. You beat TenTen in 18 seconds, his goal was to beat that time. Then he would just have to make you understand that he wasn’t a threat to you.

He beat your time by six seconds, dismantling Choji Akimichi in 12. You smiled to yourself as you watched him, he was very good. Just as you hoped. It would always hurt to stay apart, you realized then. He surely recognized you from your fight, so now you had to work to keep him away. Just as the battle was wrapping up, you pushed through the crowds, getting stopped by some of the girls your age. You had briefly talked to some of them, but you didn’t care to now. You had to get away, distance yourself. He would surely come looking for you.

“Y/N-chan! Who do you think the hottest boy here is?” Ino asks, a beautiful blond girl with a ditsy grin.

You roll your eyes at the question. “Really, that’s what you’re worried about right now?” You ask, confused by her priorities. You turn your head, noticing people parting a little down the way, knowing what that means you turn back to the girl.

Ino giggles and nods. “I’m a great multi-tasker! I know all the girls are dying to get closer to Sasuke Uchiha!” She purrs, cheeks turning red at the mention of his name.

You sigh, with forced disgust you groan. “I for one don’t want to be anywhere near Sasuke Uchiha.” You say, folding your arms and walking onwards, hoping the digging comment would keep Sasuke at arms length.

You should know better than to think yourself lucky. You feel a weight on your shoulder, keeping you from getting away.

“Why would you say that?” He asked, voice on the quiet side as he stared at your back. Your hair was wavier than it was when you were younger, or maybe it was just because it was so long.

You scoff. “I don’t owe you anything.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Y/N Hatake?” He practically hisses at you. “I think you owe it to me to explain why you’re not using your sharingan.”

You turn and clap your hand down over his mouth. Your eyes are wide with a frenzied type of fear, searching around to make sure no one heard him. “Don’t say that. You don’t understand.”

He pushed you off him easily, looking at you with a mix of frustration and confusion. “No I don’t understand because no one tells me anything! I didn’t even know you were in the village!” He says angrily.

You bite the inside of your lip, debating your options. Maybe it would be easier to explain it all, maybe if he could understand why this was happening he could play his role and you could both stay safe. You know that would help put Kakashi at ease.

“Come with me.” You order pointedly, walking out of the building with the knowledge that you had at least twenty minutes until your next battle. You keep walking, far away from the building or any people.

Sasuke follows you into the treeline, mind racing. He didn’t know what to expect. He eyes you with his sharingan, noticing your abundance of chakra and power. He blinks his doujutsu away.

“Now.” He orders expectantly, folding his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know why…” You admit with a shrug, thinking back to what Itachi said that night, both about Mangekyo and how important it is to keep away from Sasuke. “But when Itachi took me away, he said ‘they’ couldn’t know that he spared me, that it was dangerous to have a male and a female. He said it was imperative for us to stay away from each other, “until it is time.” I’m not sure what that means, really. But Kakashi agrees…there’s more to this that I don’t even know.” You explain cautiously, your eyes trained on the boy in front of you. He hadn’t changed much, except for the most striking thing. His features were haunted by grief, the once happy and smiling eyes turned cold and empty. You wonder if he thinks the same of you.

“I would never hurt you.” He says simply, a hint of annoyance laced through it.

You blink at him a few times, unsure of how to respond. “I’m not scared of you.” You clarify for him, looking at a spot on the ground. “I’m scared of the ‘they’ Itachi was worried about.”

He considers this, looking at the same spot on the ground that you are, as if there were hidden answers stored there. “So that’s why Kakashi Sensei never mentioned you, then. He doesn’t want me around you.” He determines, the annoyance gone and replaced with a hint of sorrow.

“It’s not a personal grudge, he knows how hard it’s been on me…” You defend softly, the corners of your lips dropping. “Until we know who I’m hiding from, I have to stay under cover like this. I’m sorry..”

His body tensed with anger, you could tell he was close to snapping. “I want revenge, I swear I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him for what he did to me, what he did to you!” He announces, eyes teeming with tears of anger. “We can get revenge together, we can find and destroy those that caused this, and you can live as an Uchiha, like you’re supposed to! You can’t be a kunoichi without your sharingan!”

You sympathize with his pain, after all, you feel the same way. His offer of revenge sounds nice, so you nod. “When the day comes where we are ready to seek revenge, I’ll accompany you.” You say, envisioning the two of you as jounin, ready to track Itachi down.

He smiles when he hears this. “Until then.” He says, taking another look at you. If he wasn’t so damned angry, his heart would be relieved to see your familiar face, just a few years older. You were utterly unchanged, even the grief written into your face seemed to disappear when you smiled. He would keep his distance like you requested, until it was time to enact revenge.

You wait for Sasuke to disappear back into the treeline before you begin to walk back to the arena. It would be your turn soon, and you intend to impress–without your sharingan–just to prove how powerful you really can be.

By the end of your second match against Sakura, the crowd of other expecting chunin whispered amongst themselves. It really wasn’t her fault, she was like the others. She was completely unfocused on being strong, only desiring to look desirable. It’s a shame, you hoped she would change after this. Your Venus Flytrap jutsu was too much against any opponent, she was just its latest victim. Your giant flower sprouts from the ground and grabs the unsuspecting opponent in its teeth, releasing venom on your command. You wouldn’t take it that far unless you wished to kill. You make a few hand signs, “Release!” You call, letting Sakura tumble from the mouth of your monstrous flytrap.

Still the crowd spoke of your victories, all quick and painless. You were surely impressive, and it was no wonder you graduated to genin in a year, just like your adoptive father. “You can tell she’s trained by Kakashi Sensei.” Someone said as you walked past, shaking their head in wonder.

“She’ll be another heartless Anbu member in no time, just like her dad.” Someone else declared, linking your emotionless victories back to Kakashi’s vicious streak. You wanted to lash out in his defense, but maybe it’s better if they thought that of you. It’s good for them to compare you, as if you were related the whole time. It kept them from thinking anything was off, so you’d take it for now.

Sasuke was thoroughly impressed with your abilities, though he’d likely never say so aloud. Naruto was also occupying his mind as his rival was also the other popular subject amongst his classmates. Naruto won all of his battles that day, all his classmates plus the mysterious Y/N Hatake made it to chunin.

Things only spiraled from that day. Kakashi relaxed a little when you told him that Sasuke understood why you needed to keep your distance. He didn’t mind for his team to interact with you as much now, but Sasuke did.

He hated being close to you while not being able to be close to you. That annoying Naruto was quickly becoming a close friend to you, leaving Sakura to obsess over him. Needless to say he hated everything about that arrangement. He didn’t want Naruto near you in the slightest, and he hated pathetic girls like Sakura. He hated everyone, no one seemed to understand. He was training for a real goal, meanwhile the others just wanted to be cool. He wanted more, he needed more. He would never relinquish this goal. He would never admit that Naruto was stronger than him, even if it meant he had to leave to become stronger.

You told him that you would go with him, right? That when the day came, when he was ready to seek revenge, you would go with him. That’s what you said. So Sasuke was loud about his plans, he didn’t care to put Naruto down when he tried to stop him from leaving that day.

Even when Kakashi explained to him that revenge was not all he thinks it is, he was undeterred. The emotions swirling inside him, the life that was stolen away…he had to get that back. And if Kakashi wouldn’t help him do it, then he would find someone who will.

Sakura tried to stop him too, right on the edge of the village. The two of you sprinted there when you heard, Sakura a mess of tears, you a mess of nerves and emotion.

You watched with your mouth agape as Sakura begged him not to go, only met with fierce rebuttals and disapproval from the Lone Uchiha. She even offered to go with him, which evoked a warped laugh from the dark haired boy.

He was different. Completely consumed by his grief and desire for justice. He wasn’t thinking properly, and your heart dropped when you saw several shinobi from a different village drop from the trees. They’re here as escorts?

“Sasuke!” You shout in disappointment. “You’ll make yourself an enemy of the Leaf, just settle down and think about this for a minute, please!” You step forward, past Sakura and her unyielding tears.

He chuckled with mirth. “This is all I can think about, Y/N. I refuse to let Sakura join me on this, she’ll just ruin her name.” He groaned, appearing behind the girl and knocking her out in a swift motion, laying her body on a bench. You eye him in disbelief. He was serious about this. You didn’t doubt your ability to stop him by force, excepting the three or four sound village ninja that would surely interfere.

He looks at you with a crazed glint in his eyes. He holds out his hand to you. “Are you ready to go?”

You look from his hand and then back to him, shaking your head in shock. It’s that curse mark, you think to yourself. This isn’t him, he just needs to see that. “Sasuke, you’re being controlled. You’re not thinking clearly.”

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Oh on the contrary, dear Y/N. I’m thinking clearly for the first time!” He protests, staring at you with disgust. “You told me you wanted revenge too, you told me you’d join me!”

“I thought you meant when we were finished training! As Jounin! I didn’t think you meant defecting!” You defend yourself, thinking of Naruto’s heartbreak once he discovered that he wasn’t able to keep Sasuke.

“Pathetic.” Sasuke hissed, shaking his head at you. “You’re weak. That’s why you can’t bring yourself to leave. You know you can’t take revenge, I wouldn’t want you weighing me down anyway.” He spat, his words cut like a knife.

“Please don’t do this. They’ll send people after you! You can’t do this by yourself..” You plead desperately, hoping against all hope that you could get to the friend you once held so dearly.

“Watch me.” He says, casting one last disappointed glare over his shoulder before walking to the shinobi waiting to guide him away.

You watch him leave, the figures disappearing into the trees without a trace. You didn’t even notice the tears begin to roll down your face, nor did you hear Naruto and Kakashi land on either side of your body.

“Wh-what just happened, Y/N-chan?” Naruto asked innocently, trying to delude himself against the truth before he even heard it.

“Sasuke left the Leaf.” You reply, eyes fixated on the spot he last occupied in front of you. He was bound to be tracked down or hurt by someone dangerous before he could come to his senses. Had you upset him so badly that he would speak of your secret? Kakashi seems to know what you’re thinking as you make eye contact. You knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, the curse…you can get him, bring him back and have the mark removed.

“I can catch him if I go now..”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

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#naruto x reader #anime #sasuke smut #sasuke x reader #sasuke uchiha #send requests

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