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myillicitaffair · 3 months

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Somethin’ Stupid | Charles Leclerc

Summary: while being interviewed by his former lover, bottled up feelings find their way out.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, lots of angst, some swearing, arguments.

Notes: this is the first time i’m ever posting anything on here, i hope you enjoy it xx

1.5k words.

Letting myself fall into his abrasive webs was surprisingly easy. His green orbs, pervasive and curious, piercing my soul.

We had our ups and downs, unbridled passion slowly dying with each tear shed, magnetic attraction burning my lungs.

We found ourselves in a hiatus, which found a way of prolonging itself further than I would have liked to. Perhaps he managed to keep himself occupied with his busy schedule; trainings, special dietary requirements, public relations… as for me, I rather hold my silence.

My routine was overflowed with his voice, with how much I missed his touch on my lower back, guiding me through the crowds, our hands intertwined in a tacit promise.

However, life demanded to continue with apparent normality. Dinner parties surrounded by friends, rounds of drinks avoiding alcohol… The last thing I needed was to degrade myself into a melancholic drunkenness.

Was he also having a hard time with the abysmal coldness on the other side of the bed or the loneliness of not having anyone to dilute your sorrow over morning coffee with?

My days had fallen into a sort of routine; waking up while missing him, showering while missing him, having breakfast while missing him… I think you get how thing are.

This particular morning, Silverstone was extraordinarily cloudy, the mist engulfing my view from the hotel room. How fitting!

Running away from my surreptitious misfortunes, I head downstairs, soaking up the competitive environment prior to every race. Emboldened as an agitated swarm, my colleges and me descended on the designated circuit.

Tedious security controls accompanied the anticipated fun, a hammer already pounding into my head at the thought of seeing him face to face once more.

Walking towards the space where the press was condensed, I check the days schedule for the last time. I am lucky enough to maintain friendly interactions with most drivers, so as to achieve fluid interviews, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats.

The only reason I can find as to why that fateful name is written on my list of drivers to interview was that God and I clearly have some unresolved business… funny timing to make me pay the price though!

A lump gets stuck in my throat just by thinking about it, preventing regular air flow.

The countdown only stuns me, even though my duty doesn’t start until the last lap. The smell of burnt rubber, product of speeding wheels, fills my lungs while intoxicating my nostrils.

The continuous lights turn red with overwhelming precision as seconds go by, lightning up the faces hidden with baklavas and iconic helmets.

Unconsciously (or maybe not so much), my eyes crawl back to the speeding number “16” that, red and furious, slides around the circuit while attempting to memorize every bump and curve along the way.

Chasing the sequence with collective looks of astonishment, a collision comes rushing down, disabling Piastri and Norris by the arrogance that only clear disagreements gives you.

Without further issues, the race concludes with a podium conformed by both Red Bull Racing drivers, trailed by seven time world champion Lewis Hamilton.

As possessed by group madness, the journalists rush into the victors. Microphone in hand, cameras shadowing us, content hunger gushing from our pores.

Driven by a exacerbated sadness, I shift my focus from the winners to him, returning my gaze with clouded tear ducts, bottled up frustration visible in his features.

With a touch on my shoulder, I’m brought back to reality by a co-worker, who, with a subtle shift of her head signals my awaiting obligations.

I head towards my press conference, where I take a seat with my name on it, psyching myself up for what I’m sure will be the most awkward interview of my whole career.

Dressed in Ferrari clothing and constantly stalked by flashes, both pilots near the platform where I await. They settle into their designated spots, holding still until the cameraman says otherwise.

I steal one last glance at my premeditated questions and hide my true feelings behind a focused frown.

“Welcome dear viewers! We find ourselves in the eleventh race of the year, accompanied once more by our friends from Ferrari, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz.”

I desperately try stabilizing the noticeable shake in my voice.

“Friend”- the Monegasque interrupts my monologue with a mocking remark.

The puzzled look his teammate throws in his direction doesn’t go unnoticed by the former, who insists on jointing his glistening irises with mine.

I decide to ignore the brief impasse in the speech, running away from his calculated sarcasm as I force the corners of my mouth into an attempted smile.

“so, Carlos… do you think driving behind two cars that crushed ruined your performance?”- I question, tripping over my words under Charles´s scrutiny.

“It´s safe to say it wasn’t an unexpected accident”- the Spaniard pronounces, doing his best at minimalizing the awkwardness- “for at least a couple of laps, Oscar and Lando were teasing each other, clearly trying to gain advantage over the other. They were lucky enough neither of them got hurt.”

I nod absent minded, vibrating due to the pounding against my ribcage.

“Charles, what can you tell us about your engineers’ strategy for this race?”- I swallow loudly, praying he can´t notice the mesmerizing effect he has on me.

“I guess you could say I’m not entirely satisfied with my team´s execution this season”- he confesses, minimizing the tingles of frustration running down his spine- “It would also be quite unfair dumping the blame on my team when my failure has more to do with me letting my emotions get the best of me.”

The tension is intercepted by a longing sigh I didn’t know I was withholding. The world seems to stop in its euphoria simply to hang in his every sentence.

“A broken heart is no joke… even less when you have to patiently wait for the piece they decide to donate you”- he reproaches without saying my name but making it perfectly clear that I was indeed the recipient of his raw address.

My anxious movements become motionless, forgetting the when and where, just to focus on the displeasure bubbling in my stomach.

“Guys, I really don´t think it’s appropriate to discuss this now”- intercepts the Madrilenian, proposing a ceasefire.

Mi hand goes up in the air before I can help it, shutting him up mercilessly.

“I wonder where I must´ve learned it…”- I reply, drowning in the unexpected harshness of my tone- “don´t forget who was the one to suggest this ´no strings attached´ bullshit between us.”

The drivers face shines with a scandalous blush in response to my bravado. Right here and there, I comprehend the dept of his anger, making its way through his collarbones, until it climbs up his cheeks.

“Just because I thought that’s what you wanted”- he spits out his resentful response.

From the corner of my vision, I perceive Carlos´s discomfort by reading his body language; the friction of wiping away the sweat stagnant on his hands, his shoulders pouring forward in a clumsy attempt of hiding from the cameras, his chair weakly shaking under the constant bouncing of his extremities.

Madness atrophies my reasoning, blinding me enough as to not have merci on his apprehension. I took this way too far, it would be useless to swallow my feelings.

“how in the world could you think our agreement benefitted me? Really, Charles, you couldn’t be any more stupid!”- I scream back, jumping up from my seat.

The swing of my feet gets ahead of my thoughts, allowing me to run away from the premature conflict before it blows up in the air.

Mi face heats up from the warmth of my own tears, that start rolling down my cheeks. With each involuntary spasm of my jaw, sobs escape my gasps for air. I don’t dare to slow down.

“Can you please just listen to me?”- a voice behind me shouts, trying to stand by my side.

I turn around to face his scrunched up brows.

“you have nothing else left to make up. You may convince somebody with the whole ´heartbreak boy´ façade you’ve got going on, but you have genuinely driven me mad”

“You and I both now that isn’t true! Have you ever wondered why I always seem to take a step back after every show of affection?”- he manages to freeze me to the core- “How come you never noticed my excessive efforts to stay away from you? I can’t even behave like a functional human being if I’m not feeling you, touching you, having you with me.”

In the middle of the paddock, with every pair of eyes set on us, events unfold the way I’ve been dreaming of, however I can´t even react.

“I know I´m not in a position to ask you anything, but please, strip me from the torment that uncertainty means… even if that means to completely destroy me”- he whispers with renewed fragility.

My smirk slowly becomes uncontrollable laughter, reducing me to unbridled chuckles. I shelter the vestiges of my giggling in between his arm, until It ceases in its intensity.

Without noticing, I search for his lips with my own, craving the heat they irradiate.

“I think you know perfectly well how my soul aches for you”- I manage to sneak in between kisses, stumbling across his smile, displayed in all its glory.

#charles leclerc #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #ferrari #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut #f1 fic #red bull f1 #red bull racing #imagine #argentina #Spotify

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greymoonfeelings · 10 months

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You and Me

pairing: Jake Seresin x fem! reader

word count: 0.7k

note: this is a little blurb I’ve had in my drafts forever and I wanted to get it published. I firmly believe Jake says says “give me some sugar” when he wants a kiss and you will not change my mind.

•••

You let out a huff, swirling the ice cubes in your drink around with the plastic straw. With your head in your hand, you watch as Jake celebrates his latest pool victory with his friends. He wasn’t ignoring you on purpose, but he was so wrapped up in the energy of his friends that he had yet to realize you weren’t feeling the same.

After Coyote slaps him on the back, Jake spins around to face you. He looks over to you expectantly, hoping to see you smiling at him, but instead notices the downturn of your lips as you stare down at your drink. Jake excuses himself from his friends before approaching you.

“What's wrong, darlin?” He slides into the booth beside you, throwing an arm around your slumped shoulders.

“Nothing.” You force a smile, not wanting to ruin his fun with your sour mood. Jake cocks his head to the side giving you a knowing look. There is no use lying to him. He has always been able to see right through you.

You sigh in defeat. “I thought tonight would just be us. I love your friends, but we’re with them so much and I miss spending time alone with you.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” His tone is soft, not accusing.

“I didn’t want to sound needy.” You peer down at your drink again, pretending to be interested in the condensation running down this side so you don’t have to look your boyfriend in the eye.

You’re terrified of Jake suddenly deciding that you’re too high maintenance. Maybe he wants a girlfriend who’s more go-with-the-flow and less clingy. Jake is a boisterous and extroverted person, why would he ever want to be with someone who was the exact opposite?

Jake recognizes that look on your face. The one you make when your order comes out wrong but you eat it anyway because you don’t want to be a bother. The one you wear when someone suddenly starts talking over you because they either didn’t realize you were speaking or they just didn’t care. Jake hates that look, hates that you feel like you’re not good enough to take up space.

“There’s no one else I would rather spend time with than you, darlin’. You can always tell me what you’re feeling, you don’t have to hide from me or feel embarrassed.”

“You’re so good to me, Jake. I’m not used to my feelings being considered.”

“Your feelings deserve to be treated with respect and I love you, I always want you to be comfortable.”

“I love you too.”

“Gimme some sugar.” Jake leans in, his lips searching for yours.

“Not here.” You duck away from him, looking around at the crowded bar.

“No one’s looking. They’re all too focused on themselves. C’mon, I missed you too, darling.” Jake whispers reassuringly as he presses kisses to the side of your face.

You take another quick look around the bar before deciding that he’s right. You lean into Jake’s side and press your glossed lips against his.

When you pull away, Jake licks his lips trying to savor the taste of you. “Mm, cherry. My favorite.”

“You’re not supposed to lick it off, weirdo.” You laugh and give your boyfriend a playful shove.

“Let’s get out of here. There’s a carton of ice cream back home with our names written all over it and I may have finally caved and subscribed to Disney Plus.”

Jake wraps his arm around your waist and tucks you against his side. After saying goodbye to his friends, he leads you out into the parking lot, his body warming you against the cool breeze from the ocean.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night curled up in bed sharing the tub of ice cream while your favorite movie plays. Jake makes sure you know just how much he cherishes his time with you. Being alone with just him refills your energy just the way you were hoping it would and you fall asleep feeling even more in love with your man.

#heather writes #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin fanfic #jake seresin fluff #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin

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nataliasquote · 2 months

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Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn’t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female reader

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syntheticavenger · 10 days

Text

Redemption - Ten

It's been a year since I wrote anything for Redemption. We've seen Ransom's struggles but this is probably the most honest look at the Reader's feelings thus far.

Definitely teared up writing some pieces so you may want to get some tissues! Labrinth's "I'm Tired" was inspiration for this chapter.

Redemption Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Heavy angst, language, emotional breakdown, mentions of past cheating, fainting, mentions of past drug use.

Summary | Ransom Drysdale thought you made a clean break from him after your failed marriage. After a run in at a coffee shop, it appears that it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

There’s a handful of times Ransom has been a praying man.

Once to get clean, staring at his reflection in the mirror after a particularly hard night, nostrils bright red and dark circles underneath his eyes, his mouth feeling like it was packed with cotton. He’d lost count of how many days since he had gone on a binge, empty liquor bottles strewn across the hotel bathroom floor. He’d prayed hard that morning, gripping the sink, fighting to remember what to say to whatever higher power would listen.

Another time to bring you back home, his fingers pressing against the fabric of his pants when he was sitting in the parking lot of your job. The vivid scene of your chest rising and falling, the soft whimper of your distress when he’d tried to calm you down from another letdown, another egregious sin that he had committed against you. You could smell the unnamed woman on him, lamenting that you would never measure up to whatever he was chasing, even as he lied to you and told you that you were enough. He’d prayed hard for the guidance for you to come home, to be enough to help him fight his demons.

A feverish prayer of gratitude when he finally woke from what seemed like years of sleep, only to find out he was under tubes, ventilators and the watchful eye of a team of doctors who were watching his every move.

Making a deal with whoever would listen when he first saw the twins. He didn’t pray for sleep that night after he saw them, replaying Leah’s wide-eyed wonder at the man who stood behind her and his son who had a touch of cynicism about him, even at his young age. He’d prayed that his children wouldn’t grow up like him, bored of a life that he didn’t take advantage of, turning to the vices that made him the shell of who he had become before he had come into their lives.

His solace isn’t a church.

Not now, anyway, not with the shadows that creep into his mind that could lead him to think the worst of himself and the pathway to feeling better is one that could find him on the precipice of a relapse.

His place of refuge is a coffee shop, his pastor a man a burly man with a beard and kind eyes.

“California isn’t a short trip,” Ari quips, pouting a dash of creamer into his coffee mug. “I assume it was a mutual decision?”

“Sure,” Ransom answers, watching the condensation on his glass of water form into droplets that slide down and onto the coaster. “ I didn’t have much of an excuse to say no, you can’t let my children go across the country to Disneyland.”

“It’s more than that.”

Ransom shrugs, trying to ignore the needling feeling that he should admit how he feels, especially to his sponsor.

“Go on.”

Ransom hates the way Ari can make a conversation seem so simple.

“Makes it real, I guess. She and Steve are getting pretty serious.”

“Sounds like.”

“But that didn’t stop her from letting me come over the night prior.”

“Ransom,” Ari sighs. “In what context are we talking about?”

“There was a lot of emotion.”

“I’m sure there was,” Ari agrees. “But that’s not what I asked. Did you sleep together?”

“No,” Ransom rushes out, his face hot with embarrassment. “But does that matter?”

“It does when you want me to think that you had some emotional, physical aspect to you going over to her apartment. It means you’re still not looking at the truth. I appreciate the candid conversation but let’s be honest here, you could have told her no, that the agreement is that the kids stay local. You didn’t do that. Why?”

“If I said no,” Ransom begins, twisting around his signet ring. “She would have asked why and I didn’t have an answer. I can’t tell her that I’m jealous that she’s seeing another man that isn’t me. We’ve had some nice moments. Doesn’t feel like I should fuck that up by telling her she can’t live her life.”

Ari nods in agreement, Ransom blowing out a hard breath.

“Happy?”

“No,” Ari denies. “Are you?”

“I feel like shit. More than anything, I want to call her, I want to talk to the kids, but I don’t know if they landed and -”

“You know they landed. I saw the flight tracker on your phone. Be honest with me, Ransom. This is a safe space, I’m not here to judge. Unless of course, you want to continue blowing smoke up my ass.”

“I fucked up,” Ransom says quietly, reaching for his coffee cup. “That’s all I can say. Sometimes, I’ll dream about her, and the kids and it feels so goddamn real and then I wake up and it’s…”

He exhales a shaky breath.

“If I have to do this every day for the rest of my life, then I will because it means I still see another day and I get a chance to be around my kids. But I’d be lying if I said waking up from that dream doesn’t fucking hurt every time,” he finishes, trying to will away the tears that well up in his eyes.

“You’re going to get through this. I don’t know where the cards lie for you and her, Ransom, I can’t see the future. But what I do see, is someone who is taking his sobriety seriously and is a loving father to his kids. That part isn’t a dream. That’s real.”

“Yeah.”

Ari leans forward, placing his hand over Ransom’s. It shouldn’t matter but Ransom lowers his head, holding back the tears.

“It’s okay not to be okay, Ransom. We’re our worst enemies sometimes. Be a friend to yourself for once. You deserve that.”

Leah and Carter sleep side by side, the other bed untouched while you take them in. The hotel suite is massive, almost the same size as your apartment. It had been too quiet after a while, hearing them play before their voices had faded out.

When they babies, you used to have to place them side by side, each one reaching out for the other until they made contact. Usually it was arm and arm, a confirmation that the other was present, both waking up when you moved them to a more comfortable position. While too young to know what jetlag is, you know their signs of their exhaustion well, covering them up with a blanket after kissing their foreheads.

The sun is a hazy pink and purple from the balcony, the breeze rushing against your skin as you close your eyes. Miles away and you’re still yearning for something, nameless and indescribable, even if you’re in a Southern California paradise.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve says behind you, stepping outside.

“It is,” you agree. “The view is pretty.”

“I meant you, but I’ll agree to that,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around you, your back against his chest. “Are you happy you came?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, reaching up to bring him closer. “I’m still trying to process that I’m away from… everything.”

“Doesn’t happen often, I know,” Steve says, kissing your cheek. “But you and the kids deserve a break. It’s been a lot of learnings, a lot of big emotions for the kids.”

Me too, you think.

“Tomorrow I’ll be gone for the majority of the day, but you and the kids are more than welcome to explore, and I can have a car take you wherever you want to go. I get about an hour for lunch if you want to come down and hear all about the advancements in pediatric medicine.”

“Lunch sounds nice.”

“Really?” Steve sounds happily surprised, your face turning toward his. “Then, it’s a date.”

“Thank you for this,” you reply, brushing a stand of his hair off his forehead. “We needed this.”

“We all did,” Steve agrees, leaning forward when he kisses you gently, your fingers going to the collar of his shirt as you pull him closer.

An unexpected cold snap takes hold in Anaheim, the temperature dropping at least fifteen degrees that catches you off guard, Carter slightly shivering when he runs back inside, declaring that is too cold.

The layers of clothing work well to keep them comfortable, both of their hands in yours while they tell you what they plan to do when they finally reach their coveted destination of the theme parks that they’ve been watching non-stop. If you follow their plans, you won’t have a single moment to sit down or eat but you listen carefully, asking them questions that they have answers for, delighted that you agree with their choices.

The convention center is massive, following signs that point in the direction of where they are supposed to go. The twins wave and say hello to everyone they meet, asking for a treat when they see a doctor who looks like their former pediatrician, who pats her pockets before apologizing and waving goodbye to them.

In the crowd of people, Carter and Leah spy Steve before you go, letting go of your hands and running full speed, despite your pleas for them to slow down.

You catch up to them right when they are lifted into Steve’s arms, giggling when you see the other person standing next to him, smiling at the twins. She’s immaculately put together, right down to the designer bag that is slung over her shoulder, her hair freshly done and makeup applied flawlessly.

“Hi,” Steve says, giving you a quick kiss before motioning to the person next to him. “You’re right on time. Let me introduce you to Doctor Sharon Carter, she and I used to be colleagues back when I worked in Brooklyn. Sharon, this is my -”

“Nice to meet you,” Sharon greets you, extending her hand to yours as you shake it. “I had no idea that Steve had a whole family.”

“Oh, I -” you try to interrupt.

“This is Leah and Carter,” Steve says, the twins squirming out of his arms as they slide back down to the ground.

“Yours?” Sharon asks.

“Maybe one day,” Steve answers.

“Interesting. Cute kids you have. Have a good lunch,” Sharon says, turning to Steve. “Don’t forget where we’re sitting. Then there’s happy hour at the end of all the madness.”

“Sure,” Steve replies, taking your hand, not seeing when you look back at Sharon, the twins grabbing your hand and Steve’s.

“See you there!”

Steve’s cell buzzes on the table, his expression apologetic when he finally answers a text.

“Sharon?” you ask, glancing at the twins coloring outside of the lines, Carter holding onto a chicken tender while he selects another crayon.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his brow furrowing when he dials her number. “I’ll be right back.”

Getting up from his chair, you can hear his voice lower.

“I’m at lunch, what’s going on?” he asks, maneuvering around the tables, his voice fading amid the sounds of utensils against plates and loud chatter.

Trying to ignore the pit that is spreading in your belly, you focus on the twins, Leah chewing on a French fry while Carter dips his chicken into the big cup of ranch. You want to eat, your stomach grumbling as you had skipped breakfast to make sure that the twins were fed and now you’re paying for it, feeling lightheaded for a moment before shaking the feeling away.

The insecurity sneaks in without warning. The perfect hair Sharon has that you know you will never achieve, let alone sitting that long at a salon without any interruption, to the expensive tailored outfit that you know you would never fit into after childbirth renders you speechless at how quickly the comparisons have come, a flashback to when you found out Ransom had been in the company of one of your bridesmaids, blond and coiffed like Sharon.

But she wasn’t Sharon and Sharon isn’t her, the mantra repeating over and over in your mind.

She isn’t going to sleep with Steve. She isn’t going to lie right to your face when you confront her like your former friend did.

But you don't know that for sure, even if you trust Steve.

Questions float up to the surface of your thoughts. Why didn’t Sharon know about you? Was she supposed to?

None of the feelings that begin to rise are rational, trying to keep yourself calm when Leah and Carter begin to argue over their favorite crayon, their voices getting louder before you look down at the mess of food and broken crayons.

“What happened?” Steve interrupting your thoughts, leaning down between the twins, reaching for a napkin to clean up the spilled water.

“I… I don’t know,” you answer, getting up from your chair, scooping up the broken crayons into a napkin, moving quickly to tidy up the space.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, the twins back to normal, as if they didn’t have a category three argument.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, a waitress coming by with two sets of crayons to assuage any arguments. “Just a little blow up.”

“Not them,” he says quietly, sitting back down next to you. “Are you okay?”

His phone buzzes once more, your nerves getting to you. He makes no motion to answer it, even as you can hear it in his suit pocket.

“Do you want to answer that?”

“No,” Steve tells you. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, suddenly irritated that he won’t answer it. “If it’s Sharon, you can just answer it.”

“It is,” Steve agrees. “But it can wait.”

“No, go ahead and answer it,” you answer, trying to calm yourself down. “It keeps going off so just… answer it.”

“Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t get any texts from her until today and now…” you trail off, seeing Steve’s confused expression as you fight back tears. “Forget it. Leah? Carter? There’s a playground a little bit from here and they have swings. Do you want to go?”

The twins perk up, the crayons rolling around the table as Steve blinks in confusion.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to take them to the park.”

“We’re eating lunch. I don’t understand,” Steve tries, watching you get up. “Can you just tell me what happened?”

“She’s asking me about the surprise symposium we’re supposed to be doing,” Steve informs you, pulling out his phone. “I can show you the texts.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you reply softly, digging through your purse, tears welling in your eyes.

That’s how it started, you recall bitterly, placing money on the table. The friendly texts, the questions that Ransom would answer. You always were offered those to read and pour over, even when you declined.

It was the others that you weren’t allowed to see.

“We will talk about this when you’ve processed things and I’m in a better headspace,” Steve says, leaning toward you so that only you can hear. “I’ll see you later.”

The kids wave goodbye, Leah carefully looking up at you as she pouts.

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Leah pleads, your head lowering to see her sweet little face. “What did we do?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. Mommy just needs some fresh air, I promise. It’s so warm,” you lie, fanning yourself as Carter follows suit near your face. “I’ll be fine once we get outside.”

“Go faster!” Carter chimes in, Leah pulling you toward the door. “Bye Steve!”

“You and Sharon did a fantastic job with such short notice,” Sharon’s husband praises. “I mean it, I just was blown away at how you can take such a hard subject and turn it into a masterclass.”

“Only a little frustrating,” Sharon admits, giving Steve a slight jab on his arm with her elbow. “Sorry you had to deal with all my texts with my edits. The minute Doctor Erskine asked where you went, I knew it was something big. I’m so sorry I panicked.”

“It’s fine,” Steve assures her. “We figured it out and with any luck, Doctor Erskine will realize he doesn’t want me up there talking for an hour and a half straight.”

“Where’s your,” Sharon pauses, sheepishly looking at him. “Girlfriend? Wife?”

“She’s at the hotel with the kids.”

“Scratch that happy hour then, I thought you brought her. Go be with them. You know how these happy hours are. All the booze and none of the networking. Whatever they are to you, those kids are adorable. You’re lucky to have all of them, Steve.”

“Thanks, Sharon. I definitely am.”

Giving her and her husband a nod, he slips out the restaurant, looking down at his phone for any sign of a missed call from you, sighing when he realizes there is none.

The twins are in their separate beds, freshly bathed and in their favorite pajamas, unaware of the tears that stream down your face.

The cuffs of your sweatshirt are wrinkled from the amount of pulling and twisting through your fingers, guilt ridden stimuli taking over. Your throat aches with the need to shout, to scream your frustrations out to the night. The pent up rage, both at yourself and the past looks you in the face when you finally turn on the light, the mirror in the bathroom a reflection of someone you don’t recognize.

Gripping the sides of the sink and lowering your head, you begin to pray, lips moving so fast that you can’t the words out fast enough. Your tears a sacrament that drop into the sink when you bare your teeth at your transgressions, wishing that whatever higher power would give you a chance at peace. To lighten the burden you’ve carried and to give yourself grace.

Embarrassment takes hold, your body shuddering at the thought of how you acted, the way Leah’s gaze was solely on you and your tears. You don’t know how many times she’s seen you cry, and the thought only makes you pray harder, to hide your emotions from your beloved children so that they will never know the fight you continue to endure.

Exhaustion finally wins out, your knees buckling when you siip down onto the floor, eyes closing in defeat.

#ransom drysdale fic #andy barber fic #steve rogers fic #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x black female reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x black female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x black female reader #steve rogers #… See all

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frannyzooey · 10 months

Text

The Dinner

Marcus Moreno x f!college reader

The Secret Universe

Rating: Explicit, Daddy Kink™ (seriously, like a lot)

A/N: I have many people to thank for this one: @imaswellkid @the-ginger-hedge-witch @whatsnewalycat @obiknights and the amazing @the-scandalorian - every single one of them gave me the most amazing advice, but also gave me endless reassurance when I needed it, and I could never thank them enough. Sometimes it really takes a village ❤

“How is stats this semester? Need any help?”

You take a slow sip of your ice water, listening.

“It’s okay,” Missy replies. “Better, now that I signed up for tutoring during my free period, which — “ she points her fork at her father, who currently has a slightly smug expression on his face, “— totally sucks. I know you said it would help, and it did, but at what cost, dad?”

His shoulders move as he huffs a laugh and he pokes around his dinner plate, spearing some roasted broccoli. Shrugging, he glances at you. “Is a couple of hours a week impacting your guys' social life that bad?”

“No, sir,” you answer with a polite smile.

The title slips off your tongue with ease, and his playful expression falters for a moment.

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair. “That’s what I thought.”

He takes a swallow of his water — a small sip, then a larger one — and the three of you continue to eat.

The dining room where you sit is seldom used, but cozy. The lighting dim but inviting, the sparse surface of the table lends it a more formal appearance and you think about how much you would have preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen. The one you passed earlier, cluttered with mail, magazines, keys, and other things that never really have any other home than a flat surface in the kitchen.

Eating there would have made you feel more at ease. Eating here makes you feel more like a guest. And with Marcus at the head of the table, the formality of the seating arrangement pulls at you: a constant reminder of who he is.

Forks slide against plates, glasses being set down with a muted thud on the wooden surface of the table and when Missy reaches for another bread roll, a glance over at him has you noticing his body language.

He’s looking everywhere but you – at a painting on the wall, at his half eaten plate, at the condensation gathering on his glass. He lets his hand rest around the glass, his thumb swiping through the water and a thrumming, heady pulse that Missy seems oblivious to grows until it fills the space between your chairs.

Swallowing, you place your elbow on the table near his own. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his attention turns back to Missy.

“What else is new?” he asks. “I never hear from you anymore. The room still okay? The bed still make that funny noise?”

Missy frowns, holding a bite of chicken aloft in front of her mouth. “How did you know about that?”

Marcus sits up straight, shifting again in his chair and opening his mouth as if getting ready to speak, but Missy interrupts him.

“Oh yea, it was there on move in day,” she remembers. “Whatever. No, we got that tool kit out that you gave me at the beginning of the year and fixed it yesterday. A real girl boss moment.”

She looks over at you and grins, and you return it despite the rapid beat of your heart.

“Yea,” you add, not allowing your eyes to stray from her face. “You killed it.”

You can feel his eyes on you, aware out of the corner of your eye how they slide down your frame and back up again. Whether he’s conscious of it or not, he’s been doing it all night and you want nothing more than to return the look, but you don’t.

“You ladies have any plans for the weekend?” Marcus asks.

Missy nods, excitement filling her eyes. “Yea, I think so? I got laundry and stuff to catch up on, but there is this party tomorrow night I wanna go to. I got a text about it earlier, I think it’s around 8ish?”

A small frown appears between Marcus’s brows. “Where’s it at? Around here?”

“Yea, I think so? I’m not really sure. I’ll have to look up the address or something.”

He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell by the way his frown doesn’t go away and you chance a peek at his face while he’s distracted. A pulsing beat gathers between your thighs, at both the sternness of his expression but also the care behind it.

“Well,” he continues, taking another bite of dinner. “Let me know, okay? I’ll drop you off and pick you up.”

“Dad,” Missy playfully whines. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out under the table and when one of his knees knocks into yours, you still.

His eyes glance down, a short, apologetic smile showing briefly in your direction but he doesn’t move it. It stays there, his leg shifting just enough to press against yours with intent and as the dinner goes on, you resist the urge to smile.

–

You met them both for the first time on move-in day.

Cars lined along the driveway to the dorms with their trunks crammed full of new bedding and boxes and the bare essentials for kitchens and showers, you noticed them right away.

Missy, true to the picture she emailed you weeks ago when introducing herself as your new roommate, and Marcus, when he stepped around the side of the car to open the trunk. Close-cropped dark hair shone browner in the sun, the strands neatly combed into place, yet slightly curled with the humidity. His shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders, tucked neatly into dress pants that fit him perfectly. The fabric pulled across his back when he leaned forward to reach in for the first boxes and when Missy shouted your name, he turned around.

You had to pull your eyes away from his face to greet her with a shy smile.

He stuck around the entire morning – making sure the lofts were set up correctly, helping move furniture, his kind, good humored eyes on his daughter as he took in her first day at college. He offered to take the two of you out to lunch in celebration, but before you could reply, Missy shooed him away.

“We’re gonna go grab a coffee or something. Get to know each other. You can get outta here, dad. Thanks for the help.”

You could tell she genuinely meant it, but the paltry thanks wasn’t enough in your opinion. He had already done more than your parents had ever done for you, and you wondered what it was like to grow up in a house where it happened so often you took it for granted. Your parents hadn’t even bothered to give you a ride on your first day, you had taken the bus with your meager boxes.

He humored her, giving her a soft smile and when he turned to say goodbye to you, you made sure to hold his gaze when you thanked him.

“Not a problem,” he replied sincerely. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

–

The two of them clear the plates while you grab what you can from the table, and it’s apparent that they have their own shorthand method of communication with each other. She clears, he starts the dishwater. She empties scraps into the trash to stack plates neatly by the sink, and when you help her, his eyes linger on your mouth when he turns to say thank you.

A routine that had never taken place in your own home, you revel in the roles everyone plays. The comfort of them, the domesticity. You imagine the two of them doing this every night before Missy left for college, and the mental image of Marcus standing at the sink with his t-shirt stretched over the strong muscles of his back warms you from the inside out. Even more when you think about him reminding Missy to clear her place, or asking her what she wants in her lunch tomorrow.

The qualities of a dad: one who does because he cares, but also guides.

Done clearing, Missy leaves the room, the telltale sound of the washer door opening down the hall, and Marcus stills at the sink, listening.

“Listen, don’t jam it all in there like last time, okay?” he warns, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. “You can do more than one load. No rush, Missy, okay?”

“Yea, yea, I got it,” she yells back, and he sighs, shaking his head. You meet his eye in a knowing look, and the corner of his lips pulls up in a rueful smile.

“She almost broke it last time, trying to fit about a month of clothes in all at once.”

You laugh, and nod. “She does that at the dorm too.”

He shakes his head, pushing his hands into the water.

“You don’t need to use those machines — either of you. You’re always welcome to come over and do it here,” he offers, searching in the sudsy water for a plate. Finding it, he begins scrubbing it with a rag. “Either of you. Even if she can’t come, you can.”

A pause.

“Anytime you want.”

The invitation hangs between the two of you in the silence, and you keep your eyes on his forearms as they flex above the suds. A sudden, unbidden image of them flexing between your thighs flashes through your mind, the weight of his fingers felt inside you.

His voice lowers. “We could even plan it that way, so we don’t have to keep…“

He gives you a knowing look, and guilt gnaws at you as you listen to Missy hum in the next room.

“It’s not that I don’t want that,” you explain, your voice keeping quiet. “I just don’t want…” Uncertainty flashes across your features and when you look up, you find that he’s already looking at you.

“Don’t want what?” he asks.

Unsure how to put your fear into words, you hesitate. Moving your meetings to his house somehow makes them more of an offense in your mind. In the space he shares with his daughter; their family home.

The duality of the man standing next to you has been messing with you all night: the Marcus that stands beside you now versus the Marcus that you know. The unassuming, kind face of a good father masking the hooded lust you know his eyes contain. The strength held in his arms when he takes the trash out; the flex of them under your bare knees when he spreads you wide. His plush bottom lip in a soft smile for his daughter; the same pressing against your skin, your mouth, between your legs.

A secret shadow follows him around constantly, fleeting slices of the man you know appearing if you watch him long enough. His throaty laugh, the spread of his thighs on the couch, the flex of his jaw.

Seeing him here in his kitchen or at the head of the dining room table has the men merging in your mind despite your ability, until now, to keep them separate. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth, thinking.

“Don’t want what?” he repeats, softer this time, tenderness curling around the words and you’re about to answer when Missy walks back into the kitchen.

“Hey, you don’t have to help him with that. I got it.”

He stands taller, shifting away from you and you back up from the sink, making room for her. She immediately scoops a delicate mound of bubbles and flicks them at Marcus, laughing when he grimaces with a chuckle. The teasing makes you smile.

He’s so good with her — so patient, and kind, and attentive. So genuinely invested in her answers in a way you’d never experienced, and though you are happy for your best friend in that she has such a doting parent, you’d be lying if you said a little jealousy never crept into your heart when you watched them.

Not because you wanted either of them to choose you, but because they so clearly had each other. Someone to depend on; a traditional parental/child relationship full of trust and respect and love.

You watch them for a moment as they work in tandem, their mannerisms similar from behind.

“I’m gonna take a shower before bed,” you announce, and excusing yourself from the room, you leave them to finish the dishes.

—

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Down the hall from his room and across from Missy’s, the guest bedroom door clicks shut quietly in the dark. The shuffle of sheets whispering as you shift to make room for him in the bed, the mattress dips when he joins you, the heat of his body felt close. His hands reach for you, pulling you closer and there are no other words spoken as his mouth meets yours, deepening the kiss immediately.

His tongue slides against your own, your taste familiar and maddeningly addictive, and he groans deeply into it, rolling you onto your back.

Beneath the solid weight of his body is your favorite place – secure, safe, desired, wanted. Trapped between the soft bed and the scent of his warm skin, his mouth takes and takes and takes from yours until you’re drunk with arousal beneath him, wanting to stay there forever.

“I wanted you so bad at dinner,” he breathes in a low confession. “So fucking bad, even when you walked through the door.”

Every one of his words is matched with a weighted grind of his hips into the cradle of your thighs, and you roll right back against him, a soft sound catching in your throat at the delicious pressure. There is something that makes you weak about his voice in general, but when he swears – especially in his desperation to express how much he’s wanted you – it lights a path straight from your ears to your center; need blooming fierce and bright.

You would tell him how much you thought about him just as much if his mouth didn’t immediately cover yours again, and pushing your fingers through his close-cropped dark hair, you match his urgency. Your knees hitch higher around his broad torso, your thighs tightening with every flex of your hips up and the stiff length of his cock underneath his sleep pants fits perfectly along the damp seam darkening your underwear.

You can feel the thick ridge of it, aching for the filling heft as he grinds his hips against you again and again, and whimpering for more underneath him, the words slip out.

“Please, daddy.”

He stills for a split second, breaking the kiss as a shudder slips through him and a wash of embarrassed heat floods your face, but it’s quickly replaced with arousal when he groans as if in pain, his furrowed brow pressed into the plane of your chest.

His hand splays against your side to keep you in place with a pained press of his fingers. “Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t — you can’t say things like that. Please. Please.”

“But I want it,” you whisper.

You do. You’ve wanted it ever since you met him, just knowing by looking at him that he would give you what you need. So thoughtful, so considerate and kind, so attentive and warm but also very much a man – a handsome, understated man with needs that showed clear on his face every time you met him after that first time.

The second, third, fourth time you met him, the flicker of interest in his dark brown eyes.

The magnetic, heady pulse of attraction that filled the small room when he showed up once while Missy was at class.

The lunch that he invited you to instead of her, and the undivided attention he gave you from across the table. The way he reminded you to buckle your seatbelt, and the way you leaned over and kissed him when he waited a beat too long reluctantly saying goodbye outside your dorm, on the street.

That first, tentative kiss after he followed you back to your room at the reassurance Missy had classes that afternoon, and the frown furrowed between his brows, both at how wrong it was to want this and relief at finally giving in.

The soft cotton of your sheets sliding against your bare back, the way his body seemed too big for the narrow twin.

His giving mouth, soothing guidance rumbled in his deep voice.

Something that’s taken root in your mind with every time he brings you to bed, you don’t know how else to describe how you want to be tucked into his side to be made felt safe and secure, while also fucked deep into the mattress until you’re sobbing with fullness.

Being here with him has made the need for it unbearable, and what you do know is that no matter what you want, he’ll give it to you.

Your confession is a quiet one that lingers in the air and he looks up, his doleful, brown eyes finding yours. They stay there, searching for the truth and when he finds it in your slightly ashamed expression, he pulls himself up until you are face to face.

“Yea?” he asks, soothing stray hairs at your temple. “You want a daddy?”

The word gives him pause, but his cock hardens painfully against the cool sheets and when you nod, the vulnerability shown on your face is so open that he finds himself mirroring it, wanting to soothe.

He not only understands but wants, so very badly.

“Okay, okay,” he agrees. The tension in your body drains as you soften underneath him; pliant and moldable for his needs. “Say it again, baby.”

“Daddy,” you whisper in a relieved rush, your plush lips parting only just.

His hooded eyes watch the word slip from your mouth, and his thumb skates along the plump cushion of your bottom lip, before pushing just inside. He slides his thumb over the wet muscle of your tongue, letting you suck on it.

Bright need swells and aches between his thighs, your soft, lush skin slipping against his as you squirm in need underneath him and he slips his thumb from your mouth before pressing his lips to yours with a rough kiss.

Desperate to feel the clutch of your tight, wet cunt, he reaches down to open you up for him, his hand slipping beneath your panties and his fingers sliding with a familiar swipe through your soaked curls. He finds the dip where you need him most, your arousal soaking the pads of his competent touch and his breathing quickens, his eyes flitting between your face and his cotton covered hand.

The same fingers that made dinner, that queued up the movie, that clasped under his chin when he listened to Missy talk. The same ones that held the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove you to the store.

They’ve slid into your mouth before, and then your cunt. Brushed against the puckered rim of your asshole, swirled with divine pressure over your clit, and filled you to the brim until you cried out, your cunt a snug slip around them.

Two fill you now with an urgent slide, the action making him swallow the soft catch of your whine and the ease in which he slips them in and out is aided by how wet and ready you are for him.

Always so wet; his perfect girl.

“When you called me ‘sir’ at the dinner table,” he pants, nuzzling the bridge of his nose along your jaw as he looks down at his hand. Your thighs open wider for him, and you softly moan, chasing the thick fill of his fingers. “I almost fucking lost it. So sweet. So sweet, baby.”

“Just – just for you.” Your brow furrowed in pleasure, you chase what he’s building inside you, your small hand slipping down to cover his larger one. Your fingers push over his, guiding him as if he needs it, and the both of you get lost in the slick, consuming motion; his eyes glued on your parted mouth. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to say it. The daddy thing, I –”

“Don’t be sorry. No, fuck. Don’t be sorry, baby. I wanna hear it. I want it.”

His soothing words wash over you, your cunt accepting him deeper as he adds a third finger and before he gives you time to adjust, he’s slipping them from your wet heat, sliding them into his mouth with a suck. He groans with a frown, his lashes dark against his face as his eyes flutter shut and he shifts abruptly down the bed.

His fingers grip the band of your underwear and tug them roughly down your legs before the width of his shoulders forces your knees apart. The heat of his mouth felt in a humid gust against your spread, bared seam, he tugs you tight to his face, and the emptiness left by the sudden absence of his fingers is immediately replaced with his thick, eager tongue.

“Marcus!”

His whiskered cheeks brushing roughly against the tender skin on the inside of your thighs, he devours your cunt, his back flexing as he nearly pushes you up the bed in his hunger if not for the way his hands curl around the top of your thighs to hold you in place.

“Shhh, baby. Shhh,” he reminds you, and you let out a quiet sob, clasping your hand over your mouth.

He’s so much, a sensory overload being amplified by the darkness around you: the needy grip of his large hands, the slick slide of his tongue, the muffled groans he’s letting out between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging damply over the inside of your thigh with a thick kiss before he licks your clit with the flat of his tongue. He slides it from side to side with pressure, a motion that makes you bow off the bed.

Mindless with pleasure, you’re overcome with the need to anchor yourself to something — the direct attention is so much, too much — and your hands fist the sheets, your back arching.

“I washed it just for you, daddy.”

You should be embarrassed but all traces of shame are turned to cinder the second he groans deep and loud, the sound muffled by the way he immediately buries his face with an open mouthed kiss. It’s messy and decadent, his tongue pushing inside you and then it swipes lower.

Your hips jolt up to meet it; his low, satisfied groan sounding between your cheeks.

“Fuck,” you whine, the tip of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle before he flattens it to lick a wide, wet stripe from the seam of your ass all the way to your clit. Another one, before he gives your soaked entrance a hungry kiss and the pressure of his face being buried so deep makes you grind against him, your hips moving in time with his, as he seeks his own relief against the sheets.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna fucking come. Daddy, you’re gonna make me come.”

It’s a plea if he’s ever heard one, and he zeroes his focus in on your clit — circling it with his tongue before giving it a light suck. He keeps going as you thread your fingers into his hair with a tug, keeps going as you press your lips together to try to stifle your moans, and keeps going when your thighs tense around his cheeks and you come with a breathless whimper; his tongue swiping hungrily through the salt of your release.

All tension in your body gone, he kisses a path slowly up your body while you lay and catch your breath – up over the top of your thigh, the rounded curve of your hip, the soft, plush underside of your breast.

He cradles you to his chest, tugging you onto your side as his mouth drags along the line of your neck. He kisses a path over the skin and your hips shift, seeking his out. He can feel you squirming, looking for relief and bellies together, he rolls you onto your back, your hands working together to push his pajama bottoms down and off.

Your touch is back to frantic as he pulls from your mouth, his hands cradling the sides of your head to keep you in place as he gets his fill and you wind your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push inside.

He does – a motion that makes your moan get lost underneath his deeper one – and the snap of his hips is immediate and hard, the filling weight of his cock pushing the air from your lungs.

His lips kiss your closed eyelids, his tongue sweeping over the salt rimmed lashes where a tear lingers and his mouth finds the fragrant, soft skin below your ear. His lips press against it, his mustache tickling you, the roll of his hips never ceasing.

“You’re being so good for daddy. So good.”

Your eyes open and find his, and he throbs with how sincerely vulnerable you look underneath him right now, desperate to know you’re being good.

“You’re such a good girl. Always letting me fuck you the way I want. Always letting me take care of you, like you take care of me.” His lips find the corner of your mouth, the delicacy of the kiss in contrast with the way you have to dig your nails into his broad back to hang on as he fucks you harder and he pulls back just enough to look at your face.

“You’re so good, aren’t you, baby. Aren’t you.”

It’s not a question for you to answer, but rather a statement he needs you to confirm and you nod, a tiny frown of pleasure appearing between your brows as you shift rhythmically underneath him.

“My baby,” he murmurs, catching your mouth in a deep kiss. “My baby.”

Your hand trails down the line of his spine and splays over his tailbone, sweat beading along the skin as he fills, fills, fills and you widen your thighs, digging your fingers into the swell of his ass to force him deeper.

“Please, daddy. Please.”

His hips shift into a slow, weighted grind when you beg using those words. He never pulls all the way out, rather forcing himself so deep into the heart of you that you tremble with the need to come underneath him.

“You’re so fucking pretty. So pretty when you’re gonna come.”

His praise fills you with light from the inside out, pouring out through your sweat damp skin where it’s flush with his own and another tear slips free; your release both a bright, shining edge that he’s guiding you towards and a strong, powerful current that threatens to pull you under.

“Give it to me.”

His voice is husky and strained, a quiet plea for you to let go and when you do with a silent cry, the deep dimpled smile on his face is a proud one, equal parts awe and lust.

He follows shortly after, the tight, wet clutch of your cunt too much for him – but it’s your relieved face that makes him spend every ounce inside you with slow, smooth strokes until there is nothing left. You look so light underneath him, so content and drowsy and drunk with relief.

He can’t help himself when he bends to kiss the tear track that runs over your temple, giving you another kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“So good. You were so good.”

You’re so spent you can’t even kiss him back, rather letting him gently nudge you to meet his mouth and even then you let him take what he needs from your kiss swollen lips, opening up for him when his mouth demands it.

Eventually he shifts, just enough to settle beside you rather than on top, but you automatically follow the heat of his body, curling into his chest.

“There’s, uh —” he starts, closing his eyes. You watch the thud of his pulse under the tanned skin of his neck. He licks his plush lips, trying to catch his breath. “There’s milk and cereal — or eggs, if you want those in the morning. I didn’t know what you guys would want, so I —“

Your quiet laugh stops him and he looks down at you, smiling when he sees your expression.

“Are you really telling me about my breakfast options, like some kinda guest?”

“Yea, I guess I am,” he grins. “But you are a special guest in this house,” he replies, tugging you closer. His mouth finds the curve of your collarbone, his smile felt against the skin there. “Especially for me.”

“Guests really get the full treatment here, huh,” you tease. “Dinner, laundry, breakfast, their ass eate—“

You can almost feel his blush in the dark, his fingers immediately digging into your side to stop your sentence, and your stifled giggles fill the dark room but he doesn’t let up until you’re squirming underneath him, breathlessly begging him to stop.

“What?” you laugh, trying to keep quiet. “I liked that part of the turn down service.”

He grins, the knowing smile of a pleased man who is well aware he did good. He leans in, putting his mouth by your ear.

“Good to know. Maybe tomorrow the service will include it again.” He pulls back and winks, leaning back in to give you a quick, full kiss.

“I wish I could stay, but I better get back to my room.”

“I know.”

“See you in the morning?” he asks, so soft and mussed and hopeful yet grown; his voice low and husky. His eyes are soft with affection, his unwavering gaze showing that he genuinely wants to make sure you’re okay before he leaves.

His hand cradles the curve of your cheek, his thumb swiping along the line of your cheekbone and you tilt to press a kiss against the heel of it. Relief like you haven’t ever known floods through you, but more than that is what you feel underneath that earnest gaze.

Safe, secure. In both yourself, and what you mean to him.

“Yea. See you in the morning.”

He smiles, bending to place a delicate, warm kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”

You sigh with contentment.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno/reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x reader

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calypsocolada · 6 months

Text

BEGIN AGAIN | nanami

(this is part two! click here for part one)

synopsis: nanami ruined his wedding for you, now's he just waiting for your call. authors note: as peoples princess brittany broski once said, 'i need him in a way thats concerning to feminism'. enjoy :) cw: cussing, angst, wingman!gojo, making out, fluff wc: 2.4k

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You sink into your seat at the bar, fingers around a cold glass, the condensation dripping onto your hand. This was your third drink of the night, and you were aiming for a lot more. There were things you were wanting to shove down and forget, if only for the night. But the night was young, the sun hadn’t even begun to set yet, still golden in the sky. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and before you even dared to look at it you took a gulp of your drink. Let it ring and ring before you breathed in and pulled your phone towards your face. Gojo’s contact filled up on the screen. Not exactly who you were wanting to hear from but you answered nevertheless.

“Don’t start.” You said immediately into the speaker. You heard Gojo laugh, it sounded like more of a scoff to you though.

“Shouldn’t have even picked up then.” He joked. You grabbed your drink in preparation for this conversation.

“I texted him, alright.” You sighed out.

“You texted him? Texted. Come on, Y/n. He’s practically in his fifties, he’s not gonna read your text.” Gojo said as you rolled your eyes hard enough to give yourself a headache.

“He read it.”

“And didn’t respond?” Gojo asked. You were quiet.

“I shouldn’t have even texted him. I should’ve just, ya know, let things go. You’re a terrible influence.” You sighed, gulping down the rest of your drink. Gojo laughed this time, like what you said should’ve been obvious. And it was, but when it came to someone you loved you did stupid things. You always did stupid things.

“What did you text?”

“I’m not gossiping with you, Gojo, I’m trying to enjoy my night.”

“Where are you?”

“No, I don’t want company.”

“Okayyyy. What did you text him then?” Gojo asked exasperatedly. You sighed heavily, pulling up the text even though you had reread it over and over and over again for the past few hours.

“I said, ‘I know you probably don’t want to hear this from me but Gojo told me you were getting married. I'm happy for you. Congratulations!’.” There was a silence over the phone that made your patience run thin. “Well?”

“I told you he was getting married so you could stop the whole thing, not congratulate him.” Gojo finally replied as you sucked in a breath.

“I’m not a homewrecker, Satoru.”

“He’s not happy.”

“Has he ever been?”

“Yes! With you!” Gojo argues as you let your head fall against your hand as you rub your temples. This conversation was having the very same effect you had been trying to avoid all day. The inevitability of your past being trudged up. You heard Gojo sigh over the phone. “I don’t want to force you into doing something you don’t want to do, Y/n. I never got the chance to tell someone that I loved them and I never will. I don’t want that for you.” You closed your eyes. Now you just felt selfish, like a kid crying over something trivial.

“You just had to go there.” You said, pulling out your card to pay for the drinks, any hopes of forgetting and moving on seemed to be stopped in their tracks.

“Nanami would be content in never being happy again if he thought it was in your best interest.” Gojo says, his words cutting you right to the bone. You pushed from your seat and walked towards the entrance when you saw the white haired man sitting at a table just outside. He gave you a wave as you rolled your eyes, walking out to him.

“Are you stalking me now?” You asked as Gojo patted the chair next to him with his hand. Reluctantly you sat, slouching slightly.

“You have terrible awareness by the way.”

“Shut up.” You snap, not actually angry. Gojo leans back, crossing his legs as he looks over at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks as you sigh heavily.

“I just want to go home and not have to think about Nanami.” You say and part of you really meant it. You’d been thinking of him since the day you left him. Wondering if you made the right choice. You two were young but you’d never felt anything close to what he made you feel and that scared you.

“Let’s not talk about it then.”

“Gojo, come on, you came all the way out here to play wingman for your friend.”

“You and I used to be friends too.” He points out. You two used to be very close back when you and Nanami were together. You missed that probably just as much as you missed Nanami.

“You’re too cool for me now.” You say and Gojo tilts his head back in laughter.

“Yeah, right.” He laughs. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and when you pull it out your heart drops right out of your chest. Gojo reads your expression with ease. “Answer it.” He says as you place your phone down on the table, shaking your head. Gojo sighs, looking at you with his striking eyes. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you swallow, turning to look away from him.

“I already feel like shit for texting him, Satoru. He’s moved on. He’s getting married for christ sake.” At that statement Gojo laughs with his full chest.

“He will never move on and neither will you. You both are stubborn and prideful.” He says as you turn to look at him.

“This is why we’re not friends anymore.” You say as Gojo smiles, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Your phone buzzes one last time and you know it’s because Nanami has left you a voicemail. You push Gojo away and grab your phone, standing up from your chair. Sure enough there’s a single missed call and voicemail from Nanami. You swallow, your throat dry as you pull the phone up to your ear.

“I wanna hear!” Gojo jests as you flip him off. You hear Nanami’s voice, his tone raspy and almost desperate as he speaks.

“I don’t know if you're asleep or not. I know our time zones are different. I just-- I wanted to talk to you. I don’t want to say what I have to say over the phone but I need you to know. I still love you. I’m not ever going to stop. I ruined my wedding, I ruined everything. Just,” He pauses and you can almost hear your own heartbeat. “Please call me back.”

Nanami grips the steering wheel, a car honking behind him. He hadn’t noticed when the light turned green. He pressed his foot on the gas. Nothing felt real, he kept getting lost in times that he wished he’d know again. Times where you were there. He wasn’t far from home and as he kept driving his eyes would dart to his phone, he wanted nothing more in this world than for your contact to pop up on his phone. But it was too late. He’d fucked it all up. You were happy he moved on, you’d told him that and still foolishly he imploded the entire day.

A chance with you was worth it. You were always worth it.

Happiness was fleeting for him. Before he met you he was just going through the motions. You taught him things, taught him to try and enjoy life. The simple things. That working to the grave wasn’t his only option. But he wanted to provide for you, wanted you to never have to worry about anything and when he set his mind to something sometimes he got lost in it. He lost you. He tried to replace you, to fill the hole that you carved in him but nothing fit. Nanami just felt like shit, for finding someone and almost marrying them when he should’ve just been alone. He should just be alone.

“Nanami?” He hadn’t even noticed when he left his car, until he was walking up to his front porch where you sat. Nanami startled slightly, stumbling back a step. He couldn’t believe his eyes. You, with your doe eyes and pink lip, looking at him in a way that twisted his stomach.

“Y/n… What- what’re you doing here?” He asked. He took in the sight of you, your tousled hair looked at though you ran your hands through it a few times. You waved your phone at him.

“I got your message.” You said simply. Nanami swallowed. He wanted to play Mr. Cool Guy but he couldn’t fucking form a single coherent thought right now. The last time he saw you was when you were packing your things to leave him. Nanami reached up, loosening the tie around his neck, sighing.

“I’m sorry, did it ruin your night?” He asked, he watched your eyes, how they took in the sight of him in a suit. The suit he was supposed to be married in.

“Did my text ruin yours?” You asked. Nanami scoffed, amusement on his lips.

“Yes.” He said as your brows shot up slightly.

“I wanted to be supportive.” You say, throat dry. Nanami looked entirely too handsome right now. He was always handsome but something about him in a suit, hair a mess, tie loosened was doing something to your insides.

“I didn’t want your support.” He said, walking forwards slightly. You wondered if you’d misheard his voicemail, if he was angry at you for the text. You sighed.

“You can thank Gojo then, he’s been badgering me all week.” You say as Nanami smirks.

“You too?” He asks as you laugh slightly. The tension easing just a bit. You swallowed, looking up at him.

“Did you really call off your wedding?” You ask. His eyes meet yours, the air turns electric. He nods his head. You couldn’t imagine what shit show he’d just caused. The poor girl he left at the altar. “Jesus.” You say simply. It really only took one text to change the course of his entire life.

“Did you mean what you said in the text? Were you happy for me?” He asks as you swallow.

“Yes and no.” You say. Nanami takes another step forwards, sliding to sit next to you on the porch. You turn to face him, his striking eyes and sharp lines. He looked tired, exhausted even. He reached into the space between you, tucking your hair out of your face. You leaned into that touch, after all you craved it for years.

“I love you.” Nanami says softly, letting it linger in the air. Your heart skips, you suck in a breath. “I’ve loved you since that first night.”

That first night. When you met Nanami you were a mess. You’d been in a shitty on and off relationship with a boy back home. You were waitressing at some diner in the city. You’d just come off your break where the boy you thought you loved told you he wanted to take some more time apart. You had mascara all down your cheeks and when you went to take Nanami’s order he was kind and attentive. He told you that loving someone shouldn’t be this hard, it shouldn’t leave you in such turmoil. You took that to heart because he was right. Loving isn't all easy but it's worth it when it's right. Nanami left you with an extremely generous tip. You thought you wouldn’t see him again but a day or so passed and he was back. He wanted to check in on you. You asked him to get lunch with you on your break and that was that. You ended up kissing him by the end of the day because the moment he checked in on you, someone who was practically a stranger you had fallen for him. Loving Nanami was easy, then it wasn’t, and now you weren’t sure which it would fall under, but you knew you still loved him.

“I was a mess.” You say affectionately as Nanami’s mouth quirks in a smirk, his eyes looking from yours to your lips, lingering there.

“So am I.” He whispers in the space between you two. Desire feels like a kick to the stomach, his voice raspy and wanting.

"We did a lot of wrong back then." You said. Nanami shook his head.

"I did. Not you."

"Nanami, it's not all on you." You start but he kissed you quick.

"I appreciate your apology but I don't accept it. You tried to make it work, you made time when I didn't. I was the asshole, I know that." He says, thumb rubbing against your cheek. "I want you, desperately. I want to make this work, I want to make time." He lists off. You swallowed, fingers gripping the porch so as to not yank Nanami against your lips. But the famine settled for Nanami, the desire for more now that you're here right in front of him. In the flesh. His eyes flick to yours. He couldn’t afford to look at you for this long, as it was entirely difficult to look away once he started. He watched your throat bob. There was so much to unpack, so much to say but there was a universal way to make things known. "Let me show you how much I want this." He breathes out against your lips.

Nanami’s fingers slide into your hair as he brings you against him, taking your lips with his own. A thunderstorm erupted at the action. Your hands grip the front of his dress shirt as you move your lips in time with his. Kissing him felt so natural, like sliding into a comfortable routine. Like no time had passed. Nanami pulls away and sweeps you to your feet, kissing you passionately as he pushes you back against his front door, body caging over yours. You gasp into his mouth, the desire mingling with want making you sick with love. You could talk in the morning. There was always morning. You're not sure when Nanami got the door unlocked but you're dragging him inside as his hand pulls you by the chin, lips enveloping yours as you stumble inside. Things crash in the wake of you and Nanami’s hurricane. Your breaths heavy, practically panting into each other's mouths as he pulls you on top of him on the stairs. His hands travel to your hips, digging into the skin there as your fingers slide up under his shirt. He shivers against your cold fingers. He picked you up then, a startled giggle erupting from your lips as he kissed you quiet, hauling you off to his bedroom. You’d thank Gojo in the morning, his meddling finally did some good.

Nanami pressed you into the soft comforter on his bed, caging your body with his own. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and peppered kisses over your cheek to your jaw and down to your neck. You breath hitched as his trailed his lips back up to your own. You closed your eyes as flashes of Nanami standing on the altar assaulted your thoughts. You hadn't noticed your jealously until now. Wondering what world of hurt you were in for if he had gone through with it. You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and brought him as close as possible. If you had it your way Nanami would only get married once in his life, and it would be to you.

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tags: @vlbi

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami smut #nanami fluff #jjk gojo

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

Note

AITA for threatening to get my best friend sectioned?

This actually happened 2 years ago, but last night he made a joke about it that kind of seemed like he might still be mad at me about it. So. Anyway, ages and all are written as they were at the time.

For context, my (18m) mom took guardianship of my friend (17m), called “J”, after his grandfather passed, a few months before this happened.

Not going into specifics, but J has struggled with OCD and an ED for years, and I suspect when he’s an adult he’ll probably get diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder at some point.

(Update from the Present: no dice… yet.)

A close family friend of his passed away and it caused his mental issues (particularly the ED) to get a lot worse really quickly.

Even thought my mom was technically his guardian, she kind of relied on me to keep tabs on him because he’s usually pretty honest with me compared to other people. Like, if he’s not doing well, I have the best chance of finding that out.

So. His family friend dies, he gets worse, I report all of this back to my mom, who starts trying to get some sort of more intensive treatment lined up for him (difficult and time consuming because of where we lived at the time).

My mom tells me not to tell J, because he “talks a big game” about not wanting treatment or whatever and she firmly believes it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have time to stress himself out about it before it happens. Okay. So I don’t tell J.

Somehow, he finds out anyway, and also finds out that I knew and had chosen not to tell him, but doesn’t tell me that he knows. (Convoluted, I know, sorry.)

I pick J up from an after school thing one night, we end up talking about pretty heavy shit in the car for a /long/ time, and after the conversation died, he put a hand on my shoulder, leaned over, and kissed me. And like not a short kiss either. It was like a 3 to 4 second kiss.

Context again, I realized I was gay and that I liked J in a not particularly friend-like way when I was 13. I never told him and never planned on telling him. I told him a lot of things but I intended on growing old and dying with that one kept nice and secret. Even if he was some form of not-straight, which I was 99.99% sure he wasn’t, I didn’t think it was worth jeopardizing my closest friendship with romantic and/or sexual feelings that could at best confuse him or make him uncomfortable or at worst outright disgust him.

Anyway. We don’t talk about it, I end up going to stay for a few days with a guy (20m but not really relevant) I’d been sort of seeing/sleeping with for a couple months because I literally couldn’t be in the same house as J or I would probably implode.

Fast forward a week, I’m picking J up from a hospital 2 towns over because he ran away (? unclear really, haven’t discussed the particulars w him and I wasn’t staying at home at the time) and ended up having to go to the ER.

In the car (best time to talk to someone because they can’t run away), he apologizes for kissing me. I’m thrown off by that, because he hadn’t said anything up to this point and it honestly wasn’t even in the top 5 things I was thinking about.

I asked him why he did it and he just sighed and explained in this tone of voice that, I don’t know how to explain it, but had just the right lack of empathy or affect that I knew he was being 110% honest.

Condensed version: he found out I was reporting everything he told me to my mom (still don’t know how). He was pissed. He was aware he needed more intensive treatment, and he knew my mom was aware. He did not want treatment. He knew I had liked him for years. He knew that I was relatively fragile about it. He knew that if he did something (like kiss me for example) there was a good chance it would break my brain and I would freak out.

He essentially kissed me to decommission me for a few days so he could formulate a plan to run away.

FINALLY we have arrived at the AITA part.

After hearing all this, I tried very hard to come up with something rational to say, but ended up saying (essentially), “You’re fucking insane, and I’m telling my mother you need to be committed.”

I know I wasn’t wrong to be angry. But I also know from past knowledge and experiences that he had a deep fear of being deemed “insane” or unfixable or whatever, and also that he was really afraid of treatment in general.

Idk. I go back and forth on whether or not I was out of line, or needlessly escalating the situation, by threatening him. It was a much bigger threat in his mind than it was in mine, and so even though I know I said it as a reaction to a fucked up situation, there’s still the idea that I blew it completely out of proportion and weaponized his own mental issues against him.

So AITA for threatening my best friend by telling him I was going to get him committed to a long term psychiatric hospital?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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hanaruri-tunes · 11 months

Text

How the Demons taste like (headcanons)

Okay I may be going into a weird trip with this but you CANNOT convince me that demons have "normal" tasting cum. So after all the monster cock headcanons I went through for the seven brothers (and I suppose that if you’re here you may have come across them as well) I present to you these "taste" headcanons.

I won’t be including the side characters in this (like Diavolo or Solomon). Sorry but I don’t think I know them well enough to do this for them as well but you’re very welcome to share your thoughts dushdhshdh

To add onto this whole idea: I think it would make sense for demon cum to taste good because it would encourage and strengthen the sin of lust in-between demons and humans as well (if they fuck one and we damn well know they will). Taste aside I also imagine they all have aphrodisiac-like side-effects and maybe even sweet smell.

This is all silly and in good fun so don’t take any of this too seriously aha, though it IS technically "adult content" so please ⚠️MDNI⚠️!!!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Lucifer

This one was probably the easiest. He tastes like sweet wine, no cap. Probably a Rosé and smells intoxicating like one too. Drinking him literally makes you drunk (as it is his aphrodisiac effect taking a toll on you), you become more giddy and playful with him which he loves. As for how it looks like, I have no idea. I’m not super imaginative in that department so I sort of assume all demon cum looks like human cum but "thicker" and "richer" like condensed milk.

Mammon

Believe it or not but right after the easiest one to imagine (being Lucifer) Mammon’s was the hardest for me. I went through multiple ideas, those being apple juice, flat lemonade or even a cocktail but for some reason I ended up stopping at warm chocolate. And I PROMISE it’s not because of his skin color idhedhsu I know it’s suspicious since he’s the only one amongst his brothers with actual melanin but really, when you think about it, Mammon is MC’s "first" in every single way, first one to love MC, first one to form a pact, first one to kiss. In every single universe/game, in everything, he’s the first. He’s MC’s "home", and what screams home? Warm choco milk. Yup. As for the aphrodisiac aspect... I suppose it would be pretty standard? Making you more possessive of him, needy and clingy. All the things he would love to see you be like usually.

Leviathan

Okay listen. You know those cartons that look like regular juice at first glance because of the fruits on the packaging? But then you read what’s written on it and it's actually a "nectar", not juice. I suppose everyone knows what it is or at least has already accidentally bought nectar in the past instead of juice but BASICALLY it’s just thicker and heavier "juice". If you add water into it it’s legit just regular juice, kind of like a grenadine which is the same-ish concept. It’s syrup and you add a lot of water on top to make it into juice. Well Leviachan is in between juice and syrup, thus nectar! He tastes sweet and refreshing. And I imagine his aphrodisiac effect could possibly have some hypnotic side effects, making it easier for him to "control" you and making you his.

Satan

Alright. On this one I’m a bit stuck again aha. But I imagine something like sweet and spicy tea, as weird as it sounds. Kind of like nettle tea or herbal tea in general. Dude tastes like a warm and spicy arizona drink (the brand, not the state haha) As for his aphrodisiac property, I imagine his cum would have the same effect on others as catnip does on cats. So like, drugs. Yeah. On that note, the aphrodisiac side-effects would also include you becoming more agitated, more "rough" and assertive. Almost as if you’re hate-fucking him.

Asmo

His sin being lust, the aphrodisiac property of his cum is the strongest, tripling down on the pleasure sensation. And not only his cum but his saliva as well so it’s overkill. I think his cum would have a "magical" feature that allows it to taste different depending on the person that’s tasting it, as to change to this person’s favorite flavor and completely satisfy them. Thus ending with them succumbing to Asmo entirely. Everyone knows Asmo is a menace but especially in bed.

Beel

Tastes like honey, 100%. And does it not only taste like it but his aphrodisiac effect makes you hungry for his cum in particular, making you seek his dick. Desperately stroking him to get more of his juice into your mouth. Definitely has one of the tastiest and most filling juices, pretty fitting as the avatar of gluttony.

Belphie

Belphie is a pretty standard guy, his cum looks like condensed milk AND tastes like condensed milk. All thick, sweet and dense. His semen may or may not have some sort of hallucinogen effect, (only a little though) enhancing the experience. One second you’re in a bedroom, the next you’re tripping I mean, having sex in a surreal setting, stars lighting up and dancing all around while you’re being fucked senseless.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you for readinggg🫰 I’m considering opening up prompts for this summer btw, not sure how well that’s gonna go ahaha. In any case, don’t hesitate to interact with my silly posts or even leaving some messages in my askbox if you’re too shy to do it with your account, it’s really encouraging seeing any type of reaction!

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me headcanons #obey me smut #hanaruri writes

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k1ngpin42 · 10 days

Text

𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐸𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝑒’𝓈 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒.

No outbreak

(Mini fic- a lot shorter than my usuals, longer one coming next, see announcement for more info)

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

It had been a long day for Ellie at work. She worked in administration in a hospital who made her do just about everything for just about nothing. This is what she got for trying to make a difference she guessed. One file at a time. Ellie wasn’t the kind to be silent about it either. “How was work?” “fine.” No. If it sucked, you’d hear about it.

The key clicked and the front door opened. It was around 10pm. You had just been chilling on the couch, watching one of those shows with way too many episodes to be healthy and letting time tick by. A chorus of irritated huffs and sighs escaped your girlfriends lips before you could even greet her.

“Ellie! You’re home, hey baby.” You say excitedly. She sighs.

“Hey babe.” She groans, giving you a quick and resilient hug. You let out a sigh. You were craving her. Bad. But when she was in one of these moods the last thing she wanted to do was use any more energy on talking or…well especially what you had been thinking about all these hours that you were alone here.

“I can heat you up some leftovers if you’re hungry?”

“No. Thanks though, I’m just gonna take a shower and then play some games before bed.”

“Okay. Oh um, want…me to join you?” You question, and she laughs lightly, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“I won’t be long.”

It was easier to pretend you had been joking, which Ellie at least thought you were, even if every part of you ached to have your body soften under the heat of the shower while she eats you out and the condensation makes you feel faint and- whatever. It was a joke, you repeated to yourself.

You scooped yourself a small bowl of ice cream and had been picking at it with a teaspoon for a while, starring back at the screen. After around 15 minutes, Ellie headed up to your bedroom.

“I’ll wear headphones so the game won’t disturb you.” Ellie announces. You nod.

“Oh- how…was your day?” Ellie asked, feeling a little bad when she realised she had barely spoken to you. You gave her a comfortingly smile.

“It was fine. Go, play your game.”

“Okay baby, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

But the more time passed the more frustrated you felt that you couldn’t get off. Before she got there you had tried touching yourself, even using a toy, but each time you got close the sensation fucked off again and you were left feeling how you felt now. Annoyed and lonely.

So you decided to go up there to your room. You always left Ellie by herself when she gamed, it was like an unspoken rule, you had your movies and she had her games and afterwards you’d cuddle and all would be right in the world. You weren’t even sure how she’d react to you trying to distract her, but any attention was better than nothing.

You knocked on the door.

“UGH FUCK. Died again.” You heard Ellie groan through the door. You can’t help but laugh at this, and you open the door, laying back on your bed.

For a while you just watch her. Watch her get more and more frustrated. You walk over, kneeling in front of her and putting a hand on her thigh. She sighs.

“-ugh I- I need to win just, I’ll just be a second.” You shrug, walking back to your bed with a teasing smile as you remove your pyjama pants, putting your hand in your already drenched panties.

“You look so good over there.” You say, and Ellie still has her headphones in, not really hearing you. That is until you start circling your clit faster, letting out an almost pornographic moan, your eyes rolling back where they were previously on your otherwise engaged girlfriend.

Ellie’s eyes widen and you hear a loud thud from her headphones being dropped.

“Jesus…look at you making up a fuckin mess for me playing video games. Did I not give my girl enough attention?” She coo’d. You don’t say anything, still wanting to keep what little power you had over her. You keep going, a little slower now that her gaze was right on you.

“Couldn’t fucking wait 20 minutes could you, pretty girl? You just had to fucking touch yourself.” You let out a gasp of pleasure.

“You’re not cumming until I finish my game. Come here.” She orders, grabbing your hand and pulling you over to her gaming chair.

“Kneel.” You do as she says, your cheeks heating up at her words.

“Fucking suck on it.” She commands in a way she knows you love. It had taken Ellie a long time to become comfortable with talking to you like this. It took about a hundred “are you sure’s?” And “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that’s” in the past to get where you two were now, but now she’s fucking obsessed with the way she can treat you like nothing when you know you’re everything to her. The way she can call you her ‘fucking slut’ and then call you “babe” and the “love of her life” after.

You obeyed her without protest, unzipping her jeans and pulling them down to her waist. Then, you start sucking on her clit, moving your tongue in circular motions as well. She lets our a few deep breaths and short sighs at this as she powers her game back up.

“I come home from work and my girls all worked up? Wet for me and fingering herself in our fucking bed? You’re such a good fucking slut for- fuck….me.” She added. You hum into her clit, feeling, hearing and tasting her get increasingly more wet at your actions.

“YES! I almost got I-it…” Ellie moaned as she achieved something in her game. You go faster, adding fingers through her folds as your tongue works at her clit.

“Ah…f- not so fast baby…oh fuck.” You don’t listen, though. Perhaps your first mistake of the night. Then Ellie reaches her arms up in celebration.

“Fuck, finally.” She says, but her victory is soon forgotten when your orgasm swirls through her.

“F…fuck, fuck…” Ellie practically whimpered, putting her remote down and picking you up, putting you’re harshly on the bed.

“You did good babe. Now stay fucking still, I wanna see what my absence did to you.” She exclaims, putting her fingers into you.

“Fuck, they’re practically drowning in this pussy. You ovulating or something?” You gasp out at the feeling of her long, skinny, perfect fucking fingers.

“I don’t know.” You admit. She nods.

“Course you don’t. You get this horny for me no matter what, don’t you?”

“Mhm.” You say as her two middle fingers make their way up to your clit. The pressure is so fucking perfect that you’re close already. God damn those fucking lesbian hands. Your favourite god damn necklace too.

She increases her pace and your eyes roll back. She smirks cockily.

“Close already? I just started.” You sigh, not having the words to retaliate. She keeps going and a chorus of whimpers and whines escape your lips. You grab onto her arm, sinking your nails into the tattood skin as you cum hard on her fingers. She kisses your neck lightly.

“So beautiful.” She says in your ear.

#ellie williams 18+#smut #ellie x fem reader #tlou2 #tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader

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fishsticksloser · 1 year

Note

Hi :> Can i request the rise turtles confessing to the reader? Like in the middle of their confession they just begin to babble a lot, but Then the reader just gives them a short kiss on the lips and say “you talk to much <3” and just casually walks away

Love Confessions

RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: aged up, mutual pinning, confession, awkwardness, eventual fluff, not written as headcanons, swearing

A/N: I am projecting so hard rn... These are long, so I put it behind a Read More to condense. :)

Donnie

You and Donnie got along really well. You'd developed quite the crush on him and he you although he wouldn't tell you that. He took you out all the time, to find mystic stuff or just search for good scrap metal he could use. Sure, most people wouldn't think anything of it, but it was a lot of fun.

"This isn't easy for me. I've never... Not like this. But... You matter to me. A lot." Donnie says as you sift through a pile of scrap.

"You matter a lot to me too, Donnie." You smile, passing him a fairly good sized piece.

"My brothers get so annoyed because of how much I talk about you." That caught your attention. You stop what you're doing, turning to him. "Stop smiling at me like that... You're going to make me fuck up..."

"Fuck up what?" You ask.

"I'm 100% sure you're all I think about. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." Donnie starts rambling, more reasons he 'appreciates' you. He keeps his eyes off you, nervous about what he's saying could possibly mean. "Look, I’m not sure if I’m liking this development. Now… Now it feels like I can’t go a day without thinking about you, and about how you’re doing, and if you’re doing well, and if you’re happy, and I just want to see you and talk to you and I miss you when you’re not there and— and—"

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His rambling stops, hand cupping the side of your face.

"You talk way to much." You laugh, pulling away from him.

"Wait... Don't." He mumbles, dragging you back to him. "Not yet."

Leo

Leo walked you back to your house after you went out to dinner. It felt like a date. Was it? Did Leo just feel too embarrassed to tell you? You 2 had known each other for quite a while, you definitely had a crush on him. Maybe you were reading too much into it.

"I had a really nice time, Leo." You smile as you get to your front door.

"Uh... Me too." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Is everything okay?" You tilt your head slightly, watching his reactions. You smile, you've never seen him this nervous.

"I just thought… Never mind. It's dumb." Leo laughs nervously.

"Come on, Leon. You can tell me anything."

"How on earth do you expect me not to fall in love with you when you look and smile at me like that?" Leo groans, dragging his hands down his face. "I’m done pretending that you’re just a friend to me when I see you so much more than that!"

He continued to ramble. You're eyes were so pretty, you laughed at all his jokes, etc. It continued, almost seeming like it would never end. So you stood on your toes, pressing your lips to his softly. He caught your waist, gently holding you close.

"If you wanted to kiss me so bad, why didn't you do it then?" You laugh.

Mikey

Mikey was your best friend, only that... Until it wasn't. You confided in Donnie your massive crush on Mikey. Donnie kept trying to get you to confess, but you were nervous. Eventually Donnie got Leo to try and convince you too. It got to the point where they left, dragging Raph with them, leaving you completely alone with Mikey.

So now you sat in Mikey's room, painting, doodling, just having fun.

"All this time I think I was bound to fall in love with you. It was only a matter of when and where." He sighs, putting down his brush.

"What?" You ask.

"I keep daydreaming about you, and it’s so distracting and annoying and I can’t stop, and it’s all because I’m in love with you and—" You quickly stop him, kissing him softly.

"Then don’t. Don’t stop daydreaming about me, don’t stop being distracted and annoyed by me. Don’t stop thinking about me. Don’t stop… Don’t stop being in love with me." You breathe. Mikey grins, kissing you again.

Raph

Raph was always so nice to you, he comforted you when you were having a bad day, he knew all the ways to make you smile. He was so genuine... You were falling so hard for this giant.

"I asked myself if I’d give you the world if I could, and yes. Yes I would. With no hesitation, I’d give you the world, if you so much as asked." He laughed. You 2 had been playing games together, but took a break to grab snacks. "So yeah, I’m pretty much fucked."

This was the first time he's ever sworn in front of you. You stared at him, open mouthed.

"I mean, I haven’t been in love with someone before but I’m pretty sure this is what being in love feels like, right?" He chuckles, looking at you. "I just really enjoy spending time with you and you really have become someone very special to me and-"

You kiss him. It was a little hard due to his height, but he was quick to help out, setting you on the counter.

"I want compensation for the mere fact that I fell way too hard for you." You laugh. He snorts at your comment. "Some bones were definitely broken on the way down."

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pearlfeline · 7 months

Text

in denial

pairing: draco malfoy x reader (supposed to be gender neutral pls lmk if there’s something i missed lol)

word count: 1,079 words

summary: speculations of draco being a death eater are something you deny without a second thought. nothing convinced you until he tells you himself.

warnings: minor violence??? nothing crazy idk if it counts as violence

a/n: severely ran out of ideas and idk what this is i made it out of frustration. WOOOOOO!!!!

Condensation trickled down the outside of your cup. You eyed it until it went all the way down, seeping into the wooden table.

“Cold butterbeer..” Hermione said with a small grin, sitting across from you. “Quite the choice, considering how it’s been practically freezing these past few days.”

“I like to chew on the blended ice.” You shrugged, smiling to yourself at how much Hermione considers your condition.

Hermione eyes you for a moment, pursing her lips almost as if she was holding back a question. If her thinking face was any more expressive, you could call yourself a mind reader.

“What is it now?” You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help but to huff out an exasperated sigh.

Hermione immediately shakes her head.

“I could be asking you that very question!”

“Where’s your mind at, Y/N?”

You look out the windows of The Three Broomsticks, hoping to catch a glimpse of Draco walking by, perhaps him even staring back at you. But he wouldn’t. Not this year. This was the year he dropped his prefect duties, was no longer right behind Hermione in his marks, and he stopped boasting about nonsensical things.

“You won’t like the answer… I’m sure of it.” You mumbled, taking a big swig from your glass.

“I didn’t ask because I wanted to hear something I like.” Hermione sighed.

Hermione knew if you were to hold back now, you would never reveal it later. There weren’t many times where Hermione and you get a lot of time without Harry and Ron. It’s either you tell Hermione or tell nobody.

“I think something’s wrong… with Draco.”

Hermione stiffened slightly, not entirely sure if she should remind you that he didn’t need your concern, or just listen to you to elaborate. “Well..?”

“All these years of teasing and torment… Just for it to end now.. I just don’t understand. He just looks so bleak.”

“I do agree with your last point, but I’m not sure if it’s anything to confront him about.” Hermione looks around before lowering her voice.

“On the train to Hogwarts, Harry was convinced Draco has become… a Death Eater.” She looks up with apologetic eyes.

“That’s nonsense.” You immediately reply.

“I said the same thing Y/N. But on the off chance that he is.. you know, you shouldn’t go following him anymore. For everyone’s safety.”

You could only feel something sink in what felt like an infinite pit in your chest.

“I know you’re friends… but just consider everything he’s done to everyone… to us..” Hermione takes your silence as a partial agreement. “If he’s not a Death Eater, he’s just cruel.”

Hermione’s words stuck to you all evening. Maybe his silence was a blessing in disguise. There was no more bullying and his friends weren’t being ordered around for the first time in nearly a decade.

Even if you were completely convinced, you had a feeling that one glance at Draco would make you go after him.

Its been a little while after your conversation with Hermione and you’ve been skipping all meals in the Great Hall. You’ve asking people to bring food back to the dorm so you could have “uninterrupted study time”. You knew if you saw Draco in the Great Hall you would disobey Hermione.

You couldn’t hide for all eternity however, so you waited until dark to use the bathroom.

No one occupied the hallway. At least in front of you.

“It’s after curfew.” Draco’s voice sounded as if he hadn’t drank any water for a week.

You quickly turn around. He looked horrible. It might’ve been the first time you’ve ever seen him sweat.

“You’re not a prefect anymore are you?” You quipped.

“Obviously.” He turns around, sauntering away.

You inhale sharply, picking up the pace to catch up with him.

Draco doesn’t acknowledge you behind him.

“Where are you going this late? The dorms are the other way”

Draco, after hearing you, reroutes himself. He heads for the doors, all without sparing you a glance.

Your cheeks grew hot with anger.

You follow after him far enough away for him not to notice. Both of you were weaving through the hallways like snakes digging through sand. It doesn’t take long for him to reach his destination. You could’ve audibly scoffed at where he chose to hide.

He leans over the railing with a permanent wince plastered over his face. It was so intense you could probably see from the back of his head.

“Really?” You angrily stomp up the steps.

Draco jumps at your voice, almost folding in half from the disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?!” He growled. “Get out of here NOW!”

“Shut up!” You interrupt. Draco’s eyebrows raise, attempting to hide the surprise on his face. He quickly regains his posture, as if he expected that.

“You don’t get to decide to be nice to me, then go back to being a little shit!”

“Why do I have to be the fool for advocating for you when you go around acting like a twat?!” You swing the small bag you had brought with you with your toothbrush and other toiletries.

Draco grabs your arm. “Shut up!” He said in a way that was almost a hiss of a wild animal. He angrily lets go of your arm. “Stop bothering me NOW. I know you don’t care about me being mean to you. You kept following me all these years because you’re just- you treat everyone this way.. but I’m going down a path you can’t follow.” His voice quivers. “If you keep showing up like this you’ll die. Leave me alone before you mess everything up. You’re not going to help no matter what, like you think you can. So just go back to bed and pretend you never saw me. GO.” He shoves you once and when he sees you don’t budge, he pushes you harder until you fall.

He flinches but quickly composes himself and turns around.

You, left to your own devices, slowly get up and pat down your pajamas. He is a Death Eater. They were right. He was just too much of a coward to even properly say it. Yet you were completely convinced of the opposite.

“I hate you.” You spat out before you ran off.

Draco only looks at his wrist watch, biting down on his trembling lip, fighting every urge to ask you for help, for you to make it all better.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #pearlfeline #fanfic #harry potter #draco x y/n #draco fic #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfiction #dracomalfoy

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desertwritings · 1 year

Text

A BREAK FROM STUDYING

A Jimmy Mcgill/Saul Goodman x Cis Female reader Y/N fanfic?

TBH this is my first time posting my work on Tumblr so I’m still figuring out the formatting. This story is smut based... like heavily smutty and gross so you have been warned. If you like it enough for me to make it a series let me know!

NOW TAKING REQUESTS!

CONTAINS: age gap, daddy k!nk, cream pie, mild squirting, public(ish) sex.

CONTEXT: You have been working with Jimmy in the mail room for years now and have always had a puppy love schoolgirl sort of crush on him since you first met, but always thought it wasn’t reciprocated. Now, one night, he shows just how badly he’s wanted you this whole time while you try to study for the bar exam.

I only had another week left until the bar exam and I spent most of my time either working in the mailroom of HHM or studying in doc review. Howard had been supportive enough, allowing me extra time to focus on my studies, all while also paying for my school costs — even if it was just through the local community college. Go Suncats! Honestly, this had been the most support I had ever received. Maybe if I grew up having more support, I would be going to Harvard instead.

“Heya y/n.” I heard the familiar raspy and pitchy tone of Jimmy as he leaned in the doorway of doc review, where I hunched over a textbook, an empty coffee cup, and a tear-stained notebook.

“It’s like — almost midnight. What are you still doing here?” I asked, not taking my eyes off my pen and paper.

I heard his footsteps get closer and the chair beside me pull out and creek as he sat beside me. “I have my reasons.” He answers in a half-assed manner.

I turned to face him, the dim lamp highlighting his playful smile and I felt my core grow weak and mushy for him.

The first time I had met Jimmy Mcgill I was working in the mail room, trying to get a job as an assistant or a paralegal for one of the partners. Freshly twenty-three with a bright and optimistic view of the world — full of drive and childish ambition. I was so focused on work and starting classes that I hadn’t taken any time to unwind — let alone care about boys or dating or anything like that. But the first time I met the mysterious brother to Chuck Mcgill, I’ll admit it was like I became a sappy, sick puppy dog. Sure, he was older — a little bit of a loser. But I was weak for the funny pathetic underdogs. Not to mention he was flirty and funny and fed into my childish delusions of how I could “fix him.” I flirted back, wore short skirts, wore the hoop earrings he complimented once, and wore my hair loose and fun. I tried. But for some reason, it never went past harmless office flirtation. I assumed maybe it was the age difference. Maybe he was uncomfortable with being with someone as young as me. Maybe he was just trying to do the right thing but not giving in to temptation with me.

Now I was almost twenty-seven, and though the schoolgirl crush had dulled a little, there were times when I would catch myself looking at him like he could move heaven and earth. Like in this moment as he sat next to me in the dimly lit document room. So I cleared my throat and turned back to the papers in front of me.

“Admit you just missed me.” I teased as the smallest of smiles tugged on the corners of my lips.

“Objection. That’s hearsay.” He teased back, leaning closer as he slid my favorite energy drink across the table with a single finger — the condensation leaving a small streak of liquid on the wood top. “Some of us went out for drinks, and I noticed you weren’t there. Ernesto said you were here studying.”

“Yeah, yeah he came and asked if I wanted to go but —” I shrugged, motioned to all the school work displayed in front of me.

“You work too hard. You should take a break and come back out with us.”

He carefully takes the pen from my fingers, puts the cap back on and sets it aside. It was a subtle and simple thing he did but I felt my skin grow warm.

“I wish I could, but — I just have a lot to study still, and the exam is —”

“ — a week away.” He interrupts me. “Which means you have time to take one tiny break out of your evening to have a little fun and destress.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy.”

“Oh, come on, y/n. It’ll be good for you!” He inches so close I can almost taste his cologne and the head and shoulders 2-in1 shampoo. “Come on — for me?”

And with that, I knew. I knew he knew that I had a stupid schoolgirl crush on him and he was using it against me, and fuck — it was working. I tried to fight a smile, shaking my head as my cheeks flushed pink.

“Fine — whatever,” I said, slamming my book shut. “but only because you seem so desperate.”

He stands up with the dumbest grin. “See? That’s my girl.”

I stand up, fixing my skirt that had ridden up, my thigh exposed past my thigh-highs, maybe even a bit of my black panties. I wasn’t thinking much of it until I caught a glimpse of Jimmy eyeing me like a lion eyeing a gazelle. It was unexpected, unfamiliar. He had looked at me before in a more appreciative way. This time it seemed more lustful, more desperate even, and it caused my chest and legs to grow hot. I could feel wetness going in between my legs, and for a moment, I got embarrassed.

“I just, uh — I just have to put this stuff in my car, and then we can —” As I was talking, he moved closer, not helping my flustered state. I stopped in my tracks, looking up at him.

I was about to say something. I was about to walk past him and run out of the room but his hands slid around my waist and I nearly forgot how to breathe. His bottom lip was pressed by his teeth, his brows furrowing in what looked like deep thought. Though it wouldn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking about.

“Jimmy —” I said, his name barely above a whisper.

“Look — am I totally crazy for thinking that you — that you want me?” He asked, head tilting just slightly as his eyes didn’t leave my own. “If I’m making shit up in my head tell me now and I’ll walk away and we’ll pretend this never happened. But if I’m right —”

I was so thrown off guard. This whole time I thought he didn’t want me. This whole time I thought I was too young for him or that maybe I wasn’t his type. But here we stood with his grip around my waist firm and hungry and waiting for direction.

“I —” I looked down and saw the bulge in his pants. He wanted me so bad in this moment he couldn’t even hide it. Without much thought, I got on my toes and pulled his neck down into my kiss. He let out a pleasantly surprised whimper, his grip moving down lower to cup my ass as he pulled me into his bulge. I could feel it stabbing me and twitching. I let out a soft and involuntary moan.

“I wanna feel how wet you are.” He groaned into my ear, sliding his right hand under my skirt and rubbing his fingers on the outside of my soaked panties. He smiled, placing a rather fervent kiss on my neck and biting my skin gently. “Fuck — you’re so wet. You’re dripping.”

“Mhmm — you make me that way.” I practically moaned the words as he moved my panties off to the side and slid one of his fingers inside me, the wet sounds loud and affirming just how badly my body wanted him.

“Come here.” He pulled his finger out of me, making me whine in protest as his hands wrapped around my waist to hoist me on the edge of the table.

At this point, I was panting, aching, my pussy pulsing for him to touch me. He shoved his index and middle fingers in his mouth and lubricated them with his own spit before shoving them into my soaking pussy without so much as a warning. I gasped, smiling, laying back on the table as he positioned my legs over his shoulders.

At first, he started off with a gentle, slow rhythm. In and out. With every push of his fingers, I could feel him pressing against my walls, making my back arch. “Faster.” I pleaded. And with that he was picking up the pace, ramming his fingers into me with force and speed. I couldn’t even handle it, my legs tried to shut as I began to feel overstimulated, but he pried them open and continued to finger-fuck me while I wiggled and writhed on the table beneath him.

I let out a loud moan that was followed by his hand cupping around my mouth to stifle my pathetic little noises. I had forgotten where we were and that anyone could just walk in and see us this way.

“You like that? Do my fingers feel good?” He was getting off on making me feel good, it was easy to tell. He was boosting his ego by making himself feel good by making me cum all over his fingers.

“Mhhhmm” I mumbled under his hand as my eyes opened and looked up at him.

“God — you’re so beautiful.” He said, staring down at me. “Be a good girl and don’t get us in trouble, okay?” He laughed a breathless laugh as he lifted his hand from my mouth. “You’re getting wetter.” He said with a pleased smirk.

“I’m so close, Jimmy, please —” and with my pitiful begging, he finger-fucked me harder, this time with three fingers while his other hand played with my clit. “I — I’ll make a mess.” I confessed, more like a warning.

“Good.” He said, not slowing his pace or showing me mercy as my body tensed and my back arched.

“Fuck — fuck I’m coming —” I squealed, wiggling around as I started to squirt just a little in between every push of his fingers — my wetness drenched his entire hand and forearm. He just kept going, too, making me moan and writhe around, all pathetic and out of control of my own body. It felt good, though, to not be in control for once. My mind wasn’t thinking about the bar exam, bills, or moving up in HHM. Truth be told, it was just thinking about Jimmy and the way he was making me feel.

“Ah fuck — you’re so sexy.” He said, taking his drenched hand and slowly pulling it away from me, pressing it to his mouth and licking the tips of his fingers. “I knew you’d taste so good.” I grinned a little, out of breath and panting on the table.

My eyes wandered to his disheveled hair and his cocky smile, then to his soaked hand that reached into his pants and pulled his erect cock out. He didn’t even need to hold it, it just stood there on its own — ready.

I slowly sat up on my elbows, practically drooling over his cock, which was bigger than I had imagined. “I want you to fuck me with that.” I confessed, looking back up at his glazed-over eyes.

He didn’t even say anything. He just grabbed me by the waist like he did before and flipped me over on the table with my ass and pussy exposed. I stuck my ass out just a little more, begging for his cock. But before he stuck it in me he kissed me down from the back of neck, down my spine, and then left a little bit on my ass cheek. Then without much warning he was shoving his hard cock into my still-soaking wet pussy. I gasped and groaned, tilting my head back at the feeling.

“Ah — fuck.” he nearly whimpered, already breathing heavily as he started off with a slow and steady pace. He leaned over me and pressed his lips to the top back of my head while he said, “I want you to call me daddy.”

I let out a soft whimper in understanding. “Please fuck me harder, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he said, fucking me harder and shoving his cock deep into me, ramming into my walls and making me whimper with every thrust. His left hand came up to the back of my head and tangled in my hair as his right hand gripped my waist firm in place as he continued to fuck me.

“Just like that, daddy, don’t stop.” I moaned, banging my hands on the table with nothing to hold onto.

He gripped my hair harder, lifting my head up as he thrust into me even more fervently — nothing but the sound of our whimpers and moans and skin slapping together.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He moaned, reaching his hand from my waist to my clit and rubbing it to the rhythm of his thrusting. It only made me moan and shake more.

“I want you to cum inside me, daddy.” I confess, biting my lower lip.

“Yeah? You want daddies cum to fill you up?”

“Please daddy — please cum for me.” I begged, barely able to get the words out.

He picked up the pace to a new speed I didn't even know anyone was capable of reaching, moaning and groaning and sweating all over my bare ass until he made a pathetic whimper sound then the next thing I knew he was emptying his load into my raw pussy — filling me up with his warmth and sliding his cock almost out of me but not quite. I could feel his cock twitching as he continued to empty himself inside me. The feeling of his cum made me even more hot and flushed.

“Holy shit.” he huffed, slowly removing his now flaccid cock from me. I turned over my shoulder to look at him looking at my cum-filled pussy with an arrogant smirk across his face. He was fucking proud of himself.

I was about to ask for a taste of his cum before we heard footsteps near the mail room. We frantically got ourselves dressed and I rushed to fix the desk and open my book back to make it look like I was still studying. Jimmy fell hard into his seat, hair all sweaty and slightly curled as he zipped up his pants.

Two cleaning ladies came in with their cleaning cart, staring at us with confusion. “Hola, ladies.” Jimmy said, with a simple wave of his hand. “You can, uh, skip this room tonight.”

They looked at each other, nodded, then walked out.

Jimmy turned to me with an amused expression, eyes moving down to the now cum-soaked chair I was sitting in and laughed a little. “Guess we should have let them clean.”

#jimmy mcgill x reader #jimmy mcgill x y/n #saul goodman x reader #saul goodman x y/n #jimmy mcgill smut #saul goodman smut #bcs fanfic #( mine / jimmy mcgill. )#( mine / saul goodman. )

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 9 months

Text

Playing Pretend (Part 9)

Two fools finally admit how they feel.

Roy Kent x Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: Language, lots of kissing, allusions to smutty things

Series Masterlist

Roy’s heart was hammering when you walked into the reception. It didn’t matter that he’d already seen how gorgeous you looked, or that his lips had been pressed against yours all weekend, or even that he was a professional fucking footballer who’d dated women like Gina Gershwin. You always had this effect on him, even more so now that he was finally ready to tell you he loved you.

His resolve flew out the window when you confidently strolled up to him and took the champagne he held in his hand. “Thought you were going to have something strong waiting for me?” you teased, downing the half-empty glass, the bubbles tickling your tongue.

“That was mine,” he chuckled. “Some server came and shoved it into my hand as soon as I walked in.” He picked up a glass from the table and offered it to you, the condensation dripping over his fingers. “This is yours.”

With a sheepish grin as your apology, you accepted the glass and took a sip. Whiskey. Your usual go-to drink when you were with Roy. The familiar burn had your mind racing, remembering the dream you had last night. God, it was kind of embarrassing. In your dream, you pounced on Roy as soon as you got back to your room from the rehearsal dinner. And he rejected you. And- ugh even worse- he was so damn nice about it. It wouldn’t be the first time you dreamt about him, it wasn’t even the raciest dream by far, but knowing he was in the same bed as you while you dreamt it… and the fact that even in your dreams you didn’t have a chance with him… oof.

But you couldn’t think about that right now. You had to take your seat next to Roy and applaud with everyone else as your sister and her new husband made their grand entrance. Instinctively, Roy reached for your hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze when Jim laid a particularly deep kiss on your sister’s lips. But, for the first time all weekend, you found that you really didn’t care. Maybe it was having the gorgeous footballer of your dreams doting on you for days now, even if it was just for show, but the stabbing feeling in your chest didn’t appear.

Instead, you turned to Roy and smiled, a real smile, and leaned close. “So, how many dances are you good for tonight?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Told you, as many as you want.” He connected his lips to yours, a deep, loving kiss, a real one, whether you knew it or not. “I am all yours tonight.”

If only he knew how badly you wished that was true. And if only you knew how true it was.

The two of you chatted with Jen and Paul during dinner, making jokes about the poshness of the weekend, blushing when your older sister began teasing you about your own wedding that she was so sure would be happening soon. Once servers came around to begin clearing plates, Roy joined your favorite brother-in-law at the bar to grab another round so you’d have something stronger than champagne for the toasts.

“God that man loves you,” Jen clucked, poking your nose affectionately.

You blushed and looked down. “Seems like it, huh?”

She nudged you. “I’m serious. That look in his eye is the same one I remember Paul having right before he asked me out for the first time. It’s cute, seeing Roy Kent all domestic and in love.” She kissed your cheek. “Especially with my little sister.”

Before you could figure out what to say, Roy was sitting back down, plopping two drinks down on the table. “Miss me?” he teased, stealing a small kiss, the naturalness of the action making your heart skip a beat.

“Always,” you answered, trying to find that look in his eye that Jen had mentioned. You thought you might have seen something in the way his eyes lingered on yours, that soft smile playing on his lips that you couldn’t believe you got to kiss. A thought you’d never had before crossed your mind: I should tell Roy how I feel.

For the first time in your life, you didn’t feel scared of the inevitable rejection of telling Roy Kent you loved him. Even though you always knew it, this weekend really showed you how much Roy cared about you. You knew that his “no” would be compassionate and full of affection and be said in a way that let you know he loved you, even if it wasn’t the way you wanted. If there was ever a time to tell Roy Kent you loved him, it was tonight.

As the best man took the microphone for the first speech of the night, Roy pulled your chair closer to his, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Alright,” he whispered in your ear. “Take a drink every time someone says something that makes you want to vomit.”

You chuckled, leaning into his embrace and stoking his cheek with your finger. “Or anytime someone narrowly avoids mentioning that the groom used to date the bride’s sister.”

Roy’s stifled laugh filled your heart. “We’ll be sloshed before the dancing starts.”

You really only half-heard the speeches. Your mind was too preoccupied with Roy- his arm around you, his breath on your cheek, the thought of telling him how you felt, the possible reactions he would have. You did listen enough to exchange knowing looks with Roy over the top of your glasses when the maid of honor- a friend of your sister’s from college- made a comment about “love at first sight” that elicited more than a few raised eyebrows.

“Fucking wanker,” Roy hissed, glaring harshly at Jim.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assured him, kissing his cheek; he immediately softened at the feeling of your lips on his skin. “Shit, sorry,” you giggled, picking up a napkin to wipe away the lipstick mark you left on his scruff.

Roy had to stop himself from telling you to leave it there, loving the idea of being marked by you.

It felt like an eternity before the dancing finally began. While you fully expected Roy to drag his feet and need a bit of prodding to get moving, he surprised you by immediately offering his hand as a bouncy Whitney Houston song urged people to the dance floor.

“Shall we?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor, thankful that you had the one partner you knew would never make fun of your lack of rhythm. Roy quickly set you at ease, bringing his body close to yours, moving his shoulders effortlessly, even giving you a flirty twirl or two. Dancing with Roy Kent was the most fun you’d ever had.

After a few fun, fast songs, a slow Adele song filled the air. Roy raised his eyebrows expectantly, taking your shy grin as permission to pull you flush against him, his hands settling low on your back, definitely lower than a friend’s hands should be. You reciprocated by letting your hands linger at the nape of his neck, your fingers brushing against those curls you loved so much.

“How’re you feeling?” Roy asked, his voice thick with concern. “Surviving?”

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

“More than surviving,” you answered lightly, wanting nothing more than to dive into those eyes that stared at you with affection. “Honestly. I’m actually having a great time with you.”

He nodded. “Good. Good.” His grip tightened on you. “D’you think anyone would notice if we disappeared? Went for a little walk?”

It was as if he could read your mind. “I don’t really care if anyone notices,” you admitted. “Come on.” You reached for one of his hands and tugged him off the dance floor, away from the reception, not stopping until you were in a darker, quieter part of the property, an overgrown garden couples often disappeared to on warm evenings like this one.

“Feels like I’m in a fucking Jane Austen novel,” Roy joked, giving your hand a squeeze.

You snorted, as if you weren’t nervous as all hell. “What do you know about Jane Austen?” you challenged.

Roy smirked. “I know they go for lots of walks in gardens. And that her books always have the best love confessions. I even know that ‘bewitched me body and soul’ wasn’t in the book, although it is a fucking romantic line.”

“Roy Kent,” you huffed, shaking your head. “When will you stop being the perfect man?”

He stopped under the cover of a willow tree, enclosing the two of you in your own private world as he took your other hand, holding both tightly. “You think I’m perfect?”

You realized what you’d just said. “I mean… come on,” you scoffed, trying to play it off. “You’re Roy Kent, aren’t you? Handsome footballer. What girl wouldn’t-”

“But you,” he interrupted, his eyes full of yearning. “You think I’m perfect?” Before you could choke out an answer, he continued. “Because I think you are. I’ve thought it for a long fucking time.”

It was as if the world was both spinning and frozen at the same time. “Roy, what are you saying?”

He kept a firm grip on your hands, his eyes searching yours frantically. “You kissed me. Last night, in our room, you kissed me.”

You froze. It wasn’t a dream.

“And I wanted it so fucking badly,” he continued, letting one of his hands cup your cheek. “But you were so fucking sloshed- and shit, I didn’t know what you really wanted and-”

“Oh, fuck this,” you gasped, grabbing his face and pulling him close, letting your lips crash into his hungrily, not caring if your nails left little crescent marks on his cheeks. If anything, they’d mark him as yours.

He melted into the kiss, his own arms wrapping around your waist to hold you tighter, tight as he could, marveling at the feeling of finally fucking having you for his own. He’d served you your drinks tonight; you were a tad tipsy, sure, and he could absolutely taste the delicious mix of whiskey and champagne and wedding cake on your tongue, but he knew you were sober enough that your kiss was telling him the absolute truth: I want you just as much as you want me.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips, refusing to break the kiss for anything short of the apocalypse. “I fucking love you.”

You seemed to agree, because you gasped, “I love you too,” into his mouth, the sensation and words both sending shivers down his spine.

The kiss lasted forever. Or barely a moment. You weren’t sure which. You just knew that when the two of you finally came up for air, there was no mistaking the delight on Roy Kent’s face, the same delight you knew you wore.

“Your lipstick’s a bit fucked,” he teased, the red on his own mouth evidence of his observation.

“I don’t think I care,” you admitted. “It’s a good color on you, anyways.” Deciding he needed a bit more of your lipstick, you pressed another kiss to his lips. “You love me, hmm?”

He nodded. “Loved you for a long fucking time actually. You?”

Despite the fact that you just had Roy’s tongue in your mouth, you were suddenly bashful. “Roy, I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”

He let his hands come up to hold your face, his grip gentle as if he was afraid you would break like a china doll. “There was this one Christmas I came home… you were wearing this little pink dress… and you were so fucking lovely.” He shrugged. “I was a fucking goner. I tried so hard not to love you… because I never thought this would happen. Even with the whole football thing, I never thought you’d see me as anything other than the boy you grew up with, your childhood mate. But fuck, it was torture.” His thumb stroked your cheek. “Never wanted anything in this whole fucking world as much as I wanted you.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, haven’t we?” you sighed, pressing your forehead to his. “So much fucking time.”

Roy pressed another kiss to your lips. “Nothing we can’t make up for,” he promised. “And trust me, I plan on making up for every moment we’ve missed.” There was a mischievous sparkle in his eye that set your skin aflame.

With a giggle, you took off the flower crown you wore and placed it carefully on top of his curls. His smile softened, a sweet, lopsided sight you took a mental photo of to hang onto forever. “Looks good on you,” you promised. Anything would look good on that man.

He pulled you back in for another kiss, this time walking you backwards and pressing your back against the willow tree that hid the two of you from the world. One of his hands cupped your face while the other lazily stroked your bare arm, as his mouth slowly explored yours. Your own hands snaked around his shoulders, caressing his neck, trying to memorize the way his hair felt in your gentle grasp. You loved the way he took his time with you, confident and timid all at once, letting out soft groans every time he realized he was kissing you.

“We should head back,” you finally murmured, eyes fluttering as you wondered when his lips had found your neck.

He sighed against your skin. “D’we have to?” The begging whine in his voice had you tightening your grip on his hair, something that had him pressing his body closer against yours.

“Unfortunately,” you giggled, your thumb stroking the material of his shirt. “I’m the sister of the bride and you’re a famous footballer. We’re pretty easy to miss.”

“Fine,” he huffed. Before he let you go, he pressed a particularly languid kiss to your neck, letting his tongue glide over the small bit of skin. The sensation had you shivering. “Cold?” he asked in a smug voice. You could feel his smirk against your skin.

You laughed and shoved him off of you. “Prick,” you teased, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Oi, you better be nice to me,” he warned playfully as the two of you reluctantly started to head back to the party. “Because our first date is either going to be some exclusive five-star restaurant, or a trip to fucking Tesco to buy some mini muffins to eat in the parking lot.”

“As long as you’re there,” you hummed, giving his hand a squeeze, “both sound fine to me.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your temple, looking positively dreamy in your flower crown. “Easy to please. I like that.” He brought you back to the dance floor, pulling you to himself. “I love you,” he repeated, wondering if you’d heard him correctly the first time, because this was all too good to be true.

“I love you too,” you assured him before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Is it too forward of me to ask how long we have to stay out here?” he purred in your ear. “Because I’d really like to take you back to our room and continue what you started last night.”

Even though you rolled your eyes and gave him a little shove, the blush on your cheeks and sparkle in your eye promised Roy he wouldn’t have to wait long.

#roy kent playing pretend #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

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fuumiku · 29 days

Text

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS . It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

#Dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi au #marcille donato #chilchuck tims #marchil #marchil march 2024 #The way i could have had this out at lunch hour but brainrotted too hard #Content making or daydreaming it’s an all-marchil economy over here #So much half-foot magic hcs lately i love it sm #Sketch dump

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floram-creative · 2 months

Text

Picking Strawberries with the TWST boys

Characters: Jade Leech, Ace Trappola, Kalim Al-asim, Vil Schoenheit

Gn! Reader

TW:None <3

Written by: Bearam

Edited by: Evershade

Hi again everyone! Sorry for such a long hiatus but I’m glad to announce that we are working towards posting more often again. Being as it is Valentine’s Day, I thought this would be the perfect time to bring some fan fiction writing back, especially for the type of content we post! Speaking of which, happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I hope you all know how loved and appreciated you are<3. Although it is just a little bit of a later gift, I hope you will enjoy this post! Lots of love, Bearam.

Jade

For Valentine’s Day, the two of you agreed that rather than do something extravagant, it would be more enjoyable for both of you to escape the noise and do something quiet and intimate. While looking for places that would fit that description, you stumbled upon a small strawberry field in the countryside that would let you pick as many strawberries as you could for a pretty reasonable price. Both of you immediately knew that was exactly what you were going to be doing.

When the fateful day finally rolled around, you couldn’t help but race around like a child. Although he had a calm exterior, Jade was equally as excited as you were and he jogged to the strawberry field (although it was partially to keep up with you). The elderly farming couple warmly welcomed the two of you, happy to see such an excited couple, handing both of you small trays with little cups of condensed milk to dip your strawberries in if you wished, and sent you on your way.

The strawberry field was impressive in size and was speckled with beautiful ruby-red strawberries scattered around the entirety of the field. Now, you always knew that Jade had a green thumb, but it was made even more apparent by his ability to pick the sweetest strawberries on the field. “All of these strawberries are delicious!” Jade smiled brightly at you, his cute, sharp teeth showing slightly which you always loved. “Well, that’s because you know how to pick all of the sweet ones!” You chuckled as you bit into one of the juicy berries. You picked one to demonstrate to Jade what you meant after being met with a very confused boyfriend. You held out the strawberry to your boyfriend as he carefully feasted on the berry, avoiding your fingertips. “I’d say that strawberry is plenty sweet…” he mumbled as he licked the juice off his lips. He picked one for you to try. “I’m more than sure they are equally as sweet!” He held out a ruby red strawberry for you to have. You, also being careful to avoid chomping on your boyfriend's fingers, bite into the strawberry, immediately filling your mouth with deliciously sweet yet tart juices of the fruit. “Jade,” you paused to look into his eyes, “That was the most delicious strawberry I have ever had the pleasure of eating.” He finished off the remaining fruit, stem, and all, and shrugged. “Perhaps I found it sweeter because you picked it for me” he teased playfully. “Maybe your fingers make them sweeter” you teased back, kissing his soft fingertips. The two of you laughed and continued picking strawberries for each other to have the rest of the day.

Ace

Although you had expected Ace to suggest going somewhere like the movies for Valentine’s Day, you were pleasantly surprised to hear him suggest a strawberry-picking date. Of course, you accepted as this sounded more like an idea you would suggest. When the day calmed around you were extremely excited to see Ace with a single rose at your door. “For you,” he said playfully holding out the red rose. “Pretty!” You exclaimed, but looked at Ace and questioned, “Did Riddle ok you stealing one of his roses?” He chuckled in response and merely whispered, “Rules are meant to be broken you know.” You sighed as he dragged you out to head to the field.

When you got there, you were surprised by the quaintness of the field. While it was relatively nearby, it was surprisingly empty, allowing the two of you full access to the field. The little strawberries were bright red and very plump. “Whoever gets the most wins!” Your boyfriend yelled, grabbing a basket near the entrance of the field. “Oh, you are so on!” You yelled back, grabbing a basket of your own and picking as many of the juicy berries as possible. Ace occasionally Waltzed by, snagging a few of your strawberries and eating them. “If Riddle catches you for that rose I am not going to be the one helping you make a strawberry tart!” You yelled back, Ace kissing your cheek before scurrying away laughing his socks off. After a few more minutes, and your basket full to the brim, you went to go find Ace to tell him you were done, only to find him with a basket equally as full. It was going to be a close one, and you two sat down to count your strawberries and (drumroll please) you won by a single strawberry! “Ha! And that would have been more if you did it steal so many!” Ace rolled onto his back in defeat, “You’re too good at this! I had to at least give myself a shot at winning!” You laughed and asked, “So…” you said playfully as you rolled over next to him, “What do I get for winning?” Ace lay in thought for a couple of seconds until finally reaching his bright idea. “Dinner is on me and you get to choose where to go.” You excitedly got up, picking up your basket of strawberries, and pulling your boyfriend off the floor. “Let’s go then!”

Kalim

A couple weeks before Valentine’s Day Kalim started to plan an extravagant party which you shot down as kindly as you could by suggesting going to a strawberry field instead (which Jamil silently thanked you for). Kalim excitedly took up the idea and immediately started planning the excursion to the strawberry field. When the day came around, you were greeted by an ecstatic boyfriend, holding a basket containing a beautiful assortment of wildflowers. “I was too excited to get much sleep so I decided to get some for you!” He proudly smiled at his gift, offering the basket to you. “You can use the basket for the strawberries too!” Before you had the chance to thank him, the two of you found yourselves on the magic carpet, zooming into the field.

When you got there, it was a pleasant surprise. It was a small field, in a beautiful area near a quaint lake, the surrounding wildlife slowly budding into the spring season. Kalim helped you off the carpet, holding out his hands to you, and continued to hold you close as you entered the field. The whole field was bursting with life, the berries sparkling in the sunlight. You excitedly skipped to the end of the field, escaping your lover's embrace, and spun around in joy. He smiled softly as you frolicked around in the field and brought back some berries in the basket he gave you. “Look at this one!” You smiled, “it’s so pretty!” Kalim picked up the strawberry, and playfully pulled your hand closer to his mouth, eating the berry. “Mmm!” He lit up, “tastes good too!” You laughed at his satisfaction. “No really! You have to try one!” He smiled, snagging a nearby berry and holding it by your mouth. You carefully but down, avoiding your boyfriend’s fingers, and looked up in shock. “That is the best strawberry I’ve ever had!” He chuckled back, “I told you!” The two of you made your rounds across the field until you filled the basket up. “We can take some back to Jamil!” Kalim beamed. “I’ll take some for Grimm too!” You smiled back. The two of you hurriedly dragged the heavy basket back to the magic carpet and left the fields with excitement, hoping to see the reaction of your dear friends.

Vil

Vil had always been the type for extravagant dates, taking you to the nicest places in town for a “simple date”. After all, he had to pamper his muse. Valentine's Day was no different, as he proposed his luxurious plan in detail to you weeks before, down to the exact time of day. However, you had to admit that while you did enjoy his pampering, it was difficult to go to town without Vil getting recognized, taking time out of your very rare dates. While you appreciated your lover's efforts in planning something so extravagant for Valentine’s Day, you proposed your own idea. “This all sounds really wonderful, but what if we went here instead?” You said as you leaned closer to Vil, motioning to your phone. You had seen videos of people going to a strawberry field recently, and it sparked your interest. “It’s further from town, but I think it would be nice!” You explained as the video ended. Although you hadn’t expected Vil to be so keen of your idea, especially being as it was outside where the sun could potentially damage his pristine skin, not to mention the dirt and bugs commonly found in a place such as a strawberry field. Contrary to your belief, he seemed to entertain the idea, meeting your gaze with excitement. “That sounds amusing!” He replied joyfully, immediately starting to plan the little excursion.

When the day finally rolled around, you were greeted by Vil and a small, well-wrapped box. “For you.” He said, handing you the box. You were surprised, not knowing whether to save the gift to open later until he said, “What are you waiting for dear? Open it up!” You gently unwrapped the box, finding a pair of bracelets inside. You immediately thanked him and realized that although they were the same bracelet, they were differing in color. One in gold, and the other in silver. “I got one for the both of us, but I thought I would let you choose first.” He explained, smiling softly. “Are you sure you’re not just making me choose because you couldn’t decide which one suited you more?” You replied, chuckling. “Although this is well in my character, I promise it is truly because I wanted you to choose first.” He laughed back. You struggled with the decision for some time before finally making up your mind, clasping the remaining bracelet on Vil’s wrist. “ Just for the record I think you’d suit both” you smiled, as he clasped the other onto yours. He smiled back and led you outside, the both of you now heading to the field.

When you arrived, you were pleased to see the field relatively empty, giving the two of you plenty of privacy, and there was an abundance of ripe berries to enjoy. You skipped off ahead of your lover, excited to try some of the fruit. You picked one off the vine and took a large bite, the sweet flavor making your eyes widen in surprise. You spun around and ran to your boyfriend, immediately picking another berry and handing it to Vil. “Try One!” You exclaimed, eagerly waiting for his reaction. Taking a bite himself, he met your eyes with surprise. You chuckled at his reaction and took his hand, the two of you walked through the field, picking berries to your heart's desires.

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