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acerathia · 7 months

Text

Magic Shop || S. Todoroki

Summary:

After 'accidentally' getting cursed, you seek the witch of the forest to fix this problem. Only did you not expect a beautiful man to reside there...

Wordcount: 12.4k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Witch!Todoroki Shoto / GN!Reader

Tags/CW:

witch!shoto, contractual partners to friends to lovers, pining!! lots of pining, aged-up characters, GN reader, honestly mostly vibes in the woods idk what to say, fluff, innuendos, but sfw, maybe shoto is ooc, forgive my transagression <;/3

Note:

Please note that information about witches may be inaccurate as I was only using my fantasy. And any links are safe!! Also!! This is part of the 'Haunted House Collab' by Willow's House, check out the other works!!

Your hand slaps against the surface of your ringing phone, hoping to silence it with a lucky stroke back to sleep. But that only works for a couple of minutes as it starts once again relentlessly chiming, with no way to stop it. With a groan you remember the infinite number of alarms you had set yourself the night before, your past self too aware of your strong desire to sleep overpowering your need to go to work. So you don’t have a choice, you’d like to keep your job for as long as possible, even with your current sleeping habits.

Slowly you swing your upper body up, and blink blearily, just staring into your room for a couple of seconds, just trying to force you to properly wake up. You take your phone into your hand to stop the still blaring alarm and of course every subsequent alarm after that one. You run your hands over your face, once again trying to wake yourself up before getting up. Shuffling your feet, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. A good splash in your face does wonders against this fatigue, but only sometimes, so you hope it works today.

It actually helped a bit, your eyes stinging from the direct contact with the flying water. After finishing the rest of your routine, you go back to your room and put your work clothes on, ignoring the crinkles in them, even if your hands mindlessly try to flatten them, they will eventually disappear, hopefully. You just don’t have time nor the patience to iron them out. Nobody is going to notice them underneath a blazer. A last look in the mirror tells you that you do look presentable enough to show up at work. So you grab your necessities and hurry out of the door.

You don’t hurry because you might be late, you just like to be a bit early on the street, never sure what might delay your way, a traffic jam leading every car to link its arms with each other, making any other form of transportation nigh unusable. This especially accounts for you being stuck between arms and torsos of other people, holding for dear life on a pole in the bus, trying your best to avoid falling onto the ground with every rumbling stop.

Your stop draws near, and you’re finally able to leave the suffocating transportation can, you take a second to breathe, to collect yourself once again. The shaking of the bus has almost begun to lull you back to sleep, even if you were standing with hands in a death grip. So you slap both of your cheeks and continue your way to your workplace.

At your arrival, you think that luck must be on your side, as you still have a couple of minutes until your shift starts, enough time to calm down after all that speed walk, and simply drink some water. You put your stuff into the locker and begin your work. And you hope to keep that luck running for the rest of the morning.

But it seems that your luck is already strained thin, as you mess up some of the dates by accident, inconveniencing a visitor at their work. So you hurry up to apologize for this mistake before they can ask for your boss.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. We’ll fix this as soon as possible, so feel free to take a seat, Mrs. Nukarumi,” you offer her with a smile, not moving a muscle as her face shifts at the name-drop. You don’t realize your mistake until she steps closer, a menacing aura clogging your airways. You begin to panic, but you keep your face professional, a smile, a questioning tilt to the head.

“Listen, I can excuse some mishap at work, happens to the best of us. But getting my name wrong, and to such a distasteful degree is arrogant, especially after being quite the regular at your establishment,” she puts two fingers on your forehead, her nails pressing against your skin, and now you drop your smile for a frown, as the shadow of her hand covers your face, suffocating in a way only air can be. “It’s Nakamura, and I’d like to know how you will live your life without a soul ever recognizing you.”

Her fingers begin to feel warmer with each second, and at first, you thought it might be due to the prolonged skin contact. That is until this warmth turns into heat, her fingerprints searing themselves into your skull, your skin non-existent. Some kind of pain spreads all over your facial features, not painful enough to coax out a scream, but enough to make your muscles twitch in response. At this sensation, you try your best to pull away, but you seem to be glued to her fingertips, like she’s holding the strings of your body between her knuckles with this simple touch.

You finally manage to take a step back the moment her fingers leave your skin. She seems to be satisfied with whatever she just did, as a grin spreads over her face as she glances over your face. Mischief is coloring the outlines of her lips before she just leaves without another word, not caring if the situation is fixed any time soon.

For some reason, this is the least of your worries, as you make your way to the bathroom with quick steps in search of a mirror. But the moment you stand in front of one, you can’t see anything wrong with your face, not even a small print of her fingers on your forehead. Everything looks normal and proper to you, so you just shrug it off, keen on returning to your post behind the desk.

On the walk back to your space, you come across the manager, who gives you a weird look, and you glance down at yourself, thinking your clothes might have gotten in disarray. But there’s nothing wrong with them. You still straighten your blazer a bit, which doesn’t seem to help, as he finally comes up to you.

“Excuse me, this area is for staff only,” he tells you with a warning in his voice, and you can only furrow your eyebrows at that.

“Uh, yes, I am a staff. It’s my shift right now,” you reply, confusion tinting your voice.

“Lying is useless in this case, I don’t recognize you, and I know all of my staff.” He shakes his head in some form of disappointment before threatening to call security if you don’t clear the space immediately.

Absolutely confused, you just leave the space, and even the building altogether, just heading home, because what else are you supposed to do? You got kicked out by your boss, for some strange reason, and nothing makes sense to you.

What did he say again? He doesn’t recognize you? That’s the wildest reason to kick someone out, ever. Does he want to fire you, or is he pulling some kind of elaborate prank or scheme? You honestly don’t care, you just hope you still get paid for your work.

As you have some time to spare, for obvious reasons, you decide to take a short trip to the store to get yourself some groceries, and maybe you could chat a bit with your acquaintance there, letting a couple of minutes pass in idle talk.

So you enter the store and begin collecting whatever your heart desires, and whatever your wallet allows you, before making your way to the register, where your almost friend works. You smile and greet them, hoping to be able to listen to whatever gossip they have at the moment. But they only give you the usual customer service smile, the usual greeting voice, no recognition sparking in their eyes at all.

Your chest constricts and you try to think of what you might have done to offend them, yet nothing seems to be the problem. And you could hardly bother them while they’re working, so you leave the place without inquiring any further about any possible reason.

Trudging home, you can’t help but wonder if you had done something for all of this to happen. There’s no way this day is filled with one unlucky incident after the other. There’s no correlation for this bad luck, you started your day as you do every single day. The only weird moment was with that weird woman, who just grabbed your face for no reason. But whatever she did, it didn’t work, you checked yourself in the mirror and everything looked fine to you, normal. So why does it seem like no one can recognize you?

You enter your home as the final puzzle clicks, and everything makes sense, well barely. A gasp escapes you at this revelation, and you almost throw your groceries onto the table, grabbing for your phone. With a frown, you open the front camera, seeing yourself, with every feature you know and are used to. Maybe the effect is similar to the one with a mirror?

You decide to take a picture of yourself, not focusing much on looking good, but rather on verifying your thoughts. After you take one where you’re sure your whole face can be seen, you open the gallery to click on the newest picture. But instead of a picture, you’re faced with a blurred mess. Did your hands tremble? There’s no way they moved that much while you took the picture. Still, you take another one, and another one, and another one. And all of them turn out to be blurry.

Chewing on your bottom lip you scroll further to some of the older pictures you have on your phone and they all look normal, your face still visible and clear. So there’s only one conclusion: only the ones you took today have that particular problem, so that means the woman had actually done something unexplainable to you.

With a sigh you put your phone away, driving your hand over your face. You screwed up, you accidentally messed up with the wrong person today, and now you reap the consequences. What are you supposed to do now? How could you even undo this? You can’t go to work if no one recognizes you, and you can’t just not work! You’re ruined, your life will be in shambles over a little mistake, this is so ridiculous.

Panic is running hot through your veins and you do what every sensible human being would do in such a dire situation. You take your phone and look it up, even if you don’t know how to phrase the problem properly. So it isn’t surprising when the first couple of hits you stumble across are different subreddits and medical pages about loneliness. But no matter how far you read into those, there is just no correlation between them and your current problem.

Thus, you dive deeper and you discover some shady-looking forum, all small font and 2000s style of blogging, in which you read a rather recent post.

Does the witch in that forest actually exist? Cuz I heard rumors, but no one has shown real pics smh. If yes, how do you meet them? Like, I wanna get some potions or stuff, idk

– i guess that’s one way to touch grass – that’s some witchful thinking LMAO – ofc, u just gotta go that fb page, there’s proof

Your curiosity gets the best of you and you click on the link, which turns out to be a rickroll. You don’t know if you’re supposed to laugh or groan in frustration. The only upside of this is that you had gotten some form of lead to… something. You’re not quite sure what the whole witch thing is about, but if there’s smoke, there must be a fire. At least you hope so, because it’s the only thing that could solve your problem at the moment. You’re pretty sure the woman put some kind of curse or spell on you, there’s no other way to achieve this kind of effect.

Naturally, you’re going to look for that witch now. You have quite some free time left, so maybe there is some upside to that too…

Trying to be positive about the whole predicament, you trade your current clothes for something more robust, something suitable to endure a visit to the forest. The place mentioned in the post isn’t that far from your living place, so you plan to walk there, getting some blood running to prepare you for the worst.

With a bottle, your phone, and whatever is necessary for your trip, you leave the building. Your phone in hand, you try to discover the fastest way to these woods to avoid losing time.

Finally arriving at the entrance of the forest, you decide to take the already existing paths, leisurely walking along them. And you have to admit it has taken you some time to realize something important in your current endeavor: there’s no way a witch is going to be living on the equivalent of a main street of the forest. No one would do that if they’re actively trying to get by without notice, and witches don’t want people to know where they live. That’s like, their lore or something.

This makes sense, and you nod to yourself, convinced by your own logic before you step off the path. At first, you paid attention to where you put your foot down, careful to not destroy any plants or to get stuck somewhere. But after a while, you simply forget to look at the ground and where you’re going. As a result it shouldn’t be a big surprise when one of your feet gets caught in something, you’re not quite sure what, because the moment you topple over you immediately begin to roll down a hill.

Scrunching your face, you brace yourself for the upcoming impact, hoping sincerely you won’t get knocked against a rock or a stump, breaking something or injuring you in any other way.

Nothing happens. Slowly the rotations come to a stop and you feel your back thud against the ground one last time, even if you still feel the turbulence in your head.

After taking a couple of seconds to get your head straight, you hesitantly open your eyes, only to glance at the face of another person. And for a moment you feel like nothing is real, he’s beautiful. Soft plush lips, slightly agape in surprise, eyes widened and sparkling in the early afternoon sun, and you need to look a couple of times back to notice the different colors, gray and blue, a storm separated from its lightning. His lashes brush against his smooth skin on one side, and against a burn mark on the other, as he blinks, trying to understand what just happened.

You immediately close your eyes again, hoping to fool him into thinking you had passed out, even if he probably saw you staring at his face like a fish out of water.

A slight chuckle, air fanning over your face, tells you that he is no fool. So you have no other choice but to take a breath and to slowly sit up, avoiding looking into his eyes with all your might, even if you’re compelled to look at him just a while longer.

Instead, you start looking around and you notice that you have fallen onto the edge of a beautiful meadow, flowers sprouting all around you, colors bursting underneath the late afternoon sun. The wind dancing between the petals. The delightfulness of this place fills you in awe, and it only grows bigger when you glance back at him, seeing the perfect man sitting underneath the rays of the sun, the wind ruffling his red and white hair playfully. You think about how it feels to touch this cloud in the afternoon sun.

That is until you finally register his gaze lingering on you. Your eyes widen in surprise and you can’t look him in the face anymore, once again. Nerves get the best of you, as you realize that he must have caught you staring at him and you fiddle with your fingers before you gather some courage to talk to him.

“Uhm, sorry for that, heh… You might be wondering why I’m here, and honestly you won’t even remember me when I’m gone, which is for the best I’m not going to lie. But I still wanted to ask, and I know it’s a weird question, but honestly, my whole day has been so weird, you can’t even believe it. What I mean is, do you happen to know where maybe, just maybe, where the witch of this forest is? I kinda got into that situation and I need help…” After getting everything off your chest, you take a second to take a breather.

“Oh, yes, I know where the witch is–”

“Really? Wow, that’s cool, rad, cool, cool! Oh, do you mind telling me? That would be awesome, for real,” you interrupt him, leaning forward in an outburst of excitement, once again just staring at his face

“No, I don’t mind. It’s simple really. The witch is here,” he answers, and if you’d known it better, you could have sworn to see some mischief glinting in his eyes.

But you’re too distracted, squinting your eyes trying to see anyone else in this open meadow. The witch can’t be hiding in such an open space, so you turn around to look behind you.

You jut your lips out when you couldn’t see anyone in the near distance. “Where? There’s no one here?”

The corners of his lips raise slightly. “Well, because we’re the only two people here, the best conclusion is that I’m the witch, is it not?”

You can only nod slowly, mouth agape and eyes roaming over his figure once again. Now that he mentions it, if you focus a bit on his blue eye, the one seemingly illuminating and softening his scar, you could discern symbols circling his iris, whispering secrets only he is to know.

It takes you a moment to bring these two concepts together, as this turn of events just swept you over in a cold rush. Even if you’re going to be honest with yourself, what did you expect? Some beautiful woman with long black hair, miraculously emerging from the waters of some shallow pond? This probably is your sign to read less fantasy… Does it count as fantasy if witches are apparently real?

You blink and push this thought away, this is really not the time to contemplate the structure of your world. So you take a breath, trying to formulate your thoughts more coherently this time.

“Oh, okay. Uhm, so… hold on, no, how am I supposed to call you? Because there’s no way I’m calling you a witch for, I don’t know how long, but that doesn’t matter… Uhm,” you veer off topic before just introducing yourself in the same breath.

Wow, you did amazing, you should pat yourself on the shoulder, because how can someone start at a point and finish at the wrong place? You bite on your bottom lip, slightly crunching your face. But the moment he says your name, the strain seems to melt off, you’re so taken aback by how elegant your own name sounds from his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose you can call me Shoto.”

With a nod, you do your best to memorize his name and to replace the imaginary picture of a witch with a replication of him, sitting between the flowers, and you’re aware that your memory could never truly replicate this look, this moment; it always be something faded compared to this, and you curse your insufficient brain capacities. Until you remember the actual reason you came looking for him.

“So, Shoto. I need your help, you know, as the witch, because, uh, I don’t know if you noticed already, but I guess someone cursed me? For some reason. Unrelated to anything really…” you laugh nervously and avoid his gaze “Like no one is able to recognize me, which is weird! I look normal in mirrors, but not in pictures? And, uh, see, I kinda need my face to work, you know? Is there something you could do to help me? You’re my last resort, pretty please?” You had hurried to explain your reasons for arriving at this place before the silence between you could even start, or worse, before he got the time to just stand up and leave.

He leans back and his eyes glance over your face, examining you, and you notice how the contrast between his eyes seems to grow for a moment; one almost glowing eerily while the other darkens to reach the depth of the universe. It feels like you’re in the presence of a supernova, a star about to burst by its seams.

But the moment he blinks with a nod the moment is gone, almost like it never was any different. At least he looks like he found whatever he’s looking for, the curse probably.

“I will help you. But in exchange I do need you to aid me in the time it takes me to break this particular spell,” he sets his condition and slightly cocks his head to the side, waiting for your response.

A wide grin splits your face as he agrees to help you. excitement thrumming through your veins at the prospect of working with an actual witch, and even getting rid of this problem altogether. But you still take your time to weigh the choices in your head.

You don’t really have another choice, do you? Because if you refuse, what are you supposed to do? It’s either you help him with his potions, whatever that requires of you, you’re ready to even give your blood for this, or you just suffer for the rest of your life under this horrid curse of unrecognition. Even if you have to admit that this condition of yours could be a real killer in the shady business of the underground, assassinations, break-ins, or whatever illegal activities they entertain. No one would ever be able to catch you, as you practically have no face to be identified by. If you only possessed more usable skills to pursue this potential path of corruption, but you don’t. So you only truly have one choice left.

You readily agree to his terms, on your own condition, you want to be able to go home at the end of the day. You’d like to enjoy your sleep if you involuntarily have to miss work. With the same reasoning, you promise him to come back tomorrow before you’re already on your way home. You hadn’t noticed how late it already was, because the meeting didn’t feel like it took hours off your day. But who are you to judge the sun for packing up a bit earlier, at least it’s still bright enough for you to walk on your own. And on your trek home, you see his captivating eyes every time you blink, almost being able to feel the difference in temperature, coals and ice, hot and cold.

They haunt you, no matter how often you shake your head to get rid of them. You do have bigger problems to concentrate on. But your worries vanish once you land on your bed, all washed up and in clean clothes. The short hike seems to have taken a toll on you, or maybe the revelation of the whole situation, as you fall asleep as soon as you could even think of sleep.

The next morning you wake up all sore, and you whine into your pillow, already despising the possibility, the simple thought of getting up. Yet you sit up and grab your phone to tell your boss that you’re sick. Which technically isn’t a lie, if something does belong in that section, then it’s a curse for sure, and it’s the best option to not get kicked out again, or fired for not showing up to work.

With that you pat yourself on the back for finding a solution to that particular problem, and for giving yourself at least a week to solve this mess. If it doesn’t work out by then, you’d have to get a doctor’s notice, and you honestly doubt that a doctor can diagnose you with this if they even can recognize anything in the first place.

One problem out of the way, you go through your morning routine to head out to start solving the main problem. You put on some proper clothes for this trip, and this time you’re not keen on not tumbling down a hill, and being aware of the hill in the first place will definitely make it a lot easier.

The way to the meadow turns out to be a lot easier once you know the way, and as a consequence, you gain fewer bruises on the way down. You’re glad for that because the ones you earned yesterday throb every time they get touched, even by the barest breeze. But you will survive this horrendous pain, everything to reach your goal of getting rid of this curse.

If only everything is as easy as you wish it to be. Because the moment you arrive at the border of the meadow, you encounter another problem: Shoto isn’t here today.

You curse under your breath while glancing around the empty open space. What are you supposed to do now? You can’t just walk aimlessly and shout his name into the darkness of the woods. That would be stupid, you don’t know what lurks in its insides, and you’d like to avoid disturbing the wildlife and him, probably, if he is actually living in this forest.

Should you just take a seat in the middle of the meadow? Would he be able to see you from wherever his residence is? Once again you curse, but this time at your inability to plan forward, because you really should’ve asked for some details, but for some reason, his agreement seemed enough for you to just up and leave. Now it is obvious how you didn’t think any of this through.

With a sight, you lightly kick the ground. After you take one last look over the meadow, you decide to walk up the borders of the open space in hopes of finding some sort of hint about his possible whereabouts.

It takes you some time to come across a small river, water glistening clearly under the sun. and you decide to follow it on a whim. Honestly, this is probably the next best thing, because everyone needs some form of water, and this forest has no lake, so the river makes absolutely sense.

The flowing water leads you deeper into the woods, but you can’t actually get lost if you just follow the river in the opposite direction, so you’re not really worried about that.

This decision turns out to be the right one because after some time you spot a cottage in the near distance. Surrounded by bushes and the ivory sparkles under the rays of the sun breaking through the ceiling of leaves. As you step closer, leaving the river behind, you’re able to see the veranda filled with all different kinds of plants in pots, hanging, standing, thriving. You think you can even discern some form of garden on the other side of the building, but you decide to stop in front of the door rather than visit that small space. Who knows how a witch is able to protect their place.

Before you even think about knocking, you note how this place doesn’t look like what you expect of a lair, but honestly, you don’t have any other visual than the gingerbread house, and to be fair, that’s a fairytale and as much as Shoto looks like he came straight out of one, there’s no connection between these two. Not that it matters, you’re certainly not a kid, so you doubt he would eat you, which is unlikable in the first place.

You raise your fist to finally knock on the wood of the door, but before your knuckles could even connect with it, the door actually opens, and you make eye contact with Shoto. You slowly lower your fist and notice how he’s holding a basket in his hand, eyebrows raised in silent surprise. For a moment you both just look at each other in confused surprise until he finally starts speaking.

“Oh, good morning. I didn’t expect you to be here so early. Come in,” he steps aside to fully open the door, inviting you into his home.

With hesitation you step inside, looking around as curiosity tempts you with its soft claws. A smell of a mix of herbs wafts in front of you as you inhale. There is a small seating arrangement, a loveseat, a sofa, an armchair, all resting on top of a soft carpet, inviting you to sit on the ground and enjoy some tea or read a book.

Connected to that space is an open kitchen, to which he heads to, and you hurry to follow his lead. It takes you a moment to take your shoes off, so you can’t help but follow his path carefully, too scared to accidentally disturb this calm space of his.

His home seems rather normal, but once again, what did you expect? Some kind of massive cauldron, some random stuff hanging off the ceilings, or body parts in a mysterious liquid? You should’ve expected this, this is just a normal cottage in the depths of the forest, the only exceptional thing, or person, is Shoto, and you don’t mean him being a witch.

Once you arrive in the space of the kitchen, he motions you to sit at the table, and you do, your expectations getting the best of you and waiting for some form of grimoire to thud onto the table. But nothing of that sort happens, he just sits on the opposite side, leaning his chin in his hand and just looks at you with slightly furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips.

You try your best to stay silent, even if the urge to say something is getting stronger with the second, but you withstand his piercing gaze resting on your hot skin. You bite on your tongue to swallow your question down. Especially when his eyes begin to emit a low light once again, all stormy weather, dark clouds shrouded in lightning.

It abates the moment he hums. “I see. Well, I guess I am able to undo this spell, but we both don’t know anything about the workings of the spell, it probably will take me some time to fix the proper counterspell. For that, I need your presence. Should we get started?” He leans back, his eyes glowing under the sunlight, but this time it feels a lot softer, less like magic and more like a fairy tale.

The next thought you have is filled with indignation because he just assumed you don’t know anything about the spell. Well you don’t, but it’s about the assumption itself, not the fact that you have no idea about this craft. So you can’t really say anything in your defense, because there’s nothing to defend but your pride, and it’s not worth it at the moment.

“Sure thing, but I have to let you know: I know how that woman put this spell on me, and… uh…” you start confidently, only to peter out, not knowing how to continue this trail of thought.

Despite that, he does seem surprised by that in some way, indicated by the way his eyebrows shoot up. “Is that so? Would you mind telling me?”

You almost think to hear some sort of accusation in his tone, but you have no reason or idea why that might be. So you just shrug it off before delving into a short explanation of the events that had occurred to you, until you recount the first meeting with him. Of course, there are some details you omit, because you’d rather not embarrass yourself in front of such a graceful person, because he’s a witch, not because you think he’s so beautiful you might turn blind if you look at him for an extended period of time, that would be ridiculous. Also, telling him about your fall is just unnecessary to the plot of this story, isn’t it?

He nods, eyes telling you that he realizes the omission, but he doesn’t comment on it. At least he seems like he understands more about the situation than you, simply from the description of whatever she had done to you, from whatever you had felt.

“This does help quite a bit. Doesn’t make the process much faster, just easier. Not that it matters, I’m qualified to undo this spell either way.” He stands up and begins to open the cabinets, rummaging through their insides before pulling out a notebook and a pen.

There’s no way this is his spellbook. The place where he keeps his most secret, most important spells. It looks like any ordinary notebook from the store, and it probably is, considering how normal everything looks. Maybe he has a special way of safekeeping?

You squint and stare at the notebook, trying to discover something hidden, but the only thing you see is how Shoto is writing some stuff down, the signs clear and elegant.

Only occasionally does he look up, eyes roaming over your face without sitting still on anything in particular. You doubt he could even if he wanted to.

And now your thoughts wander to the possibility that he would actually want to look at you, how his gaze would soften when caressing your skin, the sun sparkling against his dual-colored eyes, making them glisten with adora–

No, you have to stop here, or you’re not going to survive his presence in the upcoming brewing sessions. Healing sessions… Yeah, healing sessions, because he’s healing your hurt ego, getting rid of your predicament. There’s nothing else to call them. Uncursing? Spell Deletion? No, that sounds ridiculous. Healing sessions sound like some form of therapy, and being in the forest is kind of therapeutic, well, his presence sure is. Not that the name matters, you’re never going to talk about it with anyone, ever.

You blink a couple of times to come back to reality, only to make eye contact with him and your breath hitches. You do your best to act casual and prop your elbow onto the back of the chair but you slip and you have to catch yourself with a jerk.

A nervous laugh escapes you and you lean back, crossing your arms in front of your chest to get rid of your fidgeting. You avoid looking into his eyes this time, focusing on the fringe falling onto his forehead, red and white braiding into each other seamlessly.

He doesn’t even bother to say anything about what just happened and just goes straight to business. “Here’s what we’re going to do in the next few days,” he starts explaining like you just didn’t utterly embarrass yourself in front of him. “I doubt a counterspell will work without consequences because we don’t know the exact working of your curse, even if I have a good idea of it. Still, I don’t want to risk it, so I’m simply going to brew a potion, which will wear it out until it disperses on its own. That means we have to go out and collect some necessary materials. We’re going to do that later though, as there are some preparations I have to make first.”

With that, he closes his notebook and leaves it on the table as he stands up. He motions you to follow him and you leave the house at his heels.

Outside he pulls some sort of platter from below a table and hands it to you before he kneels on the ground in front of a pot in the form of a long rectangle. Inside it is a green plant, stalks spreading out like rays of the sun, leaves tiny and feather-like.

“These are Maidenhair Ferns, also called The Hair of Venus. They could have some effect on your current condition, but we have to dry them first for their potency to unfold. I’m going to take care of the cutting of the plant and I ask you to put them neatly onto the platter. That way we can continue our work at a faster rate,” he explains, his gaze only brushing over you before leading his focus back onto the plant in front of him.

You nod, even though you’re not sure he could register this movement with the way he’s intently looking at the leaves of the ferns. You still take a seat by his side and put the big plate on your lap, ready to receive the first leaves and stems.

At first there isn’t a lot for you to do, so you’re busy looking around, taking in the sights of the forest, enjoying the sun on your face, but soon enough you start taking the stalks filled with neat leaves and arrange them properly on the plate, trying to avoid stacking them as much as possible.

Luckily, he doesn’t pick that many plants for you to even begin thinking of that possible problem too much. With a platter covered with just the right amount of leaves, he finally turns around to face you.

“We need to pluck the leaves from the stem because each part is different, and will need a different time to properly dry. We only need the leaves for the potion, but I’d hate to waste the rest,” he murmurs, his long, nimble fingers already running along the stem of one of the plants, picking the leaves off with careful fingertips, barely staining his nail beds in the process.

You proceed to take one fern in your hand, trying your best to imitate him and to rip the leaves at the right spot and not rip them apart accidentally. Sticking your tongue slightly between your teeth in concentration, you manage to not destroy the first fern, even if the process has gotten a bit messy, your fingers turning slightly green. You begin to understand why people who garden have a ‘green thumb’.

You both work in a comfortable silence for some time, simply enjoying the repetitive motion. Before you even dare to think about standing up, you both make sure that everything is properly separated and not layered. Just then you stand up and follow him around the corner to some sort of backyard. You reckon this is the place you glanced at earlier. There’s a table standing out in the open, and he motions you to put the platter you were carrying onto its surface. In that position, the sun is going to dry them for you, essentially doing the work for you.

The moment your hands are free, you get the urge to stretch into the rays of the sun, your blurry, lidded gaze glancing over the edge of the open space between the bushes. And that’s where you spot it. A beautiful deer.

With a silent gasp, you blindly try to tap Shoto on the shoulder, accidentally brushing against his jaw in your hurry. Normally you would apologize, but you don’t dare tear your eyes away from the deer, much less make a noise, in fear of it disappearing without a trace. The doe, you correct yourself, as it lacks any form of horns.

“Oh,” you hear Shoto say softly under his breath, finally spotting the deer too.

For a moment you both just stay silent, not daring to even move too much, simply enjoying the mesmerizing sight of a doe under the shining sun, framed by the lush green of the forest. That is until the deer just turns around and jumps away like it just doesn’t care about you both just staring at it in awe.

You release a small puff of air, some tension releasing as you had been too caught up in the moment. Turning around in his direction, you regret even breathing the second you lock eyes with Shoto, his face closer to you than you had anticipated. It seems like you both have moved closer in that short moment, huddling together for some reason at the mere sight of the doe.

Your eyes jump over his dark eye to the lightning blue one, electrifying you like a summer storm, and you wonder if he’s gotten hit by lightning itself, resulting in these mesmerizing eyes, and the scar around that bright eye, the only blemish on his smooth, soft looking skin. Maybe it’s connected to his powers, to these symbols deep inside the blue, unreadable to you.

To avoid staring at his scar, your gaze travels over his high cheekbones to his plumb lips, and you could almost imagine them quirking slightly, the moment before he reveals a true laugh of joy out of his soul. This thought startles you and you immediately take a step back, bumping into the corner of the table.

A low whimper escapes as you double over, clutching your wounded side in a dramatic manner. At least now you’ve got a reason to avoid looking at him, to avoid getting lost in all these daydreams about him and…

“Are you okay? Did you hit a sensitive spot?” he asks, worry tinting his voice as he puts his hand softly on your back.

You nod at first before you begin to shake your head, these two questions colliding in your head, all while you try to ignore the possible innuendo. If you step into that territory of thought, you might as well run into the woods and bury yourself in some random cave, to never face him again.

The pain slowly abates after you take a couple of breaths to calm yourself down. It’s going to form a bruise, which isn’t that big of a deal, but you wish it wouldn’t feel like something had impaled your guts.

Straightening up, you show him a thumbs up, even if his slightly furrowed eyebrows and jutted lips show that he isn’t quite convinced. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to fight you over that, so his hand leaves your back. The spot is suddenly so cold, and you can’t help but miss the warmth of his skin, even through clothing.

You try your best to divert his attention away, and maybe yours too, as you look around, in particular to avoid looking at his face. You spot some form of wooden fence, probably a small garden, and you step in its direction with a craning neck to see what he could have planted there.

“Oh, is that a garden? What did you put there? Do you sustain yourself like that? How do you know what soil to use for what plant? Are these to eat or just for your potions?” These questions pour out of your mouth, the perfect distraction for you both as you don’t have to pull out some random question out of nowhere. And you’re genuinely interested.

He seems to have noticed your attempt at distraction according to his rising eyebrows, but he still indulged you and steps closer to the high edge of the garden and you join him close behind him.

With a soft voice he starts explaining the use of each herb, each fruit and plant, patiently pointing toward them, all while mentioning neat little details, like their harvest season, how picky certain plants are. And you can’t help but be captivated by his knowledge and the way he shares it. Even if you sometimes break out of the immersion of his voice when your eyes begin to roam over his face instead of listening.

Time passes with you both kneeling in the soft grass and inspecting the little space filled with love. You only notice how late it has gotten with the way your eyelids feel heavy, your gaze unfocusing and hazy. And as much as you’d love to just take a nap in the middle of the grass under this beautiful weather, you have to get home before that.

So with a goodbye and a promise to return tomorrow, you make your way home, the way easier to walk as your body starts to memorize the path. You could say you could find the way to the cottage in your sleep with how tired you currently feel.

It’s no wonder you barely remember getting ready for bed, much less going to sleep because your brain is practically already out of commission before that happens.

The next day you wake up with a satisfied groan. You’ve never felt this refreshed in your life before, and when you glance at the time, you startle, realizing why. You’ve overslept, you’re late for work! You immediately stand up, heart beating a frenzy in your chest and your arms tremble slightly. With a sudden rush, you remember how you had taken sick leave just yesterday, and you slump back onto your bed.

With a shaken sigh, you sink back into your pillow. You could have slept a bit more, but it seems like your internal clock was keen on terrorizing you today. And with that rush of adrenaline, you might as well stay up and get ready to visit Shoto today.

You take your time to eat breakfast and just enjoy the silence of your home before you make yourself ready for the way. You also check on the state of your food, in case you need to get some groceries. But you don’t, so you clean your place a bit before heading out.

And once again you step through the same path you’ve been visiting the last few days, and you wonder if it would inevitably become some sort of established path with the amount of walking you’ve been doing between the same couple of trees. Maybe you should start changing the route a bit the next couple of times.

You arrive in front of his door and this time you’re able to knock on the door before it’s ripped open, and you startle by the look Shoto throws out of the door, all narrow eyes and downturned lips, almost resembling a snarl. You hesitate in asking if something is wrong. His eyes blink before recognizing you, in the widest sense, and his whole face seems to almost soften. With no exchange of words, he steps to the side and opens the door for you to step in.

Mirroring the day before, he makes way for the table and sits down, waiting for you to do the same. And you do, because you’ve been walking closely behind him.

His notebook is already open on the surface of the table, and he leans slightly forward. “The leaves of yesterday still need some time to fully dry, so today we should go out and collect some other stuff I mentioned yesterday. Is that alright with you?”

You would do anything to get rid of that curse on your face, so of course it’s alright with you, and you nod to show him that. He also nods in confirmation before closing his notebook and grabbing a basket to put whatever you will collect today inside.

While he is doing that, you hurry to the door to open it up for him, even bowing slightly with a grin across your face and the moment he passes by you, you think to see a small smile on his lips, amusement sparkling clearly in his face.

After closing the door behind you, you follow him to take his side as he ventures deeper into the forest. His steps are purposeful, and you’re sure he knows where to find the target material. Still, you wish you could help with whatever he’s looking for, but you doubt you would be able to recognize it even if he told you the name of it. Despite that, you’re happy to listen when he starts talking, explaining what he’s looking for.

“I have some vague idea of what could help against your current ailment. Right now, I’m looking for a Bird’s Eye…” he trails off as he seems to have spotted something.

This revelation confuses you. What does he mean with a Bird’s Eye? Is he going to pluck the eyeballs of some poor bird? Is that something he usually does? He doesn’t seem like the person to entertain such thoughts. You want to ask him if there’s another way, but he had vanished between some bushes.

You swallow down the tremble in your throat and fight through the shrubbery to catch up to him. You emerge a couple of steps next to the spot he’s bending over. With some paces to place yourself at his side, only to see him hold some sort of purple plant delicately between his fingers. Petals growing upward the long stem to a soft point. A lavender plant… A Veronica… And suddenly you feel stupid for still assuming something without real proof. Still, you can’t help the relieved breath you let out.

Straightening up, Shoto shoots you a look, all hidden crinkles, and creasing eyes, almost like he’s making fun of you, like he’s amused at your obvious relief. “Seems like you had expected something else, didn’t you?” he asks, his gaze resting somewhere on your cheek.

“Uh, what else am I supposed to think? Telling me, ‘oh yeah, we need some bird’s eye’, doesn’t sound like, I don’t know, like you’re about to pluck an eyeball? How am I– hold on, did you do that on purpose?” you gasp at your own accusation. “You did! That’s so mean of you, I can’t believe you would use my trust like that!”

You pout slightly, even if you doubt he could see it properly, so you cross your arms in front of you to show your stance on things right now, even if you’re aware that you look overly dramatic. But that’s the point.

Your stance doesn’t seem to affect him, because you suddenly hear a light chuckle escape his lips, and when you glance at his face, you can clearly see how his lips quirked up in a silent laugh, all soft and delicate.

While you’re staring at him, you’re suddenly glad he can’t see your face clearly, because you probably look stunned, amazed, stupefied, and every other word to describe the way your eyes widen and your mouth standing slightly agape.

His eyes wander over your face, eyebrows scrunched up as if he wants to see whatever the fog is hiding behind that blur. Whatever he’s looking for doesn’t seem to be there, because the frown only deepens before he turns back to the flower in his hand, putting it carefully into the basket.

“These are the flowers we’re looking for. Do you mind picking some up?” he asks, already doing so himself, inspecting each one carefully to only select the ones most fitting.

You nod and diligently begin to pick the ones you seem worthy, collecting them into some sort of bouquet in your other hand. After a while, your hand is barely able to hold onto more, and you’re quite content with the look of your makeshift bouquet. Not being able to resist the urge, you tap him on the shoulder and hold it under his nose.

“Please accept this!” you say dramatically, acting like you just confessed your undying love to him, but you couldn’t stay serious long enough to wait for his response, especially after seeing his raised eyebrow. You burst into laughter. “Sorry, sorry! I just thought it looked like a bouquet, so–”

“Oh, so you wanted to offer me the Eye of a Bird? How romantic,” he drawls, his mouth puckered and eyebrows high on his forehead. Only the gleam in his eyes seems to betray his serious stance.

You nod with a muffled giggle. “The peak of modern romance, of course! You deserve nothing less than the best.”

He takes the flowers from your outreached hand and inspects them, acting too critical of your offering before nodding in approval. “I shall accept these, but only this time.”

You gasp, a hand over your heart. “Only this time? My good sir, then I shall prepare something more glamorous, something you can’t refuse for the next time!” you declare with a boisterous voice and a puffed chest.

Once again his lips purse in consideration. “Well, I don’t know if this is possible, there won’t be a next time, that’s for certain. You shan’t woe me this easily.”

“We shall see how this turns out,” you puff with arrogance, only to break down in little giggles.

The moment you break the immersion, he too breaks his facade with a broad smile, pearly teeth on display and eyes crinkling with happiness and mischief. With the breeze ruffling his hair he looks like the image of pure bliss.

His obvious happiness makes you smile, and you have to catch yourself before you let out a dreamy sigh. You have no other choice but to break the line of sight, lest you do something you might regret, especially with the way your insides feel all soft and malleable at his sight, full, ready to give something to always enjoy the way he seems to be in such peace. But you can’t give in, no matter how much your heart seems to plead with your senses. You should not do this, you shouldn’t even think like this in the first place.

So you redirect all your focus into picking the perfect flowers, paying close attention to the details. With that, you both slowly fill the basket, and before you know it, the evening sun is shining through the leaves, putting everything in a soft orange glow.

The full basket has gotten quite heavy and you both decide to share the burden, each one of you grabbing a side of the handle to carry it together. This arrangement is there to make it easier for you both, so no problems should arise. Even if the path you’re taking is narrow in some passages and trying to get through them together, side by side, his shoulder ends up bumping, brushing against yours more often than not. And every time this contact happens, you do your best to not flinch away or to think too closely about the warmth he radiates; avoiding leaning closer to him than you already are.

Finally, you arrive at the cottage and you feel like you have lost all breath in your lungs, most of it evaporating by the simple look at him, by the simple brush. Despite needing some space, you continue to help him carry the basket to some sort of designated space inside the house. And once you get rid of that weight, you stretch your arms above your head, hearing a silent yet satisfying crack.

Feeling the need to rest outside, even if you just were under the open sky, you take some slow steps out of the door, because you desperately need a moment to breathe without being scared of brushing against him.

That’s how you end up sitting on his veranda. The sun had already set and darkness is swallowing the forest, which is now filled with entirely new noises and movements. Despite the lack of light and the unknown biting at your toes, you don’t feel unsafe or in danger, rather the silence and the cool breeze have a calming effect on you.

With a roaming look into the sky, you notice the amount of stars visible against the deep blue of the night. Without any trees obstructing your sight and no artificial lights destroying their twinkle, you can’t help but be entranced with them. You’re so fixated on their beauty that you almost miss Shoto taking a seat by your side.

For a moment you both stay silent, arm against arm, shoulder against shoulder, knee brushing a thigh, and this time you don’t even dare to hold your breath. You feel the desire to lean against him, to feel his breath flutter against your skin. But you’re satisfied with this moment, with the way he seems to glow under the stars, giving him a halo of silver light.

Only because you’ve been staring at him do you notice when he stretches his hand into the sky and lets his finger connect individual stars into constellations. You squint, trying to see the lines from your perspective but you struggle a bit as everything is shifted, so you don’t even know which stars are connected despite following the way his finger moves.

He seems to notice your struggle, as he scoots closer, his front now almost touching your back, his head hovering over your shoulder to get down to your height. After settling like that he carefully grabs your fingertips and waits for you to pull away or to react in any way to show him your rejection, but you don’t. You rather marvel at how soft his skin feels against yours in that feather-light touch.

His hand leads your fingers to make a fist with only your index finger pointing out. With your hand like that, he rests his palm against the back of your hand, on your wrist. Positioned like that he slowly begins to show you the constellations with your own finger, all while making sure it’s visible from your perspective. While guiding you, he softly murmurs their names and the planets and stars, explaining everything and yet nothing, because you’re almost too focused on his breath against your face, the way his chin brushes against your shoulder, and you try your best to not turn around to directly face him.

After some time you do begin to relax and to enjoy all this information and the light contact. You end up leaning against his torso, his cheek resting on your head, and you both remain like that for some time, simply soaking in the presence, the silence and the warmth between you.

So it’s no wonder how you barely notice the atmosphere wrapping around you, lulling you into something peaceful and welcoming.

You only notice how gone you were when the sun's rays hit your face softly, waking you up with their soft kisses, and you can’t even be mad at being woken up like that. It is comfortable and warm. Still, the moment you open your eyes, you startle slightly at the sight of the unfamiliar, yet familiar ceiling. You slowly sit up and a patchwork blanket slides off your shoulders to bunch around your waist.

With a quick look at your surroundings, you realize where you are: the cottage. And with that realization you put the pieces together: You fell asleep on him, while stargazing, while holding his hand.

You bury your face in your hands, embarrassment flooding your ears. You hope you didn’t mumble, or worse, drool in your sleep. Or you might simply never look him in the face again.

Peaking between your fingers, you spot him in the open kitchen, silently working on something over the stove, his back turned towards you.

“Breakfast is almost done. You can freshen up a bit, I put some clothes that might fit you in the bathroom,” his voice sounds and you flinch, surprised he had noticed you being awake. “It wasn’t difficult, you made quite some noise.”

You frown, jutting your lips out. Is he reading your thoughts? Is that one of the abilities of witches? You sure hope it isn’t, or else he would know about everything that had crossed your mind in his presence… You desperately want to avoid this possibility, but it can’t hurt to try. So you think of something so stupid, so outrageous, he has no choice but to react.

I couldn't read the witch's handwriting at all, she always wrote in curse-ive.

You almost hit your own face with a groan, but you keep your gaze on his back, trying to see if this entices any form of reaction out of him. But nothing happens and you just sigh, even if you’re still curious how he had guessed your thoughts to that degree. Maybe you should ask him later…

A shrug and you stretch the last bit of heaviness out of your limbs before you grab the blanket to fold it and to put it neatly onto the sofa you’ve been sleeping on. It would be rude to leave it crumbled like that, especially after he put the effort to carry… you… For a moment you stop in your tracks and just blink blanky at the blanket in front of you.

He carried you… and put a blanket over you… He carried you…?

This realization hits you like a swinging bat and you have to bite on your lower lip to suppress a gasp. Your eyes jump to his figure, making sure he’s not looking at you, his back still turned towards you, and you slowly make your way to the bathroom, your joints feel like they’re locked up and creaking like a bad oiled machine.

Once you arrive in the bathroom, you close the door behind you and lean heavily on the sink. You feel like you just gave yourself some serious whiplash. So, with a deep breath, you begin to splash your face with cold water, trying to calm yourself down before you turn around to look at the clothes he had prepared for you. Holding the shirt in front of you, you decide that it will fit you even though it might be a bit loose, but you can’t complain about that.

With that you change into the fest pair of clothes, folding your clothes neatly. You don’t even take the time to look into the mirror to check how they fit, almost afraid of what you might see.

You leave the bathroom with another stretch and enter the open kitchen to offer your help to him, but he refuses politely because he already plated the table and there’s simply not enough space for the both of you to cook something without elbowing each other.

So you take a seat at the table, resting your head on your palm, content with just watching him being busy with the food preparation. He moves with a practiced hand, movements smooth and elegant. You can only observe as his surprisingly broad shoulders move, muscles stretching and filling his shirt. Your eyes wander over his lean back and you purse your lips the moment you see his small waist. You wonder if you would be able to put your arms around his whole torso, or your legs…

You inhale sharply, immediately averting your eyes to the window, trying to divert your thoughts to something else, anything but to look back to his direction. It’s a beautiful day outside, there’s no need to stay in the bedroom, or inside, no need to have any thoughts relating to inside activities.

Your gaze jumps around, looking for something to latch onto, but there’s nothing but the wonderful depth of the forest, which isn’t quite enough to distract you from the possible way his muscles could coil when he leans over you…

A bite to the inside of your cheek brings you out of that train of thoughts, and you’re aware of how you need something more concrete for your distraction, like that deer. But you could only vaguely discern some movements in the bushes and nothing really stepped out of the shadows.

The clatter of a plate disrupts your almost desperate search as Shoto puts a plate in front of you, and you can’t stop the excited grin spreading over your face at its contents. He made some waffles, toppings dripping down its sides and its smell luring you in to take the first bite. It looks delicious, an absolute masterpiece. And you can’t resist it, barely taking your time to thank him properly for his efforts, before digging in and letting the soft dough melt over your tongue. You close your eyes and you almost moan out of delight, the taste an explosion of pure bliss. Instead of embarrassing yourself like that, you just stuff your mouth with another bite.

And before you know it, the plate is empty, leaving you full, yet yearning for more. But you doubt you could even manage to get another bite down and just slump backward into the back of the chair, feeling some kind of satisfied drowsiness.

“Shoto, my man, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You got some magic hands,” you tell him and grin widely when he raises his eyebrows at your choice of words.

Instead of properly answering your compliment, he lets out a puff of air before beginning to collect the empty dishes. You immediately stand up, keen on helping him this time around, especially when you don’t need much space to do the dishes. That’s how you end up drying the washed dishes and putting them away in their respective places. Of course not without him showing you where they belong first.

With this arrangement, you finish doing the dishes at a faster rate. He’s drying his hands as he turns around to look at you. “I’m going to brew the potion today, or at least try to. Feel free to take a book to entertain yourself for the time being.”

He points to the huge shelf covering the entire wall of the living room and you gape slightly at its size. How did you miss that in the first place? Even if you have been distracted by a lot of things, this thing is huge, there’s no way you could have just not seen it.

You barely give him a nod before immediately stepping closer to the shelf, running your fingers along the spines of the books. So many different topics, genres and authors, and there is no way Shoto didn’t read them all. No wonder he has such huge amounts of knowledge. After you have taken a couple of strides along the length of the shelf, you finally choose one of the books and take it out of its place.

With it firmly in your palm, you go and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Once you’re in the perfect position you start reading, thumbing through the book about heroes and their powers, and your brain rattles with all the possibilities and the groundwork of this fictional world.

The background is filled with the sound of utensils clashing and clattering, soft blubbering of his potion, and after a couple of pages, you decide to take a look from afar.

He’s still in the kitchen, bending over his work, a slight furrow between his eyebrows, a thoughtful pout tugging at his lips. And you just look. Just admire the evenly split hair of red and white softly falling, framing his face, the calm demeanor revealing his kind heart. You smile. You can’t help but think, these thoughts filling your veins, coming from your heart, how charming he looks, how beautiful, how handsome. Despite being aware that this relationship is entirely contractual, the chance of seeing him again after this ordeal is slim, you admit to yourself, you like him, a lot. And there’s no way to truly know how he feels about you. To him, you’re probably just another person requiring his services, nothing more, nothing less, only bound by the verbal deal you’ve made.

This realization makes you smile bittersweetly, already accepting the outcome. So you try to get back into the book, to put your focus back on the ongoing plot. But your thoughts circle back to the endless ways this could end, the endless ways this could turn and bend. And no matter how badly you wish for it to end otherwise, every path leads to the same blocked path, a deal done, a face regained and a connection lost. Who are you to interfere with fate?

You force yourself to face it, to accept it, no matter how much your heart resists. It will hurt, but everything turns out to be how it’s supposed to be.

A breath and you begin to digest the story word by word, forcing yourself to take them in until you finally relax and get into the flow of the story and its plot, all while the background noises fade out of your consciousness.

You feel yourself clutching at your non-existent pearls as you near the end of the book when Shoto walks up to you, nudging your foot with his to get your attention. And once you look up from your book, he holds a cup with some sort of tea in your direction. With thanks you take it and immediately sip from the warm liquid.

“I thought you’re supposed to brew that potion?” you ask him, cupping your hands to warm your palms on the glazed ceramic.

“I was. That’s the potion in your hand,” he answers and the corners of his mouth slightly dip upward.

You startle at this revelation and almost let the cup drop. “Wh-what? You could’ve said that earlier!”

“How could I when you so eagerly took it from my hands before I could even say anything?” he chuckles and cocks his head to the side, eyes crinkling at your shocked face.

You gape at him and look at the half-empty cup in your hands, then back at him. “Are you messing with me? It feels like you’re messing with me…”

He shakes his head. “As amusing that would be, I’m not. You’re drinking the potion right now. It will probably take some odd hours to take full effect, if at all.”

Slowly you nod and just down the rest of the tea-potion in one big gulp. You exhale and the warmth of the tea coupled with the late hour begins to make you quite drowsy. There’s no way you’re staying two nights at his place, that would be just so utterly rude of you, especially if you’re going to lend out some of his stuff. That means it’s time for you to head home, as much as you’d like to stay on the couch and continue reading.

You close the book and return it to its place before you thank him once again and take your stuff. With everything in hand you begin your way home, the evening still young and the wood still filled with enough light to not get hurt when crossing it.

Finally arriving home without accidents, the first thing you do is change out of the borrowed clothes and prepare them to wash later so you can return them to him. And you start doing your nighttime routine, even if the initial drowsiness is now gone for some reason, but you’d like to be prepared for the moment you feel tired again, and maybe you need some distraction. If you don’t, you might as well go insane with anticipation, literally expecting something to happen immediately.

This anticipation fills you with adrenalin or something, because for some time you just walk around your place aimlessly, not able to settle down without feeling your heart race. You finally settle on your bed with your phone in hand, trying to calm down to the best of your abilities. It doesn’t quite work, because you realize you never asked Shoto for his number, you never felt the need to, and maybe you shouldn’t even ask in the first place.

You sigh and roll around, beginning to scroll through whatever apps you have in rotations, and you only stop to scratch at your tingling face. At first you don’t think too much about it, as it only itches around your mouth. But then the itch begins to spread over your cheek and you have to stop everything you’re doing, because you have to know if you suddenly have some sort of allergic reaction. After thinking for a while, you don’t remember eating something that could elicit such a reaction, so it can’t be that.

It takes you a moment to realize what that could mean and you jump off the bed, rushing to the mirror only to stop in the middle of the way when you remember that mirrors don’t show your problem with your looks. So you race back and dive for your phone, almost hitting your head on the headboard. You don’t pay attention to that though as you’re opening the camera, facing it towards you.

After you take a picture in semi-good lightning, you click into your gallery, only to see the newest pic and stare at it. There’s you! With every single feature you remember and cherish.

And before you know it, you’re already out the door, dashing through the streets and into the woods. You know you should be careful about tripping, but the need to see him, to thank him, to hug him, is overwhelming. Excitement is coursing through your veins, giving you a boost in energy and you feel laughter bubbling through your lungs.

Then you stumble. Unlike the first time, you don’t immediately take a tumble down the hill, because someone catches you right on time, long before you could even get closer to the ground. You grab their arm to straighten up and end up looking directly into Shoto’s eyes. For a moment you just stare at him, mesmerized by his glittering, compelling eyes, by the way you can so clearly see them despite the darkness surrounding you both.

His words bring you back to reality. “Oh, back so soon?”

“Wh– huh? How? I mean, yes, but how did you know it’s me?” you ask bewildered, shutting your mouth with some force before you keep it open when you remember that he can see your expressions now.

He smiles, plush lips revealing perfect teeth, eyes crinkling with obvious joy while roaming over every detail of your face, taking their time over every little feature; almost like he finally found whatever he has been looking for every time he glanced in your direction. One of his hands cups your face, caressing your skin. You lean involuntarily into his touch, enjoying the soft skin on yours more than you should have.

His next words make your heart beat faster than you thought possible, and suddenly a new path opens itself before you.

“My dear, I would always recognize you, no matter what.”

#shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki x you #shoto x you #todoroki shoto x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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wheresmymilliondollarman · 1 year

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ravi singh fics please!! maybe x reader where she’s having a bad day and he comes over and they cuddle and watch a movie 🫶🏻

forever & always

ravi singh x fem! reader

when ur day falls into shambles, your boyfriend is there to pick up the pieces the best way he can

a/n: u dont know how happy i am to see a ravi request. he’s been on my mind lately esp cus my friend is reading the series !! he’s my top book bf next to peeta mellark 🫶🫶 thx sm for the request hope you enjoy !! p.s. i read the us version so it's gonna be based one that.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of small injury, minor blood, lmk if anything else

you collapsed on your bed the moment your knees hit the mattress. burying your face into your pillow, hoping the day just fades away. you arrived home, the house empty due to your parents still working. you were relieved because you truly had no energy to greet anyone - even the trudge up the stairs was a challenge enough.

your day had been rough, to say the least. you'd woken up late, sleeping past your alarms and snoozes. when you'd awoken you had less than twenty minutes to get ready, which meant no time to come up with a cute outfit. you slapped on some jeans, a cropped graphic tee, and jewlery and called it a day. you managed to put on some lipstick and mascara in the school parking lot before you ran to clas.

in the process of running, you also fell and scraped your knee; you didn't even check the wound because you were rushing to avoid the tardy bell. spoiler: your knee was crying in pain.

you were late by a minute, yet your first-period teacher had given you a berating in front of the whole class for it. even though he literally walked in a few seconds before you.

you went toward the back of the class to put your phone in the mandatory basket with everyone else's phone, and that was when you realized you'd left your phone at home. you mentally facepalmed yourself as you remembered you'd left it on your bed when you were hastily putting on your shoes. hopefully, ravi didn't require anything urgent that couldn't wait til you got home.

you later learned, after a random kid pointed it out, that you had a splotch of red on the knee area of your light colored jeans. turned out your skin had scrapped enough to draw blood.

at lunch, pip, the prepared person she was, helped clean your cut with anitbacterial wipes and put a bandage over your knee. cara even tried to get the red stain out, but it was smudged it further around your legs.

cara apologized profusely , but you brushed it off, telling her it didn't look that bad and they were just jeans. however, inside, you were ready to lose your last straw and mourn your favorite jeans. you swore you had the worst luck today.

you repeated it over and over in your head, school's almost over you can do this. but it was certainly not over for your luckless day. the librarian, who already hated you, dress coded you for your shirt, and sent you to the office. the principal was ready to call your parents to bring you a shirt, but you quickly said you had friend who'd be abe to give you one.

to be honest, you were even sure if cara or pip had any spare clothes, and to add to your misfortune, they didn't have any spare shirts. you were ready to break down right there and then, but held it off and reassured them it was alright.

you were ready to throw the towel in and call your mom and face her wrath for disrupting her at work when connor entered the conversation saying he had an unused gym shirt. it could've fit like adress on you, but you gratefully took it.

the final bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day. you didn't waste time in packing up and look for your car keys inside your backpack. but being so distracted led you to stumble down the school stairs. you were utterly humiliated and knew multiple people had witnessed the scene. you had no choice but to just get up and walk out.

traffic was horrible on the way home, and multiple angry drivers honking didn't help. when you finally parked into your home's driveway, you leaned your head against the steering wheel and burst into tears. the events of the day weighed on you heavily. suppressing all your emotions all day made everything you were feeling just come crashing down in that moment.

after half an hour, you were calmed down, but your eyes were swollen and your throat was sore. you prayed none of the neighbors witnessed your breakdown, you think you'd start crying again if that were the case.

now, you were in bed, exhausted from your crying, and ready to just sleep whatever hours of the day were left.

the moment you closed your eyes, your phone chimed, letting you know you received a text. you knew it was ravi because you'd set his notification sound to be different. you hadn't spoken with your boyfriend all day since you forgot your phone, so he likely was asking why you didn't send him your daily random school photo. but you were just too tired to pick it up and type of reply. you told yourself you'd take a fifteen-minute nap, then call him.

your slumber was disrupted when a force was shaking your body back and forth, the repeated call of your name in the distance. you were still somewhat mentally in your dream state, so you weren't quick to respond.

"y/n!"

"babe."

"light of my life."

"my little honey butter biscuit."

"huh?"

your sleepiness was starting to fade away, and you were able to deliver a somewhat coherent response. you had to blink a few times to focus your vision on the face before you. it took you a moment to process ravi in your vision, kneeling in front of the side of the bed where your head lays. "ravi? what are you doing here?"

you yawn as you sit up on your bed and stretch out your spine, turning to face ravi. you rubbed your eyes a bit to keep them from drooping. ravi then immediately engulfed you into his arms, pushing you back onto the bed.

you were thrown aback by the gesture, but you would never object a hug from your boyfriend, especially given the day you had.

ravi pulled away, sitting down next to you on the bed. "oh my god, i thought something happened. you hadn't answered any of my texts and any time i called you, it went straight to voicemail." ravi anxiously explained, holding your face in both his hands.

"i'm sorry," you gave an apologetic peck to his lips, "i was gonna text you when i woke up from my quick nap after school." you went to grab your phone from the corner of your bed. you clicked the power button a few times, but it wouldn't turn on. your phone was dead, the reason why your alarm didn't go off and ravi's calls weren't going through. the world had to be playing a prank on you at this point.

"quick nap?" ravi furrowed his brows, "it's already 7 pm."

"what?" you exclaimed, wide-eyed. how could it already be so late? you were going to take a half-hour nap to recover your energy. you still had homework and chores to do before your parents got home. you went MIA almost the whole day, likely why ravi was so worried and came into your house. with all the murderous events this town has faced, you felt guilty for having him alarmed. horrible girlfriend award goes to you.

automatically, your face made its way into your hands from guilt and frustration of every going wrong today. you sighed heavily, holding back tears threatening to fall. even though you had a full crying session before coming in the house, you still had tears left to shed. you were trying very hard to not cry in front of ravi.

ravi reached out toward you, putting a hand on your back and a hand on your knee, “baby, what’s wrong?” he voiced with concern.

"it's nothing," you responded in a cracked voice, suppressing all your emotions. a blatant lie, that didn't even convince you, and one ravi could see through.

"c'mon, it's obviously something if it has my girlfriend so upset about it. let me see your pretty face." ravi grabs your wrists and pulls them apart to uncover your sullen face. not having the energy to resist, you opted to face your head down to your lap and have your hair cover most of your face.

“dont hide from me baby.” he whispers to you. he parts your hair behind your ears and sees your face and then moves his hand to your chin, making you look up to him with watery eyes. “now, tell me what happened. or i’m gonna just stare at your really hard until you do.” he says the last part playfully, but you wouldn’t put it past him to actually do it.

looking into your boyfriend’s eyes was enough to spill your guts. and his genuine concern for you only made you love him impossibly more. you knew it was safe to cry your eyes out around him, so finally, you let your emotions through.

you choked up for a moment trying to get a word in, but all you could do was start with a miserable sob. you go to cover your mouth with your hands to reel some of it in, but hot tears are already coming down from your eyes.

immediately, ravi pulls you into his embrace, and onto his lap - your face now smushed into his chest. tears likely staining his graphic tee, but he didn’t seem to care. he rubs a hand soothingly along your back, cooing and shushing you in attempt to help calm you down. all you could do your hold onto him tight for comfort in your troubles.

it took you a few minutes before your cries were getting dulled and you were able to breathe steadily. ravi just held you the whole time, patiently waiting for you to settle, so you can recite to him the issue.

you sniffled and moved your head away from his chest, ready to finally have a proper conversation without interruption by your hiccuped breaths. ravi began wiping any wetness from your face with his hand, then removing hair from your eyes and putting it behind your ears. “do you feel better now?”

you nodded, taking a deep breathe to further calm yourself. he gives you a small smile then plants a quick kiss on your lips. “good, now tell me what has my girl all down in the dumps.”

you crack a smile at his corny phrases, slightly feeling better. you began to recount all of the day's incidents, starting from waking up late and ending with your hysteria in your driveway. all through it, ravi held you close, rubbing small circles on the side of your thigh in a calming manner.

“so that was my shitty day pretty much. it all sounds kind of stupid now that i say it out loud to someone. sorry for worrying you over dumb stuff like this.”

“hey, anything that makes you upset is reason enough for me to start worrying.” ravi’s hand trails toward the area of your knee still stained with some of your blood, “you know what, i’m boycotting stairs. i refuse to associate with anything that harms my girlfriend.” he responds in faux seriousness. you can’t help but laugh at his behavior and playfully slap his chest lightly.

“thank you. for being the best boyfriend ever,” you say with sincerity. only ravi was the type of person who could make you laugh after bawling your eyes out.

“well, i am quite ravi-singh-ing aren’t i?” ravi cockily boasts. he flips his wrist, flipping over imaginary hair dramatically.

you rolled you eyes, “oh god, are you ever going to let that go?” you one time joked his name looked like the word ravishing when he had written it down. ever since then, he loved to constantly bring it up to boost his ego.

“never. it never gets old. and you know what your amazing boyfriend proposes?” you wait for him to continue, “a movie to remedy your shitty day.”

you pretend to think about it for a moment, “okay, but i choose.”

ravi's mouth goes agape, “what! it was my idea.” he protests.

“yeah, but it’s my crappy day.” you counter back.

he narrows his eyes at you, and you give your best pleading pout, “fine, i suppose it's lady's choice tonight," he relents. "you should be ever so lucky to have such a gentleman as a boyfriend.” he adds in an overdone proper tone.

“yup. i’m just the luckiest girl.” and you meant it.

"now," ravi manured his way out of your bed and stood up. he proceeds to carry your bridal style, being careful of your knee, "let's fix up your little injury."

"babe, i can walk; my leg isn't broken." despite your small protest, you move to wrap your arms around his neck for stability.

ravi, with you in his arms, walks out of your room and toward your upstairs bathroom. "excuse me for being chivalrous." he states defensively, "you should be fawning over me with heart eyes at this moment." he says a matter of factly.

you give another eye-roll to his antics, "your right my bad, let me try again." you clear your throat for effect, "on my god, ravi, you're so dashing and charming, and your good looks just stun me." you exclaim with melodramatic affection.

ravi sets you down on the gray granite counter of your bathroom next to the sink. he looks at you with a crooked smile, "that's more like it. you just forgot to mention how you dream of me at night, but it's alright - i've sleep next to you enough nights to know how much you say my name in your sleep." he winks at you with he last bit of his sentence.

you lightly hit his chest, "are you gonna continue to admire yourself or put a bandaid on me so we can watch a movie?"

"while, i'd love to do the former, i'll go with the latter. actually," he pauses, and starts digging through his pockets in search for something, "aha! here, this should make your frown turn upside down." cue another eye roll for his corny humor. he opens his palm toward you to reveal a bandaid, a hello-kitty one.

you take it with a cheerful smile, "thank you, but why do you have this?" you look up at question him.

"you mean why do i carry bandaids for my accident-prone girl?" he rhetorically counters, while kneeling down in front of your bruised knee. "i just figured if you're hurt you can at least look cute being injured."

you can't help but smile at him lovingly as he replaced your dried bloody band-aid with the pink hello kitty one. to finish off, he places a quick kiss on it. "there, all better."

yeah, it was all better now.

"hunger games? again?" ravi questions exasperatedly. you two were currently settled under your bed sheets, facing your television. ravi is sat up with your head settled on his chest and his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

the netflix app was open, and the two of you were in the process of deciding on a film. well, you were picking, and ravi kept adding in his own personal opinion that prompted you that annoyed you enough to not choose a movie. netflix recently added the hunger games movies, and you couldn't help but want to watch it - no matter how many times you'd seen it with ravi already.

is having a movie about children dying and killing each other and government control as a comfort movie a red flag? maybe.

"are you judging me, your girlfriend, right now?" you challenge with an arched brow.

ravi holds a hand to his heart, "no, no, of course not. if my girl tells me to do something, then my only option is to obey," he replies mockingly.

you nod in approval, "exactly. glad you get it." you pat the top of his head as if he were a dog who just learned a new trick.

he mimics you and then tickles your side, causing you to jolt in your spot. "shush it, and put the movie on." you give him a glare but move to grab the remote next to you, pressing play to start the film.

as the movie began and went through, the two of you commented on scenes as they came on the tv.

"if we were tributes from the same district, would you kill me?"

"most likely." you say nonchalantly.

you scoff, "gale gets more annoying the more i watch this."

"i would kill for ceasar flickerman's job." ravi expressed.

"i just know you would've fallen off that tree on your own."

"ow!- ok sorry."

after a good three-fourths of the film, your eyes get heavier. yet, you try to remain awake and respond to whatever ravi was saying. but you decide to close your eyes for a moment, claiming you'd open them again when ravi says something. however, that never came to be because you were out like a light, the noise of violence and yelling from the screen lulling you to slumber.

"okay, this is a good movie, but i refuse to watch the sequel after this too." ravi frowns when you don't respond. "baby, i was just kidding, don't give me the silent treatment." he looks down at your body, then takes notice of your closed eyes and steady breathes.

he laughs, "of course, you fell asleep, not even surprised." he leans his head down and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. he whispers to your ear, "good night. hopefully, you have a better day tomorrow, and if not, i'll always be here to cheer you up."

@marigold-morelli

#ravi singh #ravi singh x reader #ravi singh imagine #ravi singh fic #ravi singh x female reader #a good girls guide to murder #agggtm #pippa fitz amobi #x reader #x female reader #x y/n #reader imagine #reader insert

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Same as it ever was 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: need a little time to figure out don't speak so here ya are.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your dreams are muddied with the dregs of your reality. You wade through the swamp of waking horrors mutated by the nonsensical hues of your subconscious. Your escape is less than happy as you open your eyes to stare at the basement ceiling. The water stain there is just another latent trouble waiting to implode.

The most potent reminder of the utter disarray if your life isn't the heaps of laundry waiting by the machine or the steady drip from the old wash sink. It's the violent pang radiating from your tailbone, another tenderly throbbing by your shoulder blade. The mortifying scene plays in your mind; Pete's obtuse come on and your own bitter and insecure rejection.

Your morning routine is made more tedious by your condition. Every move is tinged in torment and the kids seem unexpectedly rambunctious. Or maybe you just can't keep up with them.

You get them packed up and in the car. You were so swept up, you didn't even get your morning coffee. It's not as if you'd expected this day to go any smoother than the last. Thankfully, you don’t run into your husband.

School drop off is just as hectic, ominous if anything. You tell Simone to take Malik inside for you as you stay behind the wheel.

“Are you okay?” She asks, ever observative. Why does she have to be so smart? Hopefully, she stays that way.

“Good, just had a late night,” you assure her, “I’ve got a big… meeting this morning.”

“Yeah, dad said something about a promotion,” she unbuckles her seat belt and sidles over to unclasp Malik from his seat.

“Do you need help, honey?” You ask, steeling yourself at the idea of getting out of the car.

“I got it,” she insists. “Are you going to work late again?”

“I… don’t think so,” you answer tenuously.

“Oh,” is all she can utter. She gets Malik out and grabs both their bookbags. “Come on,” she tugs on his hand as he opens her door.

“Love you guys,” you say.

“Love you, mommy!” Malik sings.

“Yeah, love ya too,” Simone mutters then huffs at Malik, “hurry up. I wanna read before class.”

She shuts the door, a bit heavier than you expect, and you watch them until they get to the front doors, meeting the other clusters of students and parents. You inhale and turn forward, flicking your lashes as your eyes burn. Your back is on fire with pain, but worse, your heart is a pit of agony. You feel your family crumbling all around you.

A pair of headlights flash in your rear view and you shift into gear and slowly roll away from the pick up area. You grip the wheel tight and wiggle your nose, resisting the hot wall of tears trembling in your head. You don’t know what to do, there’s nothing to do but keep going. Things will change, they always do.

You watch the time as you drive to work. You pull into the lot and click the button on your seat belt, letting it repel as you lean back. Oh god, the hardest part, getting out. With each second, you feel worse. So what? Some bruises? You’ve dealt with worse.

You open the door and snatch your bag from the other seat. You turn sideways, bag on your elbow, as you grip the side of the car and the steering wheel and push yourself to your feet. You smother a yelp to a whimper. Your legs shake with the pain hammering in your tailbone.

You lean on the door as you close it. You take another deep breath, this one racks you torturously. You set your feet and limp along the side of the building in your beat up Keds. No heels or flats, you need support.

You nearly fall into the elevator, relieved to be alone for the ride up. You lean on the wall and watch the floor light up one at a time. You hobble off, holding your lower back. It’s not an unusual sight. Your hips have been fucked up since your second pregnancy.

You limp past your desk as you keep your morning task in mind. You just want it done and over with. Then you can sit in the ungodly office chair and try not to break.

You’ve never been so thankful for the apathy of your coworkers. Hansen trained them well. They know to only worry about themselves and their work. The exemplar of capitalistic character.

You approach Hansen’s office door. To your surprise, it’s unlocked. You let yourself in, not bothering to make sure you’re unseen. Who gives a fuck anymore? He is hardly the beacon of discretion.

You drop your bag on the long console table with the vase of fake lilies and keep moving. You can’t stop. You undress without hesitation. You treat it like business. No point in wasting time.

You pile your clothes in the uncomfortable acrylic chair across from the immense leather throne on its swivel. You round the desk and stumble. You catch yourself as you brace your back and whine. Oh god, shit.

You give in to the tremble in your legs and fall to your knees. You drag yourself under the desk and sit on your knees. That’s not a good idea. You grit your teeth and gulp. You’ve never felt pain like this. Well you have, but you know you’re not going into labour.

Your legs are tingly despite the hot pain coursing around your hips. You do your best to breathe through it as you wait. What are you even doing? How did it come to this? For christ sakes, your forty-fucking-four years old. Waiting like some bimbo in your boss’ office.

Before you can sink into your self-loathing, you hear the door. He clicks his tongue as you listen to his deliberate gait. He’s making a show of it. He’s drawing it out. You bite back your irritation. As much as he plays around, he’s easy. Just like Pete. He’s entirely ruled by that dangling worm between his legs.

He sighs and struts around. You can picture the smug smirk under his dumb mustache. But you don’t. You’re already tensed up.

There’s a clink on the desk as he sets down his coffee and he hums as he rolls the chair out. He sits and spreads his knees wide. There’s a twitch in his pants. His finely tailored pants that probably cost more than your mortgage.

“Good morning,” he grips the arms of the chair as he leans back.

You don’t say a word as you reach for him. He wheels closer as you pop the top button of his pants. His gaze is stolid on you. You feel yourself sweating under it. It’s more humiliating to know he’s watching you so intently.

You tug down his fly. No underwear. You’re hardly surprised. The man who doesn’t wear socks with his tacky loafers likely doesn’t have a very full top drawer. You pull him through the vee of fabric and stroke his half-hard length.

“I didn’t even play with myself in the shower,” he taunts, “I saved it all for you.”

He snorts as you stay silent. You just keep going. He takes a breath and lets it out through his nose.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” He asks.

You once more have no answer. He flinches as you squeeze around his tip and roll your palm over it. He hisses as he squeezes the leather armrests.

“Fucking balls,” he puffs as he tilts his head back, “those hands–”

You bring your other hand up to cup him from below. You remember when you used to enjoy this. When you wanted it. How Pete’s groans used to spark a thrill in you but this, this just makes you feel grimy.

“Shit, shit,” he gulps, “slow down, baby face.”

You ignore him and he spasms. He sits forward and grabs your wrists, stopping you. You clench your jaw and look up at him.

“Hey, slow the fuck down,” he warns you, “the fuck’s your problem?”

You shrug and your cheek strains as even just that gesture tweaks in your hips. You stare at him dully. He tilts his head as he juts his jaw out. His lip curls as he rolls himself away in the chair. He snaps his fingers.

“Get out of there,” he demands.

You blink to keep from rolling your eyes. You put your hands on the floor but can’t move. You try to crawl forward but just can’t. Your tailbone is throbbing.

“I said get up,” he snaps.

“I can’t,” you rasp.

“What?” He leans forward.

“I fucking can’t–”

“Jesus fuck,” he stands and bends over you, angling around to hook his arms around you.

He hauls you up and you squeal as the fire shoots around your hips. He holds you under your arms as he turns you and lets you fall against his desk. You land on the flat keyboard and very pointy paperweight.

“Damn,” he smacks your ass, the flesh jiggling on impact, “look at that.”

You cry out, louder than you mean too. You whimper and hit the desk with your fist. He peels his hand away and you sense him raise it again. You stretch your arm behind you and wave at him desperately.

“No, no, please–” Your hand falls to your tailbone and you whine, “stop.”

You squeeze your thighs tight, overly aware of the dimples in the flesh and the lines rippled into the skin. Worse than the agony is the exposure. Both overwhelm you to the point of defeat.

“What?” He snips.

“I think– I think something’s wrong with me,” you choke out, feeling along your back. There’s a tender bump right along the base of your spine.

“What’s wrong?” He growls.

“Look…” you try to push yourself off the desk and your legs wobble. Before you can crumple to the floor, he catches you. Thankfully, surprisingly. “I fell in the shower last night,” your throat tightens at the admission of your own mortality, “I’m old, alright? And I fucking hurt myself.”

He sighs. His demeanour changes, not so rough, not so impatient as he angles you into the leather chair. It hurts just as much but you don’t care. It’s better than the floor.

“Fuck,” he puts his hands on his hips, his dick still standing above his pants. No shame. “Fine, you finish the job and I’ll let you off for the day. Go see a fucking doctor.”

You furrow your brow at him. Really?

“Well, you’re halfway there, sweet cheeks,” he turns a palm out, “so, get on it.”

Disbelief? Hardly. You could predict this. But you're exasperated and exhausted and you could rip that damn thing off his body.

You clamp your lips tight and sit up as best you can. You reach for him, gripping him tightly so he yipes. He slaps your wrist.

“Hey, lay off,” he warns.

You sniff but listen. You ease up and stroke him. He falls back into his groans, hands on his hips as he pushes his pelvis towards you. You just stare at the hem of his shirt as you keep a steady rhythm. How can men be so simple but make things so difficult?

You flinch as he bends his knees, just a bit, and reaches for your chest. You try to bat him away but he throws your hand back. He cups your tit and kneads, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You shudder and look away, crossing your arm around your stomach. You hope he can’t see everything from up there.

“Can I come on your tits?” He snarls, “don’t know why I’m asking…”

He steps closer and you feel him getting closer. His body tenses as his other hand goes to your shoulder and he rocks his hips, as good as fucking your hand. You direct his tip down and turn your chin up, disgusted as he quakes in your grip.

He grunts as he cums, his voice trailing off in thick moans as he unleashes on you. Cords of his cum string over your chest and up your neck. You swallow down your disgust as you see him through his climax, finishing with another pinch on your nipple.

He lets you go and backs up, “whew,” he blows out and gives an emphatic shiver.

You puff and gather what’s left of your strength. It’s done. You’re free. For a few hours at least. You let the pain roll out in a guttural grunt as you stand and stagger to grab a tissue from the sleek metal box on his desk. You do your best to clean yourself up. Hopefully you can do a better job at the clinic in case they need to do any tests.

“That was fucking… spectacular,” he nears and grabs a tissue of his own, brushing against your back, “even dragging your tail around like a beat dog, you just get the job done, don’t you?”

You need a coffee. You’re going to punch him. You take another tissue and continue to sop up the slimy mess.

You wince as his hand settles on your ass. It isn’t as bad as the slap but it still makes you yelp. He tuts and retracted his touch.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You go get yourself figured the fuck out.” His frustration cracks in his voice, “I was looking forward to this…”

“Life doesn’t always go as we planned,” you shake your head and toss out the tissues. You go to the chair and grab your underwear, letting them unfurl.

“Wouldn’t you fucking know?” He barks, “give me those.” He yanks the underwear from your grasp, “I told you, forget the fucking parachute.” He throws them and shakes his head, “you know, that’s the problem with you old ones, you don’t fucking listen.”

You grab your pants as he simmers. You lean on the chair as you lift each foot and pull the belt to your waist. He looms, pacing, huffing and puffing.

“...hurt your fucking back....”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you murmur.

“You’re lucky you have good hands,” he carries on, “very fucking lucky. I could bankrupt you. You and your little brats would be out on the street–”

“Mr. Hansen,” you hook your bra behind your back with a torturous effort, “please–”

“You just keep them in mind, huh?” He sneers, “you better not be fucking lying.”

“I wish I was,” you grab your blouse and hook it over your head, poking your arms into the sleeves.

“Wait, wait,” he waves his hand and blocks you from the door, “you think… if you laid down… I could just slide in?”

You give a look. The look. The one you give Pete when he forgets something at the grocery store. Or the kids when they won’t stop fighting. He blanches as his eyes meet yours.

“Alright, alright, go see a doctor,” he relents, his frustration still sharp. “The sooner, the fucking better.”

He wags his finger in your face before he backs up. You limp to the door and grab your bag before you let yourself out. As you shut the door, you hear a thump. You see more tantrums from grown men than you do your own children.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #same as it ever was #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #series #the gray man #pain hustlers #au

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pensat-i-fet · 11 months

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An unbearable fan (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**So I was requested this the other day and it's kind of funny huh? Me writing from the POV of a Madrid fan. Just in case you didn't know it was fiction, this is the definitive proof 😅 anyways, it’s just banter and a bit of angst and fluff for all of you to hopefully enjoy! ❤️**

Word count: 1238

Masterlist

Wattpad

There were downsides to any relationship and that included a relationship with a football player. All the travelling, all the emotions that went up and down depending on the result of that specific day…it could be a lot. But when the player didn't play for the team you loved with all your heart, things could get a bit messier.

Luckily for you, Rúben played in England. Your team played in the Spanish League. So the chances of him playing against Madrid were so small…but there still was a chance.

And so when Madrid beat Chelsea and City beat Bayern, it was time for a second semifinal in a row between your team and your boyfriend's. And you hated it.

For the first leg, the teams played at the Bernabéu. Being back there was special for you. And it helped you daydream about Rúben playing there in the future…but for the home team. A girl can dream.

The match ended in a draw and Rúben should have been given MOTM because he drove your attacking players insane. They don't call him "the wall" for nothing.

"Just 1-0 at home, and we're in the final".

"Yeah, good luck with that", you said, rolling your eyes. "My boys were just warming up yesterday. They saved all the magic for the Etihad".

"You lot are really into saving the magic for the last minute. It gets annoying, you know?"

"Not to us!", you shrugged.

The banter continued during the next week but what changed was the nerves you felt. Rúben being in the final was great but you couldn't just root against your team. They had already been in a similar position the previous season and it broke your heart. But also, you were happy he lost and that made you feel like a horrible person. You tried not to show it in front of him but he wasn't dumb.

"Are you wearing that?", he asked, pointing at your outfit.

"Yes. What's wrong with it?"

"You always wear my shirt to matches. But I guess you're just making it clear again you want me to lose".

"It's not that but, it's my team…imagine Madrid and Benfica played each other! You'd want Benfica to win and I wouldn't blame you".

"You don't play for any of the teams. That makes the difference. I get you want them to always win but you should make an exception when they play against me!"

"I'd be happy if you win…".

"I doubt it".

You didn't want to say more because it'd only make things harder to fix later. But driving in silence was going to make you go insane.

"Good luck".

"It almost sounded like you meant it".

"Rúben, I do mean it".

"You mean you want me to do well while my team is destroyed. But it's a team sport. What I do means nothing".

"Tell that to Benzema".

He ignored your comment and left to join the rest of the team without saying goodbye.

Why couldn't they draw another team instead of yours???

Rúben wasn't completely wrong. Whatever happened, you wanted him to be the best player on the pitch. It could be someone else who messed up when your team scored.

And he was one of the best…but then again, so was Bernardo who scored a brace. And Julián only needed a few minutes on the pitch to seal their pass to the final. 4-0, how did that happen?

Apart from Rúben doing well, you wanted just a simple 0-1. No team needed to be humiliated this time. But yours was and it was against one of your biggest enemies. Pep.

When you saw Rúben waiting for you by the car, you noticed his smile and that pissed you off. So you couldn't want your team to win but he could laugh after humiliating you? Bit unfair, that.

"You feeling ok after that?"

Your response was to look inside his trousers' pockets, which confused him. "Did you take Karim out already? Nice, he needs the fresh air".

"You're joking?"

"It's that or telling you to go to hell. I'm trying to be diplomatic".

The day after the match, you were off work so sleeping in sounded like the best way to start your day. By the time you woke up, Rúben was long gone and so you made it to the kitchen expecting it to be empty.

And there was no Rúben there but it looks like he had time to buy, and print, all the newspaper articles about the match before leaving to train. He even checked the Barcelona press to find the most insulting headlines.

But two could play that game.

"Did you read the news today?", he asked when he got back home.

"I've never been a newspaper person. I prefer to get my news from Twitter".

"From Madrid fan accounts? I bet they are real objective".

"Are you a comedian now?"

"Come on…", he said, hugging you. "Forgive me for annihilating your team".

"Should we talk about last season, Dias? Stop it!"

"Such a sore loser", he laughed.

"Well, I'm not used to losing unlike others".

The weeks that passed between the semifinals and the final had helped you two forget your little fight. But you were still petty and had a surprise saved for Rúben.

"It's so tiring to pack for just a couple of days. I've checked the weather so many times to bring the right clothes".

"You can always use that as an excuse to go shopping there".

"You're right. But…can you help me? I don't know if this outfit is right for the match?"

When he got there, his smile disappeared.

"I can't stand you".

"Is it good or not?"

"When did you buy an Inter shirt?"

"When I saw the newspapers you left for me".

"It was a joke", he said, annoyed.

"This is a joke too".

"A joke is supposed to be funny".

"Really, Rúben? So you thought I would laugh at what you did to me?"

And it was back to square one. But at least this time you travelled separately. And, even if he pissed you off so much since he beat Madrid, you still wore his shirt to the match. You didn't even wear a Madrid one to the semis and he really thought you'd wear an Inter one now? Silly boy.

But all the jokes and digs meant nothing when you saw him lifting the trophy. Your eyes watered immediately and you couldn't wait to hug him.

"You…you won", you said, sobbing and hiding your face in his neck.

"Yeah, sorry about that".

You both laughed and he held you tighter while you cried.

"I'm really proud of you, you know?"

"Even if I beat your team to win the trophies?"

"Yeah", you said, looking up at him. "Even then. Seeing you after you won just…I didn't expect it to mean so much".

"It means a lot to me that it means a lot to you".

You hugged in the middle of the pitch, forgetting about everyone else.

"Besides, you still have a long way to go to catch us so…we like doing charity work and letting others win every once in a while".

Rúben laughed and shook his head. "You are the most unbearable fanbase in the world, you know?"

"I know. But at least you managed to get one of us to be happy you won today".

#ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias angst #ruben dias fluff #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer angst #footballer fluff

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lucy90712 · 2 months

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Road to recovery- part 8

Masterlist

Part of me was hoping that the hate would slow down a bit but of course it didn't. Every time I checked any form of social media all I saw was people posting about how much they didn't like me and assuming that I'm only friends with Pablo to gain something. I thought I'd be able to handle the comments but I just can't there has been so many more than I thought there would be and people have said such hurtful things about my appearance and my character. Pablo keeps apologising and asking if I'm ok and I just keep telling him I'm fine which is a bit of a lie but I can tell he already feels bad enough I don't want to make him feel worse by telling him how I really feel. The worst part about it is that everyone seems to be drawing attention to the things I was already insecure about which hasn't helped my mental state at all.

Today though I have a chance to cheer myself up a bit as I have a big check up with my doctor to see how my recovery is progressing. I think it's going pretty good so hopefully he agrees and says something positive as that would really lift my spirits. I've been nervous about the appointment today as well which has really made the last few days even more challenging on my mental health but I'm trying to stay positive as I know wallowing in sadness and anxiety won't do me any good.

Alonso came to pick me up a bit before my appointment; when I got in the car I expected him to tease me about everything that happened with the game this weekend but he didn't instead he asked if I was ok. I was going to lie to him too but because he's my brother he knows exactly when I'm lying so I had to tell him the truth. It was kind of nice to get all of my feelings off my chest and Alonso was really supportive and gave me some good advice. He's been through things like this before with getting hate for his performances out on track so he told me to just delete the apps off my phone for a bit that way I'm not tempted to look at what people are saying. In fact he stole my phone and did it for me as I think he knew I probably wouldn't do it myself.

Once I had my phone back I went into the hospital on my own leaving Alonso to wait in the car for me. The wait for my appointment wasn't long at all and then I went in and was immediately taken for some new scans to see how everything was healing. After scans I was subjected to a load of tests on my range of movement, how much weight I could put on my leg and how much pain I was in. The testing was rigorous and honestly quite exhausting as it's been a long time since I've done this much movement with my knee but for the most part it felt good. After I had done everything the doctor left for a while to review it all and look at my scans which left me just staring at the wall hoping to hear good news. Just as I was daydreaming the door opened again and the doctor came back in, his expression was impossible to read which for some reason filled me with a few more nerves.

"Ok Lola things aren't progressing as we would like them too internally you aren't healing as quick as we thought you would and your movement isn't at the range we would expect it to be" he said

"What does that mean?" I asked holding back tears

"For now it doesn't mean too much this can happen as we can't always accurately predict how quickly people will recover but we will set another one of these appointments in a few weeks and if we aren't seeing improvement you may need a second surgery so that we can see what's going on" the doctor explained

"Ok" was all I could manage to say

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear but don't let it discourage you if you keep working hard you won't need the surgery" he said

We scheduled my next appointment and that was as long as I could hold it together. All of my emotions that I'd been holding onto for the last few days came out all at once, as soon as I left the hospital doors I burst into tears and I couldn't do anything to stop them. I made my way back to where Alonso parked but before I could get into the car Alonso had got out and wrapped me in his arms. He tried to get me to stop crying and tell him what was wrong but I just couldn't he tried everything to help me all of which had worked before but today nothing could stop me. Eventually he gave up and let me get in the car so we could go home because right now all I want is to just go home and get to grips with my emotions as I clearly have a lot to process.

As much as my eyes were filled with tears I could tell that Alonso didn't take the turn to take me back to my place which meant he was going to take me somewhere in hopes of cheering me up. I really didn't want to go wherever it was he was planning to go but I was sobbing too much to tell him to take me home. We went a bit further before the car stopped and I looked round a bit as at first I didn't recognise where we were but then I saw Pablo's house and realised we were just down the street. I should've known Alonso was going to bring me here but this is the last place I want to be I don't want Pablo to see me like this. I knew we said we would help each other out but I know for a fact Pablo is doing better and I know he's in a better place mentally and I don't want to ruin that by projecting my problems onto him that wouldn't be fair.

Alonso had to practically drag me out of the car and down the road which was rather easy for him as I'm not strong enough to put up too much of a fight. We walked down the street to Pablo's house where Alonso left me to ring the doorbell, part of me was hoping that he wouldn't be in even though he said he had no plans today. Of course after just a few seconds the door opened and I locked eyes with Pablo who straight away rushed over as quick as he could and wrapped me up in his arms. I wanted to stop crying but for some reason I only cried more once I was in Pablo's arms it was like he made me feel safe enough to truly let all of my feelings out. Pablo said a few words to my brother before taking me inside and allowing him to leave.

Pablo took me to the sofa and allowed me to settle into his embrace with my head buried in his chest so he couldn't see my tear stained and probably red and puffy face. His hand was gently stroking my back trying to calm me down while he whispered comforting words in my ears. It wasn't anything special what he was doing but hearing his words and feeling his hands on me did wonders in helping calm my emotions which I didn't have any control over. As my tears began to slow down Pablo kept rubbing my back and he even wiped some of the tears from my face that he could reach as I was still hiding most of my face. I never would've thought he would be so good at comforting me I mean he's always so hyper and full of energy I never imagined that he'd be any good at keeping calm and radiating that onto others but clearly he is. Once I had completely stopped crying and my breathing was getting back to normal Pablo put a hand under my chin and got me to look at him.

"Can you tell me what's wrong I hate seeing you so upset and I want to help" he said

"The doctor said my knee isn't healing properly and I might need another surgery if things don't get better" I said still sniffling slightly

"I'm sorry that sounds awful but that's not the only thing on your mind is it" he probed further

"No that's it" I lied

"Don't lie to me please just tell me what's wrong I'll do whatever I can to help and I won't judge you you know that" he said

Damn why doesn't he have to be able to read me like a book.

"Ok I've been getting a lot of hate since we were seen together at the game and it's been getting to me a bit I thought I could handle it as I'm used to criticism but I can't some people are just so mean" I admitted letting a few more tears fall

"I knew it was getting to you people on social media are assholes because they don't feel the consequences of what they say but none of what they say is true" he said

"But they keep talking about how I must be using you or how I don't deserve to even be friends with you which that part is kind of true" I rambled

"No it's not true I can't even imagine what my life would be like without you I love spending time with you just because you aren't famous doesn't mean you don't deserve to be friends with me and despite what they say I know you aren't using me I know you would never do that" he said

"And before you say anything all of the things they say about your appearance aren't true either you are beautiful inside and out and they are just jealous" he added

Hearing him say that put a smile on my face. Pablo has never really complimented me before he's told me my outfit was cool a few times but he's never called me beautiful so hearing it made me feel a lot better about myself. He must've noticed that I was finally smiling again as he told me I looked pretty when I smiled which only made my cheeks heat up but luckily my face was already red from crying so Pablo probably wouldn't have noticed. Although I kind of wish he knew how he made me feel because as time goes on it's getting harder and harder to hide my true feelings from him.

Pablo's POV

The pain in her eyes just shattered my heart. She's been my rock throughout every step of the way so far so to see her breakdown right in front of me really hurt. This whole time she's been the strong one never letting anything get to her but finally it's caught up with her and part of it's my fault because we got seen together at the game and now people are tearing her apart and one person can only handle so much. I feel so awful that I'm part of the reason she's so upset but knowing that I can be there for her and calm her down makes me feel a bit better. When she arrived she was hysterical and her brother told me he couldn't get a word out of her so he wanted me to try so that's what I did. I'm not very good at keeping myself calm at times let alone other people but I tried my best and after a while of just rubbing her back and whispering to her she calmed down. It felt good to be the one to help her because she's done so much for me that anything I can do to even remotely repay that I'll do in a heartbeat.

Hearing the way she criticised herself as well it pained me. She's the most beautiful and kind person I've ever met so to hear her say that she thought she didn't deserve to be friends with me hurt but what hurt more was to see that those horrible people got to her and made her feel insecure in herself. Throughout the time we've known each other I've always wanted to tell her just how beautiful she is but I've refrained as I know once I open the flood gates there's no going back. Once I start complimenting her I'm scared that I'll let my feelings show but today she needed it so I knew I had to take the risk. Seeing the smile that my compliments gave her made the risk feel worth it though as I'd do anything to keep her smiling 24/7.

Looking into her eyes as she smiled and blushed at my words made me feel some type of way. I've felt something for her since we first met and I've kept those feelings repressed until now but I don't know if I can do it any longer. She's just the most perfect girl I've ever met and I don't want to lose her whether that be to another guy or to the fear of what us being friends might mean for her. I have to tell her how I feel in hopes that as long as she feels the same way it gives her a reason to stick around even when things are tough like they are right now. As scary as it is I have to take the risk.

#gavi imagine #gavi imagines #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi imagines #gavi #gavi oneshots #football imagine #gavi x reader #pablo gavi

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

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Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day Two)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn’t plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn’t plan on falling for you either.

Chapter Summary | You fall into a quick routine whilst the hunt for your artefacts is ongoing. Marcus makes good on his promise of the best Italian food outside of Italy as a way for you both to forget your daily stress for a moment.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.9k

Warnings | Marcus and reader shamelessly flirting with each other, mentions of food and alcohol consumption but nothing much else right now.

Authors Note | Day two with Marcus and this is... not my best. I think because the pacing on this fic is so different to anything I've done previously, I'm not confident that I'm not completely rushing things but here we are! I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please consider dropping me a comment, reblogging or heading into my ask box to share the love! If you're interested in being added to the taglist for this or for any of my other work, please check this post on how to do that! And as usual, a HUGE thank you to @morning-star-joyfor beta-ing this huge chapter and generally just HYPING ME UP. ILY.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You groan at the incessant chiming of your alarm. There is no way that it is already time to be awake. You roll over and through blurry eyes manage to turn the alarm off, rolling onto your back to let your eyes adjust to the soft morning light drifting in through the curtains.

Rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes, you pick up your phone, opening it to find your email app overflowing with unread emails from London. They were already five hours into their workday, and each and every email you opened was basically screaming at you for an update on the case. An update you had expressly told everyone wouldn’t come until later in their afternoon. You sigh as you push yourself up in bed, dialing Mark’s number before you can think about what you’re doing.

“Jones, good to hear from you,” You can hear the familiar background noise of the office behind him, “How’re things over there?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “Fine, I guess, would be even better if you could get everyone off my ass looking for updates though.”

“I’m sorry Jones,” He sighs down the phone, “I really am trying, but I’m sure you can understand that everyone here is on edge right now.”

You sigh again, “I know, it’s not your fault, hopefully I’ll have something to update you with when I call you later on,” You shift on the bed and push yourself up, padding over to the window to draw the curtains, “How’s Geralt?”

“Geralt’s fine,” Mark chuckles, referring to your dog that he had agreed to look after whilst you’re away, “He’s got a taste for roast chicken now, Miranda cooked him one especially as a treat.”

“If you spoil him too much, you’re paying for the roast chicken I’m going to have to feed him when I come back, you understand.”

“Loud and clear Jones,” You can hear someone trying to talk to him on the other end of the phone, “Listen, I’ve got to bounce, but I’ll speak to you later, alright?”

“Alright, have a good day.”

“You too Jones,” He finishes, “Go get ‘em.”

You’re in and out of the shower in record time that morning, cleaning the rest of the jetlag from your skin, swiping on some mascara and painting on your foundation and concealer to cover the pretty large circles around your eyes from sleep deprivation. You’re shrugging on your blazer when there’s a knock at your door.

“Morning, boss,” It’s Lizzie, “Car should be downstairs in ten.”

“I’m ready,” You mumble, letting her hold the door open whilst you grab your laptop bag and your handbag, checking you’ve got everything before closing the door, “Sorry about last night, I slept for longer than I thought I would.”

“That’s alright,” She smiles, pressing the button for the elevator, “I managed to entertain myself.”

There’s a smirk on her face that has you smiling too, “What did you get up to?” You tease, nudging her with your elbow.

“I just went for dinner,” She unlocks her phone and opens up Tinder, “American men love British women,” She winks, “I met Tod, who took me to the fanciest steakhouse in D.C., paid for my dinner and then blocked me when I told him I wasn’t interested in sleeping with him,” She’s scrolling through her messages to make a point, most of them unread, “Who do you think I should go for tonight?” She’s stepping into the elevator, you’re close on her heels, “David looks nice,” She opens his profile and scrolls through his photos so you can see, before she’s going back to his message, “He seems to think I’ll like a seafood restaurant around the corner from here.”

You’re both laughing by the time the elevator reaches the lobby, Lizzie pressing send on a message to David, letting him know when and where to meet her, “What about you?” She asks, “Don’t tell me you managed to sleep all the way through to this morning?”

You shake your head as your heels clip through the lobby, “There’s a great diner just around the corner,” You shrug, “Marcus showed me.”

Lizzie looks up at you with telling eyes and a smirk on her lips, “Did he now?”

“Shut up,” You chide, “It was kind of weird to be honest, phones me to ask if he’d upset me and then takes me for pancakes at nine in the evening.”

“I can’t blame him,” Lizzie shrugs, “You did look like you were about to slap him yesterday.”

“That’s because he chooses to ask the old white man the questions automatically, instead of me.”

“Come on Jones,” She’s speaking as she rounds the car that was sent for you, slipping into the backseat next to you, “That’s because Pete works for the police, it’s his job to know the answer to those questions, you can’t blame the poor man for that.”

“Well, don’t go getting any ideas,” You warn her as the car starts slipping through the city, “It was a one-time thing, just so I had somewhere to go on my own.” You know it’s a lie. You can already taste the pasta and the wine he’d promised you this evening, but Lizzie didn’t need to know that.

“I knew you agreed with me,” She speaks after a few minutes of silence, just as the car is pulling in to drop you off, she senses your confusion, “When I said he was cute!”

You groan as you both reach for your things and start walking into the building, “I do not think he’s cute.”

“The blush on your face would suggest otherwise,” She teases, shoving her own bag into the airport style security scanner to be checked, “You never go for dinner for anyone, not even at home, you definitely think he’s cute.”

“We’re shelving this conversation right now.” You demand, following her actions of setting your things down and heading through the scanners.

Once the security detail is satisfied neither of you are terrorist’s about to blow the place to the ground, they let you through and its only moments until you’re back in the office from yesterday. There’s a similar buzz about the place, people tapping away on computers and walking around with files. You can already see Marcus and his partner sitting in the meeting room with Pete, talking and laughing with each other, which makes your blood boil. You hope they aren’t talking about the case.

You march over, Lizzie having to run to keep up with you, knocking twice on the glass before you enter. Their conversation goes silent, only adding to your suspicions that they were in fact discussing the case without you.

“Good morning,” Marcus stands to greet you, “Sleep okay?”

“I slept fine, thank you,” You reply is curt as you sit down, “I trust you’ve got an update for us?”

He’s still standing, and his partner is looking up at him with a jovial look that you’ve seen in men before, and it infuriates you even more. Steven is looking at Marcus as if to say, ‘who does this girl think she is?’, flouncing into our office and demanding answers from us. You couldn’t give a fuck, you think, looking back at him, I didn’t make my career worrying about what silly men like you think.

Marcus takes a deep breath and sits back down, opening up the folder on the table, “So, the good news is, Steven managed to track the gang from the airport,” He pushes some grainy CCTV stills across to you which you take, “We’ve tracked them from here to a warehouse on the edge of the city, but the issue is, in all of the footage, there’s no sign of them carrying anything, no bags, no boxes, nothing.”

You throw your head back and groan in frustration, “That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Pete chuckles to the side of you, you shoot him a glare. It wasn’t meant to be funny; you fume silently.

“Doesn’t mean your artefacts aren’t there,” Marcus reassures, “We see it often that they’ll ship these things separately so they can’t be caught with them, so we’re planning a raid on the warehouse to see if that is the case.”

“Today?” You ask, optimism in your voice.

“It’s a big operation, you’ll understand,” Steven speaks now, “It’ll take us some time to pull the right resources in so we’re aiming for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you joking?” You scoff, “I’m sorry, but this is the biggest museum theft in history, of one of the most important British archaeological finds and you’re going to wait until tomorrow afternoon?” You turn to Pete now, hoping for some back up, “If this were the Met they’ve have raided it this morning, right Pete?”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, his stutters a little, “Well, I mean, we’d need some time to put things together.” Traitor.

You take a deep breath in and push it out through your mouth to calm yourself, “Is there any way we can raid tomorrow morning?” You ask.

This time it’s Marcus who speaks, “We know how important this is, not just to you, but for us as well, so let me see if I can pull some strings and get things moving a little quicker.”

You nod in understanding, wondering whether he is in fact doing this for the greater good, or just to stay in your good books, “I appreciate that Marcus, thank you.”

He nods, “No problem, let me head out and make some calls,” He turns to Steven, “Can you get the briefing document ready, just in case we can get things moved around.”

Steven nods in understanding but you don’t miss the glare he shoots your way as he stands up to leave. What is his problem? Pete also stands to leave, mumbling something about updating headquarters back in London.

“Is it okay if I stay here to dial into my call with everyone back home?” You ask Marcus, who is shuffling papers back into his file.

“Sure thing,” He smiles, the warm smile you remember from last night, “Take your time,” He says, shutting the file and turning to Lizzie, “How about I show you where the coffee machine is, I’m sure you both need one.”

You’re waving her out of the room as your other hand is pulling your laptop out of its bag, she knows how you take your coffee, you just pray that the creamer they use here instead of milk doesn’t make you sick.

As soon as you dial into the call, you’re wishing you hadn’t. Wishing you could curl up into a ball and forgo all responsibilities. It’s times like this that you really missed fieldwork, sure digging up ancient skeletons could be emotionally taxing, but at least they never talked back to you or demanded why their stolen artefacts were still in fact stolen before they’d even greeted you a hello.

“Good morning to you too,” You smile sweetly into the camera as soon as Hartwig has demanded his update, “I’ve got some good news, the team here have managed to pick up the gang exiting a flight here in D.C. and then making their way to a warehouse on the other side of the city.”

“And is there any update on anything being found?”

“They’re pulling a team together as we speak with the hopes of raiding it in the morning.”

Hartwig looks bereft in his little square box on your screen, “Is there no way you can push for any earlier?”

“I already did, they were going to wait until tomorrow afternoon, but Agent Pike is putting in some calls as we speak to get things moving more quickly,” You look up from your screen and you can see the aforementioned Agent Pike stood with Lizzie, who has two mugs of coffee in her hand, they look deep in conversation, when his eyes flit to yours you immediately look back down at your screen, “I’ll be heading out with the team tomorrow, hopefully as early as possible so I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any news.”

As soon as the pleasantries are over you slam the laptop shut and bury your face in your hands. God, you just wanted to be at home, on your sofa, with your dog and a cup of tea and all of this nonsense behind you. There’s a soft tap on the glass and you expect to see Lizzie, but it’s Marcus, two mugs of coffee in hand.

“Lizzie asked me to bring you this,” He sets the mug down next to you, “She had some calls to make so she’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready to head back.”

You smile up at him, gripping the mug. You don’t look before you take a drink and yep, the creamer is far too much that it has you pulling a face, but you take another big drink, hoping the caffeine makes today a bit more bearable, “I needed that, thank you.”

He’s perched himself on the table next to you, a safe distance away that it doesn’t seem inappropriate but close enough that if you wanted to, and you really did, you could put your hand on his thigh. Not this again, you chide your brain. It’s actually him that closes the gap though, reaching one of his hands to rest on yours which is on the table.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.” He says softly, clearly able to understand that this might just put you into an early grave with the stress you constantly feel through your body.

You unconsciously turn your palm up on the table before you know what you’re doing and suddenly, you’re actually holding his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind, just squeezes your hand with his before letting it go.

“Now, I know that a good bowl of pasta and a glass of wine will help,” He’s smiling, “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

You nod with a smile that matches his own, “See you at seven, Agent Pike.”

The rest of your day goes by in a blur. You spend most of it back at the hotel, replying to the myriad of emails you have to get through, all of which seem to be some kind of version of ‘I understand the magnitude of the situation, but myself and the team here in D.C. are doing our best.’. You take a nap in the early afternoon, supposing it’s one of the perks of everyone back home having logged off and gone home, and then soaked in a bubble bath, which did nothing to relieve the stress and tension from your shoulder blades.

It's not until six that you realise you have absolutely nothing to wear to dinner this evening. Your suitcase either consisted of the suits you wore during the day to give you the confidence to tell off jumped up FBI agents how to do their job, or the comfy clothes you’d favoured when working in the field. Nothing you pulled out screamed ‘dinner at a nice Italian restaurant with the handsome man who should really remain a professional colleague but that you definitely wouldn’t mind kissing.’

You shake your head again at the intrusive thought. When was your brain going to catch up with the fact that even if you did kiss him, you were only here for a few weeks at best. You had to remind yourself of the last time you went too quickly with someone. It never ended well.

Settling on your most casual pair of trousers and a knitted jumper, you sighed. This would have to do. You stuff the company card and your phone into your pocket and head down to the lobby. You’re thirty minutes early but there’s still an incessant vibrating coming from your pocket, indicating you’re still receiving a tirade of emails that will need to be dealt with. When you exit the elevator, you’re not expecting to find Marcus already sat waiting for you, typing on his phone in a way that makes you think he’s probably got the same amount of stress on his shoulders that you do.

“You’re early,” Your voice makes him jump and you stifle a giggle at the way his phone nearly slips from his hand, “Tell me you’ve not been here for too long?”

He looks at his watch, “Maybe a half hour?”

“You turned up an hour early for dinner?”

“You turned up half an hour early for dinner,” He counters, “I was just catching up with emails.”

You take your phone out of your back pocket and flash the screen at him, Outlook notifications stacking up by the minute, “Looks like we’re both in the same boat then.”

He moves closer to you, showing you his phone as he switches it off, “Go on, do the same.” He urges.

“Marcus, I can’t…” You trail off.

“Of course you can,” He shrugs, “Unless you were planning to ignore me for the entirety of dinner?”

He has a point, even you would never dream of spending your evening ignoring this man in favour of your emails. You curse the smile appearing on your face but follow his lead, showing him the screen as you turn your own phone off and put it back into your pocket.

“Good girl,” He praises, you think it must have been an unconscious choice of words because you’re both blushing as soon as it’s left his mouth, but you don’t complain, “Now come on,” He grabs hold of your hand and starts dragging you outside, “It’s time for the best tiramisu outside of Italy.”

Marcus manages to hail a cab outside with ease and only let’s go of your hand when he leaves your side to circle the car and take the other seat, but not before opening the door for you to climb in. He makes polite conversation with the driver as he zips through the streets to drop you off at the restaurant. You smile as you look out of the window, he’s ticking one of the green flags you’ve always looked for in men back home, being polite to anyone doing you a service. God, this was bad news.

The restaurant is a small, hole-in-the-wall, type establishment which has you excited. In your experience these were always some of the best places back home. Much like the waitress from the previous night, the waiter here greets Marcus with a firm handshake and a ‘welcome back’, you wonder if this man ever cooks his own food.

You’re sat at a table for two in the back corner, candlelight splaying across the table. There’s soft music playing in the background and starched napkins. Far too nice for a dinner with a colleague you think to yourself, but let it lie for now. He orders a bottle of white wine and when it arrives you must admit that this man knows his wine.

“Fuck, I needed this,” You whine, taking a second sip, much bigger than the first, “Thank you, by the way, for getting everything moved up for us.”

“It’s the least I can do,” He shrugs, something which you realise is one of his quirks that you enjoy, “I know how much stress you’re getting, so anything I can do to make things easier, I’ll do.”

The waiter comes back to take your order. Marcus insists on sharing bruschetta to start with, you opt for a carbonara because it’s the only tried and true way you know to test an Italian restaurant’s caliber, Marcus goes for a risotto which you’ve already decided you’ll be stealing a forkful of.

“So, considering this is two for two where the waiters have greeted you by name, do you know how to cook?” You tease over your glass of wine.

He chuckles, “I do, but when I’m on my own it makes more sense to come out to eat, or order in.”

“So, there’s no Mrs Marcus Pike then?” You watch closely as his face drops a little and you realise that you’ve probably fucked up, “I’m sorry, that was too personal, don’t feel like you have to answer that.”

He takes a sip of his own wine and leans back in his chair, his way of creating space between the two of you, “There was, once, but we were young and stupid so it didn’t work out,” He takes a deep inhale now, “And then a failed engagement, she was actually meant to move here with me but decided there was someone else who was better for her.”

You want to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, whilst his voice doesn’t give away his obvious disappointment in his failed relationships, his face certainly does. Gone is the usual smile, replaced with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry Marcus,” You lean yourself back on your own chair, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He looks up at you and his features finally soften a little, “It’s fine, Jones,” He insists, “It’s part of who I am, the fact that I fall in love without really thinking about it, nothing to be ashamed of, just something to be careful of.”

“Who told you that was my nickname?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the misery it was sitting in currently.

“Lizzie,” He takes a break to answer when the waiter puts down your appetizer, “That’s what she called you earlier when we were talking, you want me to call you something else, because I can if it makes you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No, it’s fine,” You reassure, “Didn’t know if that was another of your federal agent things, knowing my deepest secrets.”

“If I knew that then I’d be able to answer why you’re here instead of out in the field,” He’s taking a bite of his food and then speaking before he’s finished, something that would normally drive you wild but is endearing here, “Makes sense though, Indiana Jones, world famous archaeologist.”

“He’s actually a terrible archaeologist,” You speak once you’ve taken a bite of your food, “World famous, yes, but I’ve never seen that man write an archaeological report.”

Marcus actually throws his head back in laughter, which has you giggling too, when had things ever been this effortless with anyone? You think back to all the forced first dates back in London, where one finance man after another had bored you to death. It had never felt like this.

“Point taken,” He says when he’s recovered, “So, what about you, no man missing you back in London?”

“There is only one man in my life right now and that’s Geralt.”

“I’m guessing Geralt isn’t your boyfriend?”

“No,” You laugh, popping the last bite of your bruschetta into your mouth, “He’s my dog, I’d show you a picture, but you made me turn my phone off.”

“Remind me to ask you tomorrow then,” He smiles over his glass of wine, “But no actual man, good to know.”

“I guess jetting all over the world to find pieces of history wasn’t really conducive to anything long term,” You mirror his own shrug from earlier, “And the men in London are just shocking, so I’ve found it easier to be on my own.”

“Never had the urge to settle down?” He asks as the waiter places your pasta in front of you.

“Of course, especially when all of my friends are doing the same,” You swirl the spaghetti around your fork, “You and I have the same issue of falling too easily, tends to scare a lot of people off right?”

You don’t miss how Marcus’ eyes are trained on you as you purse your lips perfectly in order to suck the end of the spaghetti through your lips, or how his eyes flit to your bottom lip when your tongue peeks out to lick the last of the sauce from it. There’s a sudden realization that you might actually have this man wrapped around your finger if you wanted it.

“Hello?” You move your head down into his line of sight, “Earth to Marcus.”

You watch as he does something like you do when you find your mind drifting, shaking his head and apologizing, “What did you say again?”

“I said, falling too quickly is something we have in common and that it tends to scare people off.”

“Right,” He scoops some of his food into his mouth finally, “That was my mistake last time, asking her to uproot her life to come and marry me after a few months.”

“Her loss,” is all you respond with, “Lucky me though, I get to sit and have dinner with you by candlelight.”

“Who say’s I wouldn’t have brought you here if I did have someone?”

“Because this is totally a date,” You smirk, he raises an eyebrow, “Candle on the table, folded napkins, talking about our failed love lives, you brought me here on a date Marcus Pike.”

“If the shoe fits,” He smiles, “You want this to be a date?”

“Undecided.” You tease as the waiter clears your plates; Marcus asks him to bring you a slice of tiramisu to share before he leaves.

There’s an air of tension as you sit and sip the last of your wine. The tone has definitely changed, and you don’t even really know why you’re doing it. You know nothing can really happen between the two of you. You know that in a few weeks you’re going to have to pack up your suitcase and go back to the mundane life of London. You know if you start something here, you’re probably going to fall in too deep and break your own heart, as well as his, when you leave. But when Marcus Pike is looking over the rim of his wine glass like he wants to devour you, you can’t really help yourself.

The tiramisu is placed in the middle of the table but there’s only one spoon. He picks the spoon up and drags it through the corner of the dessert before putting it to his mouth. You watch as he drags the spoon back through his lips, stopping to run his tongue over the bit of cream he missed the first time. Then, he’s dragging the spoon back through it and leaning over the table slightly to bring it to your lips.

You look at him through hooded lids, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to catch the bottom of the spoon, before closing your lips around it as he pulls the spoon back out from your mouth. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat and this repeats until the whole dessert is finished.

There’s a sense of haste when he asks for the bill and you throw down your company card to pay, much like you’d done the night before. Even when Marcus is gripping onto your wrist and dragging you outside, you wonder if your minds are thinking the same thing. For you, all you can think about when you’re back in a cab and going back to the hotel is that you want to kiss that delightfully plump bottom lip of his and run your fingers through his hair.

He practically throws some dollar bills at the driver, mumbling to him to keep the change as he’s following you into the hotel, standing silently next to you whilst you press the button for the elevator. All you can think is that you wish he would make a move, touch you, whisper something in your ear, anything. When he steps inside the elevator with you, you’re finally thinking he might.

“You’re getting in the elevator with me?” You ask, eyebrow raised as he steps in behind you.

“Just making sure you get back safe.”

“Marcus, my room is a two second walk from the lift.”

“And I would be a terrible federal agent if I didn’t make sure you were safe for those two seconds.”

The doors close behind you and you let out a silent prayer that you’re the only two in there. You rest your back on the wall as Marcus steps a little closer, “I’ve gotta give it to you, agent, that was the best date I’ve been on in a while.”

He takes another step towards you, closing the gap so that his body is almost pressed to yours, “You just needed to fly across the pond to find the right man.”

You tilt your head to the side a little, pushing yourself off the wall to close the final inches of air between the two of you. You can feel his arm wrap around the small of your back to steady you. You’re tilting your head up to meet his. You can see his glazed eyes staring down at you before they flutter shut, much like your own do in the next second. You can feel his breath fanning across your cheeks, his hand at your back pressing more firmly, bringing you even closer into his warmth. You’re almost certain that there is the faintest touch of his bottom lip to yours, but then there’s a ding of the elevator bell and the doors are opening. You hear Marcus groan in frustration, the moment entirely lost as he pulls his face from yours.

“Guess I’ll have to wait to kiss you when you find my artefacts tomorrow,” You breathe, taking a step around him to exit the elevator, “Goodnight, Agent Pike.” You finish, just as the elevator doors start to close and he disappears.

If only you could have heard the sigh of his reply as he leant his head against the wall of the elevator, “Goodnight, Jones.”

Marcus Pike Taglist: @theviolethourdeux @yvonneeeee @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @tightjeansjavi @cupofjoel @swiftispunk

#Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike #Marcus pike fic #Marcus pike fanfic #Marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus pike smut #Marcus pike fluff #marcus pike imagine #Marcus pike x you #Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fic #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal

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a-legacy-not-to-be-forgotten · 25 days

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Undertale Yellow Car Headcanons 2

People liked the first one, so I figured I'd go do a few more to cover some folks I missed and add some extras for ones I already covered. Kudos to a friend on Discord who's a massive car nut and suggested quite a few of these. First one in case you haven't seen it. This one's a bit chonkier, so grab a snack or something.

Martlet: Electric Bike

Even if Martlet getting her hands on a driver's license is nigh impossible, we figured she should at least have something, even if she doesn't use it that much. Electric bikes seem to fit her style. Dunno if she'd use it often, but if the surface has no-fly laws or whatever, it'd probably help her out some.

Toriel: 2CV

...okay, Tori isn't really a UTY-exclusive character, but she has a minor role in the game, so does she count? Anyway, my friend had the idea of her using what they described as 'everybody's favorite little wine snail' and I think it fits her too well.

Chujin: Loud Ass 90s Tuner Car

If Chujin didn't inject raw Mountain Dew Voltage into his soul and survived to see the surface, he'd probably drive something like this. It ties in with the whole Ben 10 thing and it's a great way to express himself, as obnoxious as it may be. Usually, Ceroba makes him drive the family sedan.

Ceroba: If She Owned the Hummer (Semi-Joke one)

I meant for it as a shitpost, but we thought up an idea if she actually did own the car. Don't worry, she always looks before merging. Anyway, we figured she got it mainly because it's pretty cool. However, it is a massive waste of gas money, so she only uses it for camping or driving Kanako and Clover around on their birthdays. Otherwise, it mainly collects dust in her garage while she uses the more fuel-efficient sedan.

El Bailador: Lowrider

Kudos to @cheddarchandelure for suggesting this and it couldn't fit any better. Lowriders fit him like a glove. You know he just has this thing modded like crazy. It's nearly 20 feet of car, too. You don't get much more expressive than that.

Feisty Five: GMC Vandura

I gave the Feisty Five individual vehicles, but they also kinda need a car for the whole gang and what better vehicle for a group of crime fighting dinguses. Perfect for missions, lassons, or just hanging out as a group together. Starlo technically owns it, but usually Moray or Ace drive the thing.

Ace: Antique Mercedes

Okay, I know I technically already did Ace in the first part, but my friend suggested an Antique Mercedes, which I think fits a lot better than the Porche. I'll let you guys draw your own conclusions, tho.

Moray: SLK Roadster

Still a convertible, but I didn't like the image I used in the last one. So now we got a specific model for our favorite fish with no gender.

Mooch: Pretty Much Anything, but here's a Corolla

On the chance that Mooch somehow gets her license back, she'd be willing to drive whatever. Hopefully more responsibly this time around.

Dina: 5th Gen Mustang

My friend suggested that a classier style of muscle car would fit better than the more aggressive model I used in the first, and I think it suits her more laid-back nature well.

Blackjack: Antique Flatbed

It's been in his family for generations, and he's way too attached to the thing to get rid of it. Generally, he just fixes up anything that breaks down on him.

Starlo's Family: Uh...Trucks

The main workhorses for the Sunnyside Farm. Sure, they got a few dents and aren't the cleanest or most advanced, but hey, they get the job done. Mainly driven by Solomon and Orion, occasionally Starlo. The Cabover (bottom) is generally used for the big harvests and the pickup works for everything else.

Mo: C4 Corvette

The perfect car for a sleazy businessman! Well, not sleazy, but you get what I mean. He likes to act stylish with his choice of car, but his is constantly breaking down mechanically, since he doesn't really bother fixing the thing, just detailing it. Doesn't leave the best impressions for shoppers.

Honeydew Shopkeeper: Figaro

Why? Well, simple, it's small and cute, just like she is! Not much else to say beyond that.

Kanako: '70 Dodge Challenger

Kanako's still a bit too young to drive, but we settled on this for a dream car of hers, with both a road and track package. She got the idea from both the racing games she plays and Dina's own muscle car. Nobody understands why, But she really wants to visit San Francisco with it

Clover: Ford Galaxie Convertible

Figured we should do Clover's dream car as well. Not much a reasoning, we thought this just fit their style. Once they come of age, you know darn well they'll be racing Kanako.

Warned ya that would be a big one! Anyway, lemme know what y'all think!

#undertale #undertale yellow #headcanon #uty martlet #toriel dreemurr #uty chujin #uty ceroba #el bailador #the feisty five #uty ace #uty moray #uty mooch #uty dina #uty blackjack #uty mo #honeydew shopkeeper #uty kanako #uty clover

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formula1fanfiction · 16 days

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Esteban Ocon / Mick Schumacher

Title: Secrets and surprises

Pairing: Esteban Ocon / Mick Schumacher

Characters: Mick Schumacher, Esteban Ocon

Prompt: Esteban and Mick are finally reunited after some time apart, fluffy sexy times ensue.

It's the end of another mediocre race weekend for Esteban, it feels like things are going from bad to worse at the moment, his car is fucking awful at the best of times but things had only been made worse from contact from his teammate. Fucking Pierre, Esteban would love to strangle that mouthy idiot right now.

But on top of all that, since Mick stepped down as Mercedes race driver to drive for Alpine in the world endurance championships it feels like they never see each other anymore. In fact, he can't remember the last time, Mick is a great support and he's in touch with Esteban all the time but a text just isn't the same as a warm hug.

Esteban pushes the door of his hotel room open, he's ready for a shower and a good night's sleep and just forget about Japan, hopefully things can improve a little bit in China.

"Surprise." Mick is laying in the middle of Esteban's bed, his hands behind his head with a huge smile on his face. There couldn't be a more beautiful sight. "What are you doing here?"

"I only got here this morning, I had wanted to spend the whole weekend with you but things didn't go to plan, anyway we both have some free time and I thought we could spend it in Japan-" Esteban cuts off Mick by pressing their lips together, it feels perfect to finally have his boyfriend in his arms again.

"I've missed you so much Mick, fuck." Esteban is hovering above Mick's body. "What do you want, Estie?" The older man leans down and presses his lip against Mick, the kiss is soft and full of love. Mick gets the hint quickly pulls away quickly and helps Esteban to take his shirt off, letting it drop onto the floor, his own soon following.

"So lucky to have you." Esteban growls into Mick's skin and kisses his down Mick's body, all the way from his chest, down his stomach until he reaches the hem of Mick's track pants. "Do you want this?" Esteban digs his fingers into the waist band of his pants and waits for permission.

"It's been months, of course I do." Esteban chuckles and pulls down Mick's shorts and pants together in one swift move. Mick's cock springs to life and slaps against his stomach in the process of it. "You do want it baby."

Esteban doesn't waste any more time and takes Mick's hard cock into his hand and starts to stroke the younger mans member as slow as possible. Mick allows this to go on for a few seconds before he starts to whine and buck up his hips. "So needy." Mick laughs. "How are you not? Like I said, it's been months." Esteban has always prided himself on staying in control but he does stop teasing and leans down, sucking Mick's cock into his mouth.

Esteban takes the whole of Mick's dick into his mouth, and starts to bob his head up and down the shaft, teasing at the sensitive head every time he reaches the tip. It isn't long until Mick's reduced to a babbling mess, withering around on the bed. "Estie please, I won't last." Mick cries out, just as Esteban pulls off, smirking down at the younger man. Esteban reaches over for the draw in the night stand and pulls out a bottle of lube.

"Why do you even have lube, if i'm not around?" Mick whines from the loss of contact around his dick, watching as Esteban pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. "I haven't seen you for months Mick, i'm obviously going to need to jerk off." Mick nods, satisfied with the answer and lays back into the pillows, spreading his legs wide.

Esteban settles down between Mick's leg and presses a finger against his entrance, gently stroking around the area. "Come on Estie, don't tease." Esteban doesn't waste any more time and lets the finger sink inside.

Mick grips tightly onto the bed sheet as Esteban enters a single digit, giving it a quick twist, before he starts to push in and out of the younger man's body. Esteban quickly adds a second digit and scissors the younger man, feeling him stretch perfectly around him. Esteban eventually works his way up to three fingers and only then does he pull out. "Are you ready?" Mick can only nod only response.

Esteban pushes down his own pants and boxers and kicks them onto the floor, his own cock finally released and begging for attention. "I can't wait to be inside of you, fuck." He pours the remainder of the lube onto his cock, then presses himself against Mick's glistening hole.

The moan that escapes Mick's mouth is something that dreams are made of, once Esteban sinks inside and inch at a time, teasing Mick, by letting him feel every inch slowly. "Come on Estie, please." With one last push, Esteban bottoms out inside of him.

"Just can't wait, can you." Esteban tsks, Mick is about to make a smart come back but Esteban chooses that moment, to pull the whole way out, only to slam back inside of him, causing Mick's eyes to roll to the back of his head in pure pleasure.

Esteban sets a slow, deep rhythm, just wanting to enjoy the feeling of Mick being wrapped tightly around him, making cute little moans with every thrust, fuck it's been too long. He doesn't want it be some quick rough fuck, they have the next few days for that.

"You're so beautiful Mick." Esteban peppers little kisses over every available inch of Mick's face, while angling his thrusts ever so slightly until he hits that bundle of nerves inside of Mick. "Please." Mick cries out at throws his head against the pillow.

"Do you need come, love?" Mick nods eagerly, pushing up his hips, Esteban wastes no more time and wraps his fingers around the younger man's cock and strokes him in rhythm with his own thrusts. Esteban's hand is moving as slow as his cock, but it's still enough to push Mick over the edge. He moans loudly and jerks his hips as he spills his seed over Esteban finger tips.

Mick tightens down around him during his orgasm, squeezing his cock, perfectly. He knows he can't last much longer, it's been too long since he's had Mick like this. He manages three more thrusts, before following suit and fills Mick with his milky white seed, stripe after stripe until he collapses down beside him, breathless.

Esteban pulls the younger man in for a cuddle, his head resting on Esteban's chest. "Maybe we could spend the next few days in bed."

#esteban ocon #mick schumacher #formula 1 fanfiction #fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #mxm #fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #mxm smut

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theriu · 5 months

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River Reads Midnight Sun

Chapter 2: Open Book

In which Edward faces his fears and spends an agonizing amount of time hyperfixating on Bella.

<-Chapter 1

So we jump into chapter two AND next week, as it has been six days since Edward (shockingly) succeeded in leaving town forever (citation needed)! He is chilling (ha) in a snowbank, staring up at the stars, which are truly magnificent. Or he knows they would be, except he can't quite see anything except Bella's face. Yes, the girl has haunted him straight to (checks location on a map) oh he's in ALASKA, okay! I wasn't sure where Denali was, but I was PRETTY sure even Edward couldn't drive a car to Russia. (You'll see why I considered Russia in a minute.)

Anyway, the "unremarkable" face of this girl he's literally never spoken to directly has been haunting him for six days, which is indeed troubling. While he is brooding on this, the thoughts of a new character come leaping towards him. This is where we meet Tanya, a vampire with silver skin, blonde-but-almost-pink curly hair, amber eyes, and full lips. Mary Sue Tanya is stunning and exquisite, at least from Ed's memory, since he still can't see past the face permanently branded on his eyeballs.

So anyway, Mary Sue Tanya does a cannonball into Ed's snowbank, burying him alive with snow but not burying the image of Bella. It becomes clear that she has been crushing on Ed and is sad he will be leaving soon and doesn't return her affections, although he is very polite and gentlemanly about it.

(Honestly, I liked her well enough until we got to the "I'm not used to rejection" line, and then she starts sifting through the memories of all her human male conquests next to the actual mind reader who she is attracted to, to which I say WOMAN REALLY??? I don't think making the guy you like EVEN MORE UNCOMFORTABLE than he's already admitted you kinda make him is an effective way to gain his affections?!)

ANYWAY, thankfully they get off THAT subject quickly and have a really quite nice conversation, wherein Ed apologizes for getting her hopes up by coming to her home territory and Tanya tries to be a good friend. We see a mention of her "long-lost Russian accent," thus my uncertainty about location, and she tells him she knows he won't keep running from his mystery problem because he's the type who faces things head-on. Mary Sue TANYA then runs away across the snow, so light and fast she doesn't even leave footprints, suggesting a connection between vampires and wood elves.

Encouraged by this pep talk, Gary Stu Edward also gets up and runs footprintless across the snow, determined to be brave and go back and face those "bewildered chocolate-brown eyes," and hopefully not eat the girl attached to them.

SCENE CHANGE!

Edward's back in town, and his three vampire siblings/classmates are huddled around him as they head into the lunchroom, being quite adorably protective, honestly. Alice is trying to foresee any problematic eventualities, Jasper thinks it's funny that EDWARD is the one everyone's fretting over instead of him, Emmett is acting like a bodyguard, and Ed is just exasperated with all of them.

To his surprise, nobody at school is thinking about them, suggesting that Bella didn’t blab about his black murderstare from last chapter. After all, a normal human would have asked around about it, because humans and especially teens all like to feel NORMAL and FIT IN and be a "featureless flock of sheep" and WOW, should I be more annoyed at Ed or the author for this intense bias against high schoolers?! But of course Bella isn't like those OTHER kids, she doesn't do things like talk to people when something weird happens!

About this time, Bella walks in and Alice is all, "Act human!" To which Emmett responds by taking out the snowball he compressed into an ice chunk with his superstrength and chucking it at Alice, who casually deflects it across the room at superspeed, where it cracks a brick. This does, ironically, draw attention away from them. Everyone is annoyed at Emmett, which is fair, but also, ALICE COULDN'T YOU HAVE JUST CAUGHT IT INSTEAD OF POTENTIALLY SHOOTING SOMEONE?

Ahem. So Bella's in the lunch line, and Mike Newton, Regular High School Guy And Insignificant Human Rival, is worried about her. Ed starts also worrying about if she might be sickly, what with her translucent skin. (Are we 100% sure BELLA is human?!) The vampires do a slightly better job of acting natural, and Edward decides to refer to Bella as “Bella” and not just "the girl,” "as if she were the only girl in the world," which is HILARIOUS considering where we all know this is going!

After eavesdropping on Bella and Jessica whispering about him looking at her (Bella thinks he's mad at her, after the whole murderstare incident), Bella hunkers under her hair and avoids eye contact, although Ed thinks she keeps twitching like she WANTS to look at him. Then, at long last, lunch ends and everyone starts going to class. There is another internal struggle while Ed reviews what all of his vampire family members have advised about this situation. (Emmett sounding the least helpful, as he has apparently encountered two such delicious-smelling-people incidents that... uh... sound like they did NOT go well?) But Ed is determined to prove to himself that he has the self-control to sit through biology without murdering Bella, so off he goes.

(By the way, Rosalie complains she doesn't want to have to move because they're almost finally out of high school. Again, why are you pretending to be high school students?! It's not like you'll age whether you're there or not?! HOW DOES THIS HELP YOUR COVER??)

Edward gets to Biology to find Bella at their table, doodling randomly. He decides to introduce himself. He gets briefly lost in gratuitously detailed descriptions of her eyeballs and how they are simultaneously like chocolate and strong tea, and how could anyone so frail be deserving of his unwarranted hatred last week? He's also holding his breath, but has enough air in his longs for a reasonably lengthy conversation AND a short laugh, during which Bella is... surprised/startled that he called her Bella? Because her dad introduced her to everyone as Isabella? But she's apparently told multiple people since she got here that she prefers Bella? So he probably could have learned that even without his super vampire eavesdropping powers? WHY is this weird enough to be suspicious, and HOW does it indicate she is intuitive?

Well, the book and Ed believe she is insightful and intuitive, so I guess we should just go with it. Ed does eventually needs to breath so he can talk, and even though just breathing through his mouth is like tasting the FIERY COALS of her deliciousness, and their brief moment of making skin contact is like an ELECTRIC SHOCK, he manages to continue acting normal.

By the way, along with being unconventionally if lopsidedly pretty and smelling delicious, Bella was also in advanced-placement biology at her previous school and Knows Science! Edward realizes this must mean she is ESPECIALLY intelligent for a human, which of course makes perfect sense. After all, she was the first student in two years to look him in the eye long enough to notice they'd changed from the Murderstare Incident's I'm-going-to-eat-you black to today's calmer I'm-probably-not-going-to-eat-you-except-by-accident amber/gold! My friends, may I remind you this man previously admitted he has two medical degrees, a thing that probably required some amount of physically attending college. I really wonder if Ed's standards would be more realistic if he ever once SOCIALIZED WITH HIS HUMAN CLASSMATES.

In an effort to maintain normalcy, they talk about the weather. Bella does not like the cold and wet of Forks. She clearly does not like being in Forks at all. She is vague and grumpy about why she came here, and Edward is so obsessed curious that he may implode (this is the actual word used). We learn (agonizingly slowly) that her mom remarried—and no, Edward, Bella DOES like the guy, he's nice and a minor-league baseball player; and no, Edward, her mom DIDN'T send her here, SHE sent HERSELF here so her mom could happily travel with her step-dad rather than unhappily stay home with her! Ed is certain by now that Bella "isn't like other humans" because he keeps guessing her story arcs wrong and she's just so CONFUSING and UNPREDICTABLE, and this can't possibly be because he's about 100 years out of practice having a normal conversation without a cheat code into the other person's brain.

(Okay, to be fair, there are at LEAST two moments of self-awareness where Ed wonders if he'd be this bad at reading everybody without his mindreading powers. We should give him points for that.)

But despite his difficulties, he DOES figure out that Bella is unhappy, mostly by her sending out signals that a rhino could decipher. When he confronts her with this observation, her response is, "So?" And after meditating on this for an unusually brief paragraph, Ed realizes THE ANSWER:

"She was selfless."

I'm sorry, guys, I need to break for a second, that's the first part that made me laugh out loud. Can someone lend me a combine to harvest all this corn.

(Side Note: As previously stated, I have not read the books or watched the movies, so I could be biased by the negative side of the fanbase. But my general impression of Bella has not lent itself to "selflessness." BUT, it is only chapter two and I am only going off of general hearsay! The amount of poorly concealed disgruntlement is not impressing me, though.)

Anyway, Ed guesses that she doesn't really like her situation but doesn't want people to KNOW she doesn't like it. He continues to marvel at how positively he feels towards this girl, how discerning she is, how *cough* selfless she is, not like an "average martyr" who would actually tell someone she's not 100% happy with her SACRIFICE. Bella gets annoyed, which Ed finds amusing, so there's another adjective for the list. But then she says she's annoyed because she's so easy to read, and Edward can't believe this, because he's never had to work so hard to read someone before! Again, this couldn't possibly be because she's the first person in 100+ years whose mind he can't read!

By the way, Bella also seems to be oblivious immune to the usual red flags normal humans feel around vampires! Ed tries smiling dangerously at her, but the teacher breaks up their conversation with actual classtime, so he gets to angst for a few paragraphs about why he shouldn't find this girl interesting and how dangerous this is for her and yet how MUCH he wants to know more about her. And also trying not to kill her when her thick, black hair flips in his direction and drives his vampire nose bananas.

He books it as soon as the bell rings, having survived the encounter without murdering anyone but with so many new questions about this unremarkable, shy, frail, unmindreadable-yet-highly-face-readable, delicious-smelling, selfless, quietly disgruntled human girl.

(Side Note: I have learned a new word!

"Attar—a fragrant essential oil, typically made from rose petals."

Ex: "Again, I gasped at the clean, wet air outside as though it was a healing attar."

*loud sighing noises*)

So after that brief break, he goes to class with Emmett. Emmett, IMMENSELY HELPFUL EMMETT, asks how it went, questions if it wouldn't be easier to just get it over with, reassures Ed that everyone would understand if he messed up (GIVING IN IS NOT THE SAME AS "MESSING UP," EMMETT), and then vividly visualizes a time he experienced a really good-smelling woman and ate her. Between his earlier blasé-ness about not "wallowing in guilt" over past mistakes and this section's lack of anything indicating regret about that incident, I take back any nice things I might have said about this guy. Emmett, YOU. ARE. THE WORST.

It's so bad that Ed has to bolt out of class AGAIN, although it doesn't help that Emmett follows him and continues to suggest maybe Ed should just get it over with if it's so bad, can Alice or somebody please come punch him. Ed finally gets him to leave and hides in his car. Then, "like an addict" (his own words), he searches the whole school for thoughts about Bella. From his car. My GUY, just how UNREASONABLY powerful ARE your mind radar skills???

He finally locates Bella in gym class, because Mike, who is mad about Ed talking to her, is thinking in logical, complete sentences (as one does) about how satisfied he is that Bella doesn't seem interested in Edward. He also conveniently remembers her asking "what was with" Edward last Monday (after the Deathstare Incident). So apparently Bella isn't QUITE abnormal unique enough to stay totally silent when she encounters a weird thing (not that Edward notices). Ed's response to his annoyance over Mike's satisfaction is to blast "violent music," which seems the opposite of helpful to me.

We end the chapter with Bella coming out of school and heading to her rusty old truck while Ed watches her creepily from his car. She almost hits another student's car when she locks eyes with him, and Ed has to laugh at her sudden increased driving vigilance, as if she might be DANGEROUS! Because of course it's RIDICULOUS to think that BELLA could be dangerous to ANYONE in ANY vehicle, as if the driver's physical frailty has any bearing on the damage a truck can do when crashing into cars or non-vampires at speed.

AND SCENE!

I'm gonna be honest, guys, that one was a couple degrees more agonizing than the first chapter. I dread how much more I'm going to hear about Ed's conflicting desires to eat Bella and be attracted to her simultaneously average yet fascinating allure. She's just so unusually unique and smart and intuitive and selfless and shy and frail and inspires protective instincts, you see, and she's not like ANY OTHER human he's ever encountered, even though we have evidence now that sometimes certain vampires just find certain humans irresistibly delicious, and we can probably extrapolate that those humans were somehow immune to vampire powers, too.

I also highly question Bella's above-average "martyrdom," considering she dropped her guard pretty fast around the cute stranger and basically broadcasted how unhappy she is with her decision, which makes it feel a bit like she did what she did so she could feel good about herself rather than because it was the best thing to do? Being selfless doesn't mean COMPLETELY ignoring your own needs, or justify using your good deed as an excuse to have a poor attitude. Of course, considering that half her traits that Ed notices and marvels over are actually fairly normal, I don't think any of us feel a strong need to trust his assessments of her character.

Next up is CHAPTER THREE: RISK. I'm sure it will feature Edward being very level-headed and undramatic. I think I need to build my endurance back up for this one. (And thanks for the likes and comments so far, they really help keep me motivated! =D)

Chapter 3->

#River reads midnight sun #twilight #vampires #edward cullen #bella swan #satire #literary analysis maybe?#My word there are 29 chapters and an epilogue #Lend me your strength yall #River reviews

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