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entitled-fangirl · 3 months

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So guilty.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: An accident happens and the reader dies. Felix blames himself for it.

Words: 1,959

Warnings: spiked drink, death, drowning, cursing, makeout session, skinny dipping, guilty conscience

Author's note: Idea came from this request!!!!

Masterlist <3

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Felix and his girl had been together for what felt like an eternity. Truthfully, they'd been together a little over two years. But she spent many of her breaks at Saltburn with him, and his family adored her as one of their own.

That’s what made things so difficult. She was practically one of them.

Felix loved her more than the moon and the stars. She was his everything. He would eat, sleep, and breathe her if he could. She was his reason for waking up in the morning. And she was a beautiful sight to wake up to, indeed.

Like this morning.

Felix opened his eyes to see the sun peeking through his window, illuminating the bedroom. He leaned on one elbow to admire the sunrise before ultimately laying back down on his back. His head looked directly to his side to see his beloved girl. His angel.

She laid on her stomach, her face turned in his direction. Her cheek was slightly squished against the pillow, her hair an absolute wreck. But he found it so alluring. So perfect. Heavenly. Her pretty face lit up by the sunlight was the best thing his brown eyes had ever had the joy to witness. He let out a soft breath at the sight. One that woke her up.

Her eyes flickered open, before quickly closing again after seeing the sun in her eyes. She let out a light groan. “Mmm… ‘Morning, love.”

He grinned, his voice gravely from sleep, “‘Morning, angel. God, you’re such a pretty girl.”

She smiled, rolling over onto her back. A hand of hers came up to cover her eyes as she lightly rubbed them with the back of said hand.

He wished he could save this moment in time forever.

But, like all good things, it must come to an end.

Duncan’s voice was heard outside the door. “Master Felix, breakfast is in thirty minutes.”

He leaned up on his elbow, his voice echoing, “Thank you, Duncan.”

They heard his footsteps retreat from the door.

Felix’s attention turned back to the girl in his bed. Her pretty face. Her perfect body. Her sweet sweet soul. “What do you wanna do today, angel?”

A silence fell over them before she opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. She thought for a while before turning her head to look at him, “Let’s drink the day away, huh? You and me?”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips pull into a grin before he gently kisses her forehead, “Anything my angel wants.”

…

Hours after breakfast, the two sat in the library, sharing a bottle of liquor.

Felix’s parents didn’t mind. Not at all. They were the parents to encourage drinking in the house rather than out in bars and clubs, claiming it was best for them to realize their tolerance when safe at home. Felix didn’t care what morals they tried to teach. They could drink in the house, and that’s all he needed to know.

The bottle sat half empty, the two feeling buzzed as they talked for hours.

It didn’t really matter what the two talked about. Not at all. Felix could listen to her speak the alphabet for four hours and still think she was the most precious thing on earth.

But it escalated after a while. The two lay on the couch, their bodies close as they made out.

His hand was up her shirt, her hands pulling at his hair. He would never get tired of her pretty body. The small noises she made in pleasure. The way her body would react to his touches. He loved every second of it.

She pulled away from him suddenly, her eyes staring at his lips. “Let’s… let’s go sw… swim, yeah? C’mon Lex.”

He takes a moment to consider, or as much as he could in his drunken state, “you sure, angel? It could be kinda cold…”

She nodded, “Pl…Please, Please Lex. Wanna swim… Wanna swim with you..”

He nodded, letting his fears go before they even became present.

…

She pulled him across the dock excitedly.

He set their basket and bag down before setting up their picnic. Well, as much of a picnic they could put together by themselves, two drunk college kids in love.

He laid out the blanket before setting down the other alcohol bottles he brought. He let her take a look at the bottles as he set each one down on the blanket. “Now, let’s waste the rest of the day like you wanted, angel.”

She quickly pulled off her swimsuit cover, revealing the cute red bikini she was wearing.

He couldn’t help but stare. God, she was such a pretty thing. Too pretty. How he got her, he’d never know. She must’ve felt his stares because she grinned. “C’mon, Catton. You promised a swim…with…with me.”

He nods, opening one of the bottles in front of him. “I did. Just wanna… wanna buzz a little before I do… just…go…go ahead, baby girl….”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She grinned, running off the dock into the water.

He grinned, laying down on the blanket and pulling the bottle to his lips. “Talk to me…”

She splashed the water around her, “Oh, Lex. This is incredible. This... yeah… good idea…”

His head nods, even if she couldn’t see it. He pulled his sunglasses on, not wanting to look directly into the sun above him. “Well… wasn’t my idea but… I’ll take… credit if it makes you happy…”

She giggles, “It does.”

Felix let the silence fall before changing the subject. “D’ya think Oli’s alright? He was acting weird yesterday…. Should… Should have I invited him to swim with us today?”

He could practically hear her grin in her voice. “Oh, Oliver doesn’t want to be here… this is for you…and me.”

He grinned, “What… what d’ya mean, angel?”

He’s hit in the face with a cloth. He pulls it up.

Her swimsuit pieces.

He sits up, holding the pieces in front of him with a shit-eating grin. “Fuck, angel. You’re quite… quite wicked… aren’t you?” He took another swig of his bottle.

She giggles from the water. “Aren’t you glad Oliver’s not here?”

He scoffed, “More than fucking happy… no one gets to see this but me, huh? Such a pretty girl…” He stood, stumbling slightly. How much of that bottle had he drank?

He shuffled forward on the dock until she was in his line of sight. The sight of her bare shoulders sent him into a frenzy. “Fuck…” He wished, just for a moment, that they were in a clean pool so he could see through the murky water. See her pretty body on display for him.

She grinned, “Ya coming in, Lex?”

He let out a breath, “Jesus, angel. Yeah… yeah I…. I’ll be there.. Give me… give me a second.”

He walked back to the blanket, struggling to take off his shirt. He does so, tossing it in the bag before taking another swig of the bottle in front of him.

He sets the bottle down and walks back to the end of the dock.

Where was she?

Oh, Fuck. Where was she?

“…Angel…?”

No response.

His voice grew louder, “C’mon, angel. This isn’t funny.”

When he was met with silence, his mind quickly sobered him. His voice was loud, calling out desperately, “Angel… ANGEL!”

When no answer was heard, he jumped into the cold water.

He surfaced, his head swiveling around to look for her. Any sign of her. Where the fuck was she?

His heart told him it was just a game, that she was hiding somewhere, but his head said differently. She didn’t play games like this. Not the worrisome kind.

He began to swim further out in search for her. He hit the middle of the pond, looking around desperately.

He had only turned his head for a second. A second. And she was gone.

She was gone.

His family heard his heartfelt screams from the house.

…

A few days had passed, and Felix was beyond disrepair. His hair was unwashed, his facial hair grew in, and his eyes held a dull look compared to the bright shine they used to have.

He felt guilty. So guilty.

He had killed her.

As much as people tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t do it, it didn’t matter. He still believed that he killed the one thing he lived for. And he killed himself in the process.

With Oliver’s party coming up, Felix couldn’t care any less. He felt guilty for not entertaining his guest, but what was he supposed to do? The poor mourning boyfriend couldn’t even sleep at night, his night terrors becoming worse every night.

Oliver broke the boy’s train of thought. “Felix?”

He looked up from the bottle in his hand, “…what?”

Oliver was saddened by the tired, heartbreaking look in Felix’s eyes. “I’m worried about you. You don’t sleep. Don’t eat… This isn’t what she would’ve wanted.”

“How do you know what she wanted” Felix’s voice growled. His hand tightened around the bottle.

“I… I don’t know… It was just a thought, Felix. You really do need to care for yourself…”

The poor Catton didn’t even look up from the bottle this time, “You don’t know anything about me, Oliver. Now, get the fuck out.”

Oliver stumbled back, surprised by his harsh words before obeying them.

…

Felix sat against the base of the statue in the maze. His eyes closed in thought. He should be happy. Partying. Having fun. Enjoying life.

Life.

How could he enjoy his life when he ended hers?

He reached over to the newest bottle next to him, taking a big swig.

He was a disgusting human being. How could he even be around a party after he did this? After he lost her? His angel. God, his fucking angel was dead.

He finished off the bottle quickly, throwing it into one of the hedges. His head fells against the statue, his body relaxing.

He heard rustling and opened his eyes.

Oliver rounded the corner of the maze, meeting Felix’s eyes.

“Thought you’d be here…”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Oliver’s antlers. “…the fuck you… you wearing, Quick?”

Oliver’s head tilted, “It’s for the party? How much have you been drinking, Felix?”

The boy’s shoulders shrug, “Doesn’t fucking matter….”

Oliver nods, “Well.. you have the wings on. I’m not that strange for my antlers… unless, of course, you’re too drunk to remember putting them on?”

Felix turned her head to look. Sure enough, a pair of gold wings were on his back. When the fuck did they get there? This whole time? He let out a groan, “I’m fine, Oli…”

Oliver sighs, “Yeah, sure bud.”

Felix noticed the mostly full alcohol bottle in Oliver’s hand, his eyes wandering to it.

Oliver noticed it too. He held it up. “You want this?”

Felix nodded, holding out his hand.

And Oliver happily handed it to him with a shit eating grin.

“Just… don’t drink too much too fast, Felix. Got that?”

Felix nodded, “Fuck off. I… I’m fucking fine…”

Oliver nods. “Alright. I’m gonna go back to the party. Just… sorry, Felix.”

Felix took a large drink from the bottle, “What the fuck for?”

Oliver shrugs, “Everything, I guess. You got handed the wrong cards in life.”

He scoffed, “Go back to your party.”

Oliver does just that.

…

In the morning, Felix’s body was found in the maze, exactly where Oliver had last seen him. The bottle laid empty in his hand.

Oliver found peace knowing the two lovers were reunited in a much different place.

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#fanfiction #felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #jacob elordi imagine #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn 2023 #saltburn #saltburn movie #felix catton fanfic #felix catton angst

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mvniro · 4 months

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. . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 SPREAD YOUR WINGS TO TAKE POSSESSION OF WHAT'S YOUR'S ; a fyodor dostoyevsky fic.❞

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . holy shit i need to make an actual smut comeback. :/ @averagebsdenjoyer give your kids now.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; politician!fyodor, fem!reader, escort!reader, exstripper!reader, nsfw, boob biting, breast fucking, angst in some way and yeah that all i remember.

sin and lust ran around as they swirled with the wind, settled on top of the preety drinks and flowed inside the mouth of the one drinking, settling on their conscience before pulling out their courage to do what one wouldn't do normally and when the courage blindly took over and buried every emotion within, sin and lust giggled.

"here is your drink," you look over your shoulder to look at the bartender handling a customer their large glass of vodka, but before the customer could feel your eyes on them, you look back towards the dance floor again to continue observing the many intoxicated and sober bodies dancing, gridning against each other and doing lord knows what for the gobo lights above aren't really helping to look at each person and where their hands are.

you pull the silk robe closer to your body to make sure it is covering atleast till your midthighs as below them the eyes of those curious could only see your fishnet stockings and heels, kicking your legs as you hum for your customer to be here, but when you glanced at your phone screen a minute ago, you were waved at by disappointment of knowing the time and that he won't be here before half an hour, at his usual time.

being punctual is his style after all, the thought makes you smile which soon disappears when you feel perverted eyes of those around you trying to check you out and to find faults in your tied around robe to catch a glimpse of your skin which is meant to be reserved only for the man who can rival the greatest genius and defeat him pathetically.

you stand up from the stool with a small frown tugging at your lips, taking your phone from the black counter before you saunter away and on your way through the sidelines to avoid bumping into the slaves of lust and sin, your hand felt the tickling feeling as your phone vibrated and it felt the same when the man you are waiting for talks to you and you feel the same ticklish feeling in your stomach that your hand had the chance to experience right now.

tilting your head down to glance at the screen which illuminated to bring you hope and excitement, you read over the message quickly and cautiously yet it would've been fine even if you didn't since it seems as if you have it memorized like a prayer. the message which informed you of the arrival of the man in a few minutes.

you quickly turned on your heels to walk towards the bar again and when the dirt of perverted gazes tried to fall on your body, the shield of reassurance protected you from it. reassurance in the sense that the man who practically has ownership in a sense over you will be here quite soon, your hands work like those of a skilled craftsman as you put a bottle of dom perignon champagne in a bucket filled with ice while grabbing a white wine glass with the other hand before you make your way upstairs using the elevator permitted for staff and vip's only.

the bucket is heavy and hence why you placed it on the floor as soon as the elevator doors closed with you inside it, you turned to look and examine your reflection in the mirror behind to deem yourself ready to meet him. your leg bounced to excrete some ounces of excitement and anticipation out of your body.

as the elevator door opens to lead you into the world of lewd luxury, the stars from through the glassed walls twinkle in the sky but the moon pays them no heed and rather gazed down at the group of black cars driving on the empty roads for who else if not the rare percentage would drive on the streets at midnight, not those with tiring routines and families and not those with sorrows and despair but those who rules the night, the twinkling of the stars being the same as the shine of the silver ring on the svelte finger of the one who sat in the middle car.

the black coating of the car pays their respect to the sheet of black spreading over the night sky as if informing the sky that they aren't the rulers of night but the svelte man sitting in one of those five automobiles is, the same man due to whom your heart began to practice gymnastics and is now performing the flips etc., your futile attempts to calm your excited heart had only made your task of scanning your card on the door to unlock it difficult.

your foot took the lead by nudging the door to open after which you stepped in and immediately took off your heels, you closed the door behind you by nudging it against the door. the moment you place your feet on the soft red carpet, a gasp almost too inaudible had left your lips for the sensation traveled through the soles of your feet to your arms.

you had cleaned the table, the mirror to make sure it remains free of stains, lipstick marks and scratches for the man you serve had his face shaped by god himself who made sure to make the angels look at him in admiration of him and his creation and so, is it not appropriate to serve the perfect man (in your eyes) with the same perfection he always wears on his body?

your hands glided over the leather purple couch to smooth it of its roughness if there is any present as the staff before you made sure to deem this room appropriate for you, the maiden, and now you are doing the same for the swan you stumbled upon once but what made the swan stand out was it wasn't the traditional white one but a black one. yet it served grace as generously, if not more, as the white swan.

you are the ballerina with the way your feet glided across the room from one corner to other as you made sure to scan and evict any little flaw you find in it and after a few minutes when the room was utterly begging for the man it got ready for to grace it with his presence though the room had the wind flowing through the opened window as it's comfort when you began to wear your heels again, the see through white curtains covering the opened windows flowed inwards a bit to distract the room from its temporary dolour when your hands held the edge of the door to pull it with you to close the door as you left.

your phone screen illuminated with brightness of euphoria and as the light fell on your skin, you found your heart get more excited for perhaps your phone's brightness falling on your face in the dim hallway had transferred its euphoria inside you and maybe this theory could be taken to explain why you felt a sudden desperation to reach the entrance as soon as possible to be the first one on whom his eyes fall upon.

and so, in this state of frantic joy, you opted for the stairs instead, skipping one at a time as you quickly skipped downwards with only one goal in your mind ; to reach the bottom of the staircase to make your heart be even more frantic in anticipation and as soon as you skipped over the last step, you did not continue your journey forwards towards the main entrance which is usually where the entry is permitted from but the man we are talking about is not a ordinary man.

status wise, intelligence wise and lookwise -- even adonis would feel green in envy and feel the nimble hands of insecurities seduce him when he gazes into those purple pools of hypnosis which are far more powerful then any spell or magical orbs.

but what does he not know that you do? what makes your head raise high in pride of knowing the secret that not even adonis knows about the man he would surely envy?

the not so ordinary man became one after trials and errors and practices and more practices till he become one with the soul of a mad artist who painted with his fingers and when he saw the absence of red on his palette, he was driven to stab his finger and use his own blood as paint, the not so ordinary man who entered every time from a different route and it made you question how he knows more about this place then you, someone whose nights and evenings pass here, does.

so to explain why you were going towards the back doors can be explained with the childish desire to catch him off guard, impress him by being one step ahead of him which happens once in a blue moon and maybe this is why he always played the part of the passionate charecter who loved his passion even after said passion wounded him and left him unable to walk into the same field again.

you are said passion and you hurt him by making it hard for other women to be on the same caliber as you, to be as pretty as you in his eyes and to make him crave the time of the day to spend with them the way he does with you.

your hands find themselves seeking comfort by pinching on your forearm as you stand patiently infront of the two big doors with bulky men on either side who greet the celebrities and other important and rich figures who can not enter through the front entrance but when minutes pass by with the ticking of the clock, your mind scrambles to pinpoint a reason for his absence after his appointed time had passed and after the most excruciating five minutes of standing in the middle of the stage of loneliness and being guided across it by your rationality, your phone beeps and you do not even need to tilt your head down to look at it to know what it says, the announcement of the victory of the man once again.

it is when you turned around that you were approached by his guard who bowed, handed you a shopping bag of an expensive brand and left as if he had been performing an act with the way his movements were precise, not an ounce of confusion in his movements but you were the opposite.

perplexity told you to tilt your head down to examine the bag on whose handle was a shining ring attached with a paper, you made your way towards the elevator while wearing the ring in your ring finger for the presence of the diamond wasn't your source of confusion as the man had told you last night of his desire to give you the ultimate gift, his proof of his possession over you and with the way the lights of the elevator made the ring glimmer, the man clearly didn't care enough to take your refusal of being gifted such an expensive ring, into consideration.

the paper which you handled with perfect fragility made you wonder how he never felt worry and burden when handling and treating you for with every movement of your finger, your fear of ruining the paper only grew but when it finally opened to show you what was written in it, your worries and fears left and were instead replaced by the strong adoration which dangerously sat close to your rationality.

in the paper, were simple but firm words which left no room for confusion with the way they were so clear, the words read ; 'do not open the bag until an hour before i return tomorrow and if you do, it would be disappointing for me to know how my angel went against me. be good like you always were, for me and only for me always, angel.'

the elevator doors opened but you didn't step out, expectations of the man who is the expectation of god himself, rested its hand on your shoulders and flicked at your heart before it pushed you forwards slightly to make you step out and you did, blinking, you placed the paper inside the bag without looking down at what it contained.

your heart thumped, blood rushed through your veins and your hand fixed for any imperfections varying from any possible ruffles in your silk robe to any stray strand of hair that could've gone out of place during your entire journey to the entrance and back upstairs again.

you stopped, closed your eyes to be in peace for a short moment while you take a deep breath before opening your eyes again and unlocking the door using your card.

"the man of great promises has wowed the crowd again with his extreme ethics and mannerisms and with the results of today's conference, it is safe to assume that fyodor dostoyevsky and his party will be the one thriving on top in the upcoming elections next year, what do you think? --"

the voice of the television was lowered using the remote when the man heard the door open and he immediately looked at who entered not because he wanted to know who entered, he already did, but because his purple irises were dying to catch a glimpse of you.

"mr.dostoyevsky," your voice always sounded so soft and tempting whenever it pronounced his name, you were born to call his name, weren't you? you closed the door behind you as you approach him.

and there is he who killed his former self to be this being of perfection, killed his flaws to paint over them with the pride of being perceived as flawless instead and the man whose grace is in his smile and the pigment of his irises.

the sight of the man sitting with one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped on the armrest of the couch on which his cheek rested as he silently checked you out, always made you acknowledge your pussy clenching around nothing but tonight there is no room for mistakes and for imperfections for if its your last night serving the man, you want it to be perfect and leave an imprint on his heart so strong that no one else can recreate this scene and this night.

the stakes has never been higher, it's everything on the line tonight. it's the promise to yourself to show this man that no one can compare to you as well like how none can compare to him but he knew that, ever since your second night of serving him. he has known and lived with the fact since then.

"my angel." voice flowed like the waves of an ocean, peaceful yet powerful. and did it make you the fish swaying with the waves as you took the bottle of dom perignon and the white wine glass before approaching him? maybe it did but perhaps you are the leaf blowing with the wind which is fyodor. always so ready to flow in whichever direction he leads you to.

the man ruling your heart and thoughts wore a black turtle neck tucked in black pants and a white jacket over it which was falling on his elbows now, the purple lights falling onto his face gave him the crown to make the mortals of imperfections to fawn over his greatness. he raised his hand before bending his index finger to beckon you over, running a hand through his hair as he saw you slowly saunter towards him like a tiger walking towards the unsuspecting swan only for the swan to fly away.

fyodor sat straight before spreading his legs apart and you took your seat on the carpeted floor, between his legs as you opened the bottle and poured him his favorite drink into the glass before you raised yourself on your knees and gently brought the glass near his lips.

none made the effort to talk for this fleeting silence should be felt in every pore before the beginning of the night which both look forwards to.

a gulp containing your deepest desires was pushed down your throat when fyodor parted his lips and wrapped his hand around your's, tilting the glass to allow the liquid to flow into his mouth, does he not know how his simple action is affecting you?

he does or else he wouldn't had pushed the glass towards your lips, "drink, you like it, don't you?"

and who are you to refuse him who is staring down at you with a glint of gentleness you are so depraved of?

parting your lips with the intention of allowing him to pour the drink into your mouth was intrupted by the light shining and reflecting the diamond of the ring on his ring finger, the design not varying much if compared to your's and this intruption resulted in you raising your other hand to stop his hand from tilting the glass towards your mouth, your hand felt unfortunately like a succor in times like this, nights lights this where your heart became one with the gnawing defeatist in the back of your mind.

"excuse my sharp tongue but have you no shame, mr.dostoyevsky?" what began with a saccharine tone is the sentence whose meaning and purpose is mockery to soothe the wound in your own heart by craving shallow ones in his own.

"you are to be married tomorrow yet you gift me a ring? is the politics you are such a master of, being pulled in your real life as well? what do you attempt to prove by wearing a ring similar to this one?" you tilt your head in a silent jeering way but had he been the one to allow someone else to have the upper hand on him?

no, absolutely not. for fyodor dostoyevsky doesn't work that way. he doesn't work according to others but makes a plan so impeccable that nature bends itself to work according to him.

the hand of the black swan got a hold of your jaw which he tilted upwards before pouring the drink into your mouth and you wonder if politicians have mastered the act of pretense more then actors or why would his eyes hold adoration for a man of his caliber and especially for someone like you?

"what is shame after all angel? we are all born shameless, are we not?" the spokesperson of his party began but not in a tone of smartness and respect but in one which loosely hangs around the thin line of adoration in the form of a coo and amusement in the form of a playful smile.

"we develop shame, do we not?" you retort though your resolve isn't worthy of being called one for the way your irises followed fyodor's thumb which caressed your bottom lip.

"i am shameless then i suppose? but what's so wrong in being shameless for an angel like you? you, my cruel beauty, makes me feel as if i am drunk. one look at you and the world is blurry for me. i am the politician but you are my greed." words weren't words.

voice of a siren, the face of a swan but the determination of the devil. sumptuous and unreal, he is the greatest creation of god and the greatest envy to mankind. for fyodor is simply the miracle which can never occur again.

the words leaving his lips wrapped around your body and stopped you from looking away from him. the politician and his greed.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder till the beholder is the beauty.

the black swan is the black swan till you catch a glimpse of the tiny white spot on the back of his wings and then you start to wonder of who he was before being this man who wore perfection like his second skin and this curiosity makes fyodor weak in his knees.

to be desired is one thing. to be wanting to see him in his rawest form is another.

"stop flattering me mr.dostoyevsky. tell me what can i do to make your last night with me unforgettable." you smile up at him before you felt fyodor's hand slip down towards your throat before he gripped it, gently for he never treated the greed he chased after wrongly, before pulling you towards him as your hands fell on his thighs to offer some stabilization to yourself.

"last night? indeed i am one with politics for one lone reason. do you want to know what it is?" he asked, kissing the tip of his index finger before he placed it against your painted lips.

"yes mr.dostoyevsky." you breath out before parting your lips to take his finger in your mouth, swiring your tongue around its length and imagining it to be his dick. fyodor smirked, eyes narrowing in amusement.

"because no one knows what i know. they know and believe what i want them to, including you." fyodor shuts his eyes close as he groans lowly, the way your inner cheeks could be felt by every inch of his finger when you sucked on it made blood rush to his cock.

"uh huh. won't ya be a doll and tell me about it mr.dostoyevsky?" you blink, looking up at him through under your lashes and due to his finger in your mouth, your voice and words come out muffled and lord, oh lord, is this making fyodor go crazy.

"doll? am i your doll angel?" fyodor smiled down at you as he took his finger out to let you talk, lithe hands now working to untie the knot on your robe.

"i only had one doll in my life and even that was stolen by a bully. so to call you doll is to make it clear to myself that you, --" you stop to gulp as the robe is gently pulled off your shoulder and you remain in your violet lingere set.

"go on angel." fyodor whispered in mocking encouragement as if he didn't know the effect his fingers kneading into your shoulders is having on you.

" -- though you never actually belonged to me, would be taken away from me as well." you complete your words bitterly but it is soon forgotten when fyodor takes one of your hands to place it on top of his hardened cock.

"don't belong to you? angel no one could make me hard unless its you." he rasped out, closing his eyes as you caressed his clothed dick with your fingers while you looked up to drink in his reaction.

"don't marry tomorrow then mr.dostoyevsky, please? i would hate to see you returning as someone else's man and i would hate it even more to be assigned to someone else." you tell, eyes softening as you admit your feelings to him who looked down at you before grasping your jaw and caressing the curve.

"you trust me, don't you, angel?" he asked and for a moment, fyodor's eyes fell on the tv screen which showed his conference from today morning in which he is seen walking up the stage as his black suit made him look posh and handsome.

"what if i didn't mr.dostoyevsky?" you try not to smile by biting your inner cheek for the man above you has the ability to turn your anger towards him into vapor but you calling his name grabbed fyodor's attention as he looked down at you again and when he smiled, you were reminded why you felt so bitter the entire day, why you wanted to rush down to be the first one to greet him and why you jeered at him just now ; the gentle and seductive smile and those nonchalant eyes as if no one could touch him is what made you freeze the first time as you stared at him before realizing that the man you were serving for all these nights is the one you fell for.

"that's a pity but i still want you to have some faith in me, to trust me and sign a few papers. can my angel do that for me?"

'my angel' is a term which made you go weak in the knees, your heart fluttered as it poked fun at your brain and proudly exclaimed its victory and you melted, nodding.

for you weren't 'his angel' if you didn't have blind faith in him and his action and if you didn't think of him to be greater then the seven wonders of the world.

bitterness was taken over by love and admiration. jealousy was over thrown by lust and a need of praises.

"let me pleasure you, mr.dostoyevsky. you worked so hard today, looked so preety today." your hand traced his belt before you begin to unbuckle it and fyodor gave you all the freedom you required by spreading his legs as his arms went around the back of the couch he is seated on.

"i looked preety?" fyodor asked in amusement as he looked down at you with one eyebrow cocked, his stomach felt like it was in the middle of a hurricane of butterflies when you pulled his zipper down after allowing his cock free from the shackles of the belt.

"the prettiest and smartest." you smile, trying not to chuckle as you look up at him, you couldn't focus on anything else when fyodor leaned down towards you, head tilted.

"are you talking about yourself angel?" fyodor teased, to hide the pale pink flush on his cheeks by flicking your cheek with his finger and it was your turn to be hugged and have shyness to cling to you.

instinctly, you felt your body leaning the tiniest bit forwards to feel more of his touch on your skin.

"i was talking about you mr.dostoyevsky." you mumble, looking at him who playfully widened his eyes before his eyes looked down at your clevage and then back at your eyes.

eyes who saw too much desire of others towards him were now filled with it themselves as he let his eyes linger onto your lips and wonder how would it feel to kiss you. then as if your clevage asked for attention, a imaginary force tapped fyodor and reminded him about your breasts which he glanced down at and the next movement of his hand tapping at the strip of your bra had you gulping.

"take it off for me, angel?" fyodor's voice is low, soft yet it isn't nervous in the slightest. he knows what he is asking for and he knows what your answer will be.

"why should i?" you raise your eyebrows at the man who snickered before his supple fingers took the leadership by hooking itself under your bra strap and pulling it before letting it smack against your skin.

soft gasp gave rise to titillation to transform into utter and raw intoxication. the soft pout on your lip as you looked up at fyodor made him realise the growing frustration of his hardened dick.

"because i am asking so, angel, do you really even need another reason?" he breathed out, leaning down to twirl a strand of your hair on his finger as his eyes refused to look away from your face.

"mr.dostoyevsky." you nearly mewl, why is this one man and his stare playing with the chord of your heart and giving arousal freedom to imagine whatever it wants to?

black, black swan who is tainting the white swan, why do you feel satisfied and not grief?

does it not satisfy you to see the white swan at your feet every night that you try to reach feats no one else could? for no one could do what fyodor dostoyevsky can to sum it up in brief.

"hm?" fyodor hummed before he smiled upon watching you clumsily fumble with your bra to remove it but the hard and hungry stare of the man is proving the task to be more difficult then what it originally is.

"please tell me how i can pleasure you." you did not need to tell twice for once the words left the cage that is your mouth, they were free and rioting in the form of being chanted multiple times in the back of fyodor's mind.

"oh shit, how can i marry someone else when this is all your doing?" fyodor pulls his dick out, lifting his hips to remove his pants till they are left hanging on his knees and his words were only being understood now when your eyes were staring straight at the hardened and angry dick dripping with precum.

"you say this but aren't you marrying someone else tomorrow?" you bite your lip in sudden pleasure when fyodor leaned forwards to pinch your nipple between his cold index finger and thumb.

"i am marrying tomorrow, yes." only giving a glimpse of itself, the black swan teases the nature and fyodor teases you with his vague answers -- they aren't vague to the normal ear but you who saw the reminants of the white swan within him loves to observe him the same way a marine biologist studies the biology within. it may kill you but lord, do you care when the addiction of figuring something in him out is the greatest satisfaction of them all.

"i've served married men before but you were someone i wished would always remain a bachelor, i am being unprofessional --"

"absolutely not." fyodor intrupted you as he tilted your head up to stare at him with his index finger on your chin before he told the declaration of lust within you and within him to begin taking over, "i love you showing possession over me. go on angel, let everyone passing by know who it is that can get me so worked up."

slender fingers traced the outline of your underboob, "gotta show everyone why you are my favorite, no? you are the only woman who ever touched me and you dare get upset with me?"

he playfully scoffed before fondling with your boob while your hands slithered up like wines to grab his cock which you pumped a few times -- all the while his eyes stayed on you and your's on him.

"mr.dostoyevsky, flattering will get you no where." you smiled, teasing the man who always left you a breathless mess and your toes curled when fyodor leaned down to lick below your lip before he planted a soft kiss. he always did it, kissing dangerously close to your lips but never your lips for the man did not want to have intercourse before marriage and this is what got you especially riled up. you were the one covered in his cum, tasted his cum, the first woman who gave him a blowjob and what not but you won't be the first woman to kiss him. ironic.

"and actions will?" fyodor smirked before tapping your other, neglected boob and you took the cue, your hand abandoned his cock to hold your boobs and push them to give him the invitation.

fyodor placed his dick between the valley of your boobs which would soon be experiencing the ending of the drought.

"actions will." you confirm though if compared to him, your voice is breathless and as you push your boobs together to trap his dick between your flesh, he too, felt the same hand of desire pulling the breath out of his throat harshly.

you began to move up and down as your hands made sure to hold your boobs close in a way that squeezes his dick between them and try to imitate the way it would probably feel to have your walls clamping around him and the pleasure builded up slowly. fyodor groaned and ran a hand through his hair before he gripped the roots and tilted his head back.

a shaky hissed left his lip when you brought your face down to kiss his sensitive tip before you licked it.

fyodor's eyes remained screwed shut as he brought his hand forwards to wrap it around the base of his cock and pump it to stimulate even more pleasure.

your eyes widened and lips parted, staring up in admiration and adoration at the man whose hair fell and sticked to his forehead, eyes may have remained closed but the parted lips of his which gave way to the hisses and grunts of pleasure was the main attraction anyway.

you then looked down to see the tip of his dick disappear between where your boobs met before appearing again and the cycle repeated, the sight of eroticism making you clench your own thighs and move up and down slightly to feel the fabric of your panties press up against your aching cunt.

fyodor opened his eyes, his pace increased and with the other hand, he traced shapes on your collarbone before grabbing your shoulder in a strong grip as he gasped softly, ropes of cum shooting out and painting the canvas of your skin, the cum trailed down your boob before nestling against your nipple.

black swan, oh, black swan, falling victim to your desires?

he is.

how does it feel to be caressed by the very same emotions you once tried to kill within you, oh, black swan, the lover.

fyodor's fingers wrapped around your wrist before he pulled you up into his lap, mouth immediately attacking your nipple as he sucked on it, nibbled and only got more encouraged when you whined out, your hand couldn't stop itself from following the demand of your heart which told it clearly to grab his hair in a gentle grip, the action had fyodor humming in approval.

the other hand played with the cum dripping down your chest before you swiped some of it with your finger to put it in your mouth and suck it, looking at fyodor with faux innocence and the sight of the man gulping made you lick your lips.

white swan, oh, white swan, seducing the black swan is your job not your life purpose yet why do you work so hard as if it's your only purpose?

black swan, be flawless and love her and let the white swan be possessive over you.

and white swan, be the one to look past this fake flawless-ness and watch the otherworldly being submit to his humanity.

fyodor's teeth sinked down on your flesh not hard enough to cause a serious or painful injury but just hard enough to imprint his teeth mark on your boob, which he licked afterwards in a cheap apology to soothe the pain. but nothing about the man himself is cheap so even if his attempt is considered as cheap, the emotions it sturred inside you were rich in every way.

fyodor then leaned back, his fingers spread the cum on your chest before he scooped some up on the tip of his index finger and brought it up to your lips which you parted to let him push his finger into it, resting it just above your wet appendage and pressing down a bit as his eyes got serious to lead to the beginning of the momentous event.

"before anything else, let me tell you what to expect tomorrow. it'll surely be a eventful day, no?" fyodor's amused smile was met with your eyes being blinked once due to the obstruction in the form of his slender finger inside your mouth but before he continued further, it is absolutely important to know why he sticked his finger into your mouth.

the black swan spreads it's wing to charm the white swan, to enthrall it before it brought its magnificent show to an end. the reason for this boastful action was to gather the utmost attention of preety white swan.

"you won't need to do much, angel. just make a decision tomorrow. there will be two documents and it's all on you to either sign it or not." and he finally pulled his finger out when your eyes pleaded him to let you speak.

"will you come tomorrow, mr.dostoyevsky?" your voice came out raspy, breathless and it cracked, not due to sadness but due to the numbing effect his fingers pressing down on your tongue had on you.

"do you want me to?" he pushed himself to be a bit near you while he removed his jacket and placed it over your shoulder, expertly avoiding having the cloth collide with his cum still dripping down your collarbones and chest.

"i do." you confirm to let the man raise his eyebrows cockily but the sight doesn't annoy nor humiliate you but makes your heart swell in adoration, your eyes falling on your bare shoulders which were now covered with his jacket.

and what pain is plucking it's own feathers when the white swan looks so good with your feathers around its head like a crown, oh black swan? the satisfaction is greater then the pain for you, no?

"wear this. my heart is your's anyways so why not take my jacket as well?"

you snorted, rolling your eyes.

"mr.dostoyevsky, i think you should stick to politics." you joked but the white swan was the earlier stages of the black swan, what white swan does, black swan already did.

"and i think you should stick by my side. don't you, as well? i hope you make a choice you won't regret tomorrow angel." cruel.

oh cruel man, why do you speak so seriously yet kiss your angel's jaw at the same time as if you don't want her to focus on your words but just on the feather like feeling of your lips on her skin for the slightest second.

cruel, cruel man yet oh so ethereal too.

"once again, i'll remind you that two documents will be offered to you and it's your choice to either sign them or tear them. your actions tomorrow will change things greatly, angel." the cruelty continued of the temptation packed into the body of the russian man and his each touch ignited a sense of euphoria on your skin and his words were left with half given attention.

till the event he had foreseen since long ago came to life.

you wrapped fyodor's jacket tighter on your body, smiling to yourself as it still smelled like him. his rich cologne still lingered on the jacket and hugged you to provide you with a sense of stability in the otherwise unusually quite club an hour before its usual opening time. the bag he gifted you yesterday contained a white lacy lingerie set though the curiosity remains to haunt your thoughts with the question -- is this a farewell gift or can you really expect to see him tonight as well?

to see the bustling and lively place look so quiet as staff quickly worked to clean it and organize everything for another night of unconfined emotions is a sight you got used to but still felt weirded out with as your undivided attention went to every inch of the place and noticed every inch which would usually be crowded.

though the way someone bumped into you to make you stumble a few steps forwards was quick to make you scowl and forget about the club and its loneliness just one hour before its opening, you turned to look at her. the hunter and the bully.

the manager and the most sought-after stripper of the club.

"we found you at last!" she rolled her eyes in a exaggerated fashion and you did the same to let her know the annoyance is mutual.

"girls." the clearing of the throat of the manager made both of you to immediately snap your heads towards him who nodded once in what seemed like satisfaction at the obedience and discipline shown.

"mr. fyodor dostoyevsky just submitted his last cheque to our club. a last donation cheque. you know what it means, don't you?" he didn't ask to anyone in particular but the girl beside him widened her eyes in mild surprise.

"he won't be coming back? did he find a new club or?" she asked the manager but you took his chance to reply, answering,

"he must've gotten married by now. he is a married man. he won't mingle with the likes of us anymore." you clutch the hem of his jacket as you raise your eyes to look at your manager, "who will i be assigned to next?"

taken aback by your rapid ability to move on and past the man you've you've serving for the past six months or so, the manager took a moment to gather himself before he nodded but before he could let a word out, the attention was grabbed by fyodor's secretary who walked with two guard behind.

you watched for the next five minutes with utter confusion at the manager and secretary exchanging greetings and words before the manager nodded and stepped aside to let the messenger of the man you love to walk towards you, he greeted you and you reciprocated before he dropped the pin in the lake.

"sir told me to directly give these papers to you." the secretary bowed before offering you a file and a pen he came with and took a step back.

his words made sense now. but they didn't.

you understood the overall situation but it was only the outer layer and the inner layer is yet to be discovered but how? when you don't know which decision will enable you to do so.

and what did you do in times of dilemma?

you did what you were told to many times, to put your trust in the black swan and watch him pull the strings without moving much other then a single finger of his hand.

you anxiously pulled on the sleeve of the white jacket before approaching the nearest hard surface which happened to be the bar counter before you opened the file and signed the first document on the signature space, doing the same with the other document.

this is a trial. a test. to not give in to your selfish or well instinctive desires to read or atleaat skim over the writings of the document is to prove your utmost faith in fyodor whose reward remained a mystery but the end results didn't matter while in the journey with fyodor.

"here." you softly utter and turn back to hand over the file to the secretary but to your surprise, your heart beats as you see fyodor approaching you with rushed steps, one hand loosening the tie around his neck.

but according to the news channels, he was supposed to be getting married at this hour, did he walk off from his wedding?

it's selfish. but the thought made your heart flutter and you couldn't help or overcome the nervousness that took over you.

". . . i trust you, i signed it mr.dostoyevsky." you inform and watch the man nod breathlessly and you wonder what's gotten into him with enough strength to take his breath away?

desire. utter raw desire.

"good, i declare you my wife from here on angel."

you saw the manager and fyodor's secretary widen their eyes before your eyes were forced to close when fyodor caught your wrist which holded the files and quickly pulled you towards him to slam his lips against your's, the papers flew out of your hands but fyodor didn't care.

the hunter watched the swans dance and looked at its partner who had dropped the pin in the lake, to see the latter capturing pictures without looking taken aback.

the manager watched with surprise as the bodyguards and secretary ushered people out of the entire floor.

while fyodor grabbed your waist to lift and place you on top of the counter, lips moving against your's before you parted your lips to whine but the opportunist took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth.

the girl walked forwards to grab the fallen down papers and she stood straight while keeping her eyes on said papers.

one was a marriage certificate and another was your official resignation letter from the club with the addition of the threat of fyodor's name attached next to your's. and anyone and everyone who worked close enough to the upper class society knows how foolish it is to claim their authority over someone or something whose name has the name of a strong influence next to it.

the girl, the bully, who was she infront of the power named fyodor dostoyevsky?

no one and it was made clear by the way she didn't protest when said man's guards ushered her away as well to let fyodor have the entire floor to himself. he rented it out after all.

"mr.dostoyevsky." you gasp when fyodor separated from you, his half lidded eyes was drawn to the string of saliva connecting your lips to his and he was overtaken by desire again which made him attack your lips ; a lick to your upper lip before he began to nibble on your bottom lip for a while till you pulled him closer by grabbing his black suit coat, fyodor pushed his tongue inside your mouth again and if french kissing is considered sexy then fyodor is certainly doing justice to the claim.

at the same time, his hand went down to unzip the jacket before he pushed it back a bit to flick his finger against your stomach.

fyodor separated from the comfort of your lips to lean towards your ear and whisper, "good choice angel but i thought you didn't trust me? yet here you are, signing the papers without even missing a beat, oh angel --" fyodor sighed out fondly yet his tone remained cocky and amused, " -- always such a good girl for me."

". . .you are crazy, mr.dostoyevsky. absolutely unbelievable." laughing in relief is a short term gesture before fyodor had picked you again and you wrapped your legs around his waist at the sudden action, with widened eyes you watched as he led you towards one of the couches and laid you down.

"told you i would be getting married today but perhaps i forgot to tell you that you were the bride. oh, how can i forget so?" he smiled down, his hand pulling his zip down.

. . . and you are the first woman to kiss him as well. the realization made you smile as you close your eyes.

"not a chance angel, open your eyes and watch your husband satisfy you."

━━━━━━━ 💋 end.

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unclewaynemunson · 9 months

Text

A soft knock on the door and a half-whispered "hey there" wake Eddie up from an uneasy sleep. A strip of light shines through the gap of the door, illuminating the figure of Steve standing in the doorway.

"I got some soup for you. Are you feeling any better?"

Eddie shuffles into an upright sitting position while Steve comes into the room and hands him a warm bowl filled with what's unmistakably his aunt's homemade creamed potato soup. Even with his blocked nose, Eddie can still tell that it smells exactly how he remembered it.

Before he knows it, tears start blurring his vision. It's the fucking soup that does it. The smell that brings back memories he tried so hard to leave behind when he suddenly had to leave what he once called his home more than ten years ago.

“Oh, honey,” says Steve in a voice that is so soft and caring that it makes Eddie want to cry even more. He sits down on the bed, right next to Eddie, and wraps both his arms around him, careful not to spill any of the soup. “This fucking sucks, right?”

“It does,” Eddie says quietly, and that's really all he needs to say. Steve will understand. Steve knows exactly how much Eddie was looking forward to this week, how excited he was to return to the mountains and to be reunited with his family and to show Steve all the places that hold so much meaning to him.

For ten years he hadn't been able to visit. He had missed the mountain air like a chopped-off limb and seen his cousins grow up only through grainy polaroid pictures. And now that he's finally here, his body decided to betray him and keep him chained to his bed with the worst fucking cold he’s ever had.

It's been so long since he has been home that it almost doesn't really feel like home anymore. He never wanted to leave in the first place, but the circumstances gave him no choice. When his dad got locked up Eddie had nowhere else to go but to his Uncle Wayne, who lived states away and who he had only met twice before in his life. He had to leave everyone he cared about behind: his grandma, who would've taken him in within a heartbeat if she hadn't been too old to take care of a ten-year-old kid; his mother, who had already slipped away too deep into her addictions to keep Eddie around in good conscience; his aunt and uncle, who had too many mouths to feed with too little money and couldn't afford the additional burden of another rapidly growing teenager; and his many cousins, of course, who grew up side-by-side with him and made the move feel like he was leaving an unmissable part of his soul behind.

Granted, moving in with Wayne soon turned out to be not by far as dramatic as Eddie had prepared himself for. It turned out that Wayne was actually a better parent to Eddie than his dad ever was. But no matter how much love and care Wayne gave him over the years, it could not be enough to replace home. Nothing was.

Ten years had passed since Eddie left. Most of the cousins moved out, either to find a better life for themselves or to follow the path that Eddie's father had taken. Some of them had kept in touch with Eddie, some of them hadn't. Some of them had gained a family of their own, with spouses and nephews and nieces who Eddie never got to meet.

And now he's back, and everything keeps going differently than how he envisioned it.

He blinks away his tears and tries to eat as much as he can stomach of his aunt's soup.

“Your cousin Jay called,” Steve tells him. “He insisted on visiting tomorrow, whether you're feeling better or not. He said he can’t wait to see you.”

“That's nice,” Eddie answers flatly. “D'you know he hasn't reached out to me in years?” He sighs. “It's so weird to be back here. I thought it would be different.”

“Different how?”

“More like coming home, I guess. But all the places have changed. I barely know some of those people anymore.”

He places the unfinished bowl of soup aside. Steve pulls him closer in his arms and presses a gentle kiss on his curls.

“I've felt so angry about Hawkins for so long,” Eddie admits to him, “but now it's like I don't belong here anymore either.”

“You do belong in Hawkins, you know,” Steve tells him.

Eddie huffs.

“No, I'm serious,” Steve insists. “Has Wayne ever told you that he thinks you coming to live with him was the best thing that ever happened to him?” He doesn't wait for an answer as he continues: “And your bandmates, the Hellfire Club, all those lost sheepies you've been looking out for over the years... Maybe Hawkins didn't exactly welcome you with open arms when you just came there, but you made a home there. You did that.”

“And where are you on that list, Stevie?” Eddie asks, a teasing edge returning to his voice despite how awful he’s still feeling.

It takes Steve a few seconds to answer, but when he does, he sounds surprisingly soft and genuine, almost shy.

“Wherever you want me to be.”

“Don't worry big boy,” Eddie tells him softly, nuzzling his face into Steve's chest, where it's warm and where the sound of Steve's heartbeat forms a comforting presence. “You're the most important part of what home means. Top of the list, whether we're in Hawkins or here in the south or on the other side of the world.”

Steve hums and kisses Eddie's temple.

“I do wish this week would've been more like how you wanted it to be,” he says. “But for what it's worth, it sounded like Jay was really excited about reconnecting with you. Let's see if you can sleep off this cold, and tomorrow will be a new day, alright?”

Steve starts to pull away to leave Eddie alone in the bed again, but Eddie clenches his fists around the fabric of his polo.

“Stay with me?”

Steve chuckles softly. “Of course.”

He sits back down on the bed with his back against the wall and gently manhandles Eddie until he's lying with his head in Steve's lap. And with Steve's fingers softly stroking through his hair, Eddie quickly drifts back to sleep again.

Tomorrow will be a new day. And even if being back is bittersweet, at least Steve is with him - and the sound of Steve's heartbeat will always be home.

This one's for my dear friend dae @strawberryspence because sometimes life sucks and while nothing can actually solve it, some warm soup and a loving hug can at least make things a little bit more bearable <3

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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bonkhrnyjail · 1 month

Text

sweet plum | chapter five

series masterlist | pinterest board | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in the future)

warnings: n/a in this chapter

summary: pedro needs your help in a pinch

a/n: thank u all again for the support on this story <3 AND ONCE AGAIN FUCK STARBUCKS i wrote this last year and it's ended up being a thread throughout the story but i'm planning on keeping it out of future chapters. i also made a cutie little pinterest board that follows the plot of the story and shows outfit visuals and stuff and a spotify playlist for vibes!!! they are linked if you wanna check them out. xoxoxo<3

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It’s been almost two months since you’ve seen Pedro.

Not without phone calls, of course. You talk, probably once a week minimum, ever since you met up for burgers that one time. He calls you for advice a lot, and it’s often for things that he probably doesn’t really need advice for. One time he called you to ask if he should get chicken or steak tacos. It was three in the morning.

You started working on a new show that films in town. Your clients are nice, friendly enough, but too self-centered and addicted to social media to pay you any mind. So you just work, chat with the crew, read, and try to fill the time. Most days you’re home by 6pm. Some days your roommate convinces you to go out dancing with her, some days you meet up with friends for dinner or drinks, but most nights you spend at home alone.

Pedro always seems to call at the most inopportune times. Half the time you’re sleeping, which has allowed you to perfect the skill of sounding very alert on the phone, even through your drowsiness. Work has you up at seven, so you aren’t exactly the night owl that you used to be, but Pedro sure as shit still is. And though you’ve shown up to work mid-yawn after many interrupted nights of sleep, you don’t mind. You’re just glad he thinks of you.

Because you think of him. A lot.

You’re curled up now, in the corner of your bed, a white fluffy robe draping across your curves. A mound of pillows and stuffed animals cradles you as you lazily scroll through an endless feed of Instagram stories. You eventually encounter Pedro's story, a repost of an old picture from his Javier Peña days.

Once you start thinking about Pedro it’s hard to stop. Your mind will wander and wind until you've fully immersed yourself in a daydream, completely out of touch with the reality attempting to claw its way back into your conscience.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you let a fantasy drown you. Pedro, in your chair, reaching his hand up to cradle your waist as you work to perfect the few strands of hair that are disobeying you. You gasp at his touch, your body erupting with chills as he snakes his strong, thick hands underneath your shirt and up your back. Your knees begin to buckle as you lean into him, a soft and needy whimper escaping your lips. He guides you with his palms to sit on his lap, facing away from him and towards the mirror showcasing your illuminated figure.

Neither of you speak as Pedro caresses you beneath your shirt, his callused hands setting fire to the soft skin there. He runs a thumb over your nipple, sending a searing sensation through you, and you bite down hard on your lower lip, your legs instinctively spreading to welcome his touch there. Your heavy breaths gain pitch as he gently twists and pinches at your nipples, your head falling back and your chest hitching with shallow, needy moans. He raises your shirt and removes it with ease, tossing it to the floor and returning his touch to your desperate skin. You feel him slowly start to unbutton your jeans as his other hand gathers your hair and drapes it over one shoulder, exposing the right side of your neck. He tips your head to the side and lowers his mouth to the spot beneath your ear, as his fingers slip past the hem of your panties and works their way toward your—

bzzz bzzz…. bzzz bzzz…..

You yank your hand out of your pants as your eyes shoot open.

Incoming call: P

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure before you answer the phone. Of course he calls you right fucking now. A dry lump of shame forms in your throat as you slide the little green icon to the right.

“H-Hey P,” you manage, still halfway out of breath from how startled you were.

“Plum! Hey! I’m so glad you picked up!” He exclaims, slightly winded on his delivery. “How are you?”

“I'm, uh, good! Yeah, good. How are you?” you say hesitantly, your mind reeling with nonstop guilt.

“Well, I need your help.”

He goes on to explain the situation. A photoshoot and interview, in Anaheim, tomorrow. His regular groomer, stuck at home with a sick kid. He’d pay double, he’d drive you to and from, etcetera.

"Hey, of course, I'd be happy to. I don’t have to be back to work ‘til Monday anyways. Don’t even worry about paying double,” you insist.

Aside from the obvious benefit of seeing him again, you could use the extra cash. Plus, you know his hair like the back of your hand. It’s easy money.

“Are you sure? I know it’s the weekend and all, I don’t want to steal you away from the LA nightlife,” he chuckles.

“P, my plans this weekend involved a bottle of red and a chick flick binge. I promise LA won’t even notice I’m gone,” you giggle.

“You. Are. A. Lifesaver. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to do my own hair,” he jokes, the phone line crackling as his laughter booms through the tiny speaker.

“Oh, we absolutely can’t have that now, can we?” you tease.

“Fuck offfff,” he jests. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8.”

. . . . .

Criss-cross on the stoop outside your apartment building, you wait sleepily for Pedro to arrive, two sweet plums in hand. You have your kit, stocked up with Pedro’s favorite scented hair products, and a few different pairs of shears. You’re giving the man a haircut if it’s the last thing you do today. You're absolutely certain he needs it.

Various items rustle about in your tote as you dig to find your book. You've decided to reread Pride and Prejudice, one of your favorites. You can’t even count how many times you’ve read it now, let alone watched the various movie renditions.

The 2005 version with Kiera Knightley reigns supreme as your favorite. It’s the definition of a comfort story for you, getting you through many a sleepless night and emotional breakdown. Your only qualm with the book is that it does not include your favorite moment from the movie, a fact you know is utterly ridiculous since the book is quite literally the source material.

The scene where Mr. Darcy appears, his flowing linen shirt halfway unbuttoned as he strides towards a pensive Elizabeth, who has finally realized that her feelings for Darcy have turned to those of love. Darcy speaks, overcome with adoration as he says: “You have bewitched me, body and soul and I love, I love, I love you.”

Just replaying the scene in your mind makes your toes curl.

Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted as a black sedan pulls in front of you. You lift your gaze to find a beaming Pedro, his head halfway out of the window, shaking and taunting you with a venti Starbucks cup.

“Look what I haaave,” he sings, his eyebrows wiggling up and down.

“Ah, the perfect bait,” you joke as you gather your things and load them into the back of his car. You skip around to the passenger’s side of the car and open the door to find a chocolate muffin and a bouquet of flowers placed on the seat.

You shoot him a puzzled expression.

“A thank you. The least that I can do on such short notice,” he flashes his smile as you pick up the flowers to examine them. The bouquet consisted primarily of daisies, your favorite flower.

“How... how did you know I like daisies?” you question.

“I saw you one day, out by the lot, picking some daisies that were growing along the road. You had tied them into a little bouquet and brought them back into the trailer,” he chuckled softly. “Anyways, I bought a vase too so we can put them in water later.”

You remember. Honestly, you didn’t think he noticed them, which didn’t bother you by any means. You'd put them in there for your own benefit, a little splash of something in his agonizingly plain trailer. You’d put the flowers in a mug, the only thing you could find in the little kitchenette he had. They sat on the counter where you’d place your things every morning, and, in a way, sort of “claimed” your territory in the space. Pedro never said anything about them, which you just chalked up to him and his limited attention span.

“That’s… so sweet,” you smile, a pink heat creeping across your cheeks as you take a seat beside him. His thoughtfulness never fails to surprise you. “Thank you, gosh, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I really did,” he leans over and gives you a cramped hug from the side, squeezing your shoulder and leaning his head of unkempt curls into your cheek. “Now, can you pick the music? You have better playlists than I do.”

“Oh ho ho, so you finally admit it!” you shout, snatching the aux cord from his hands with a devilish grin.

“You just need to put more Prince on them. They’re seriously lacking in the Prince department,” he rebuts as he takes a massive gulp of his iced espresso.

“Listen, I love Prince as much as the next guy, but not every playlist has Prince energy. I gotta keep the vibes consistent,” you explain as you take a bite of muffin, your hands cupped awkwardly to catch any crumbs that fall from the wrapper.

Pedro quickly reaches into the compartment between you and pulls out a napkin, holding it right underneath your chin as you chew on your first bite.

“You have a little…” his eyes dip to the left corner of your lips. “May I?”

You nod slightly as you watch his gaze, sparkling with a chestnut hue in the glow of the daylight. He gently uses his thumb to brush your lip with the napkin, catching whatever missed your mouth. He proceeds slowly, his stare focused and his touch intentional. You feel that familiar flush prickle your face as your eyes meet and he softly bites down on his lower lip.

“I got it,” he hands you the napkin as he starts on the road. “Don’t worry if you get crumbs on the floor. I snack in here all the time.”

You settle back into the chair, hopeful that your makeup is doing some heavy lifting to hide the heat you're certain is speckling your cheeks. In your haze you choose a playlist, one you made specifically for road trips, and scatter some Prince songs amongst the queue. You relax your shoulders and gaze beyond the dashboard as Pedro hums and drives you out of the city.

. . . . .

Pedro supplied you with a solid earful of his subpar vocals on the drive over. You sang along too, not really with your real voice, but more of a comical, singing at the top of your lungs with your friends kind of voice. The traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be, but it still took about an hour and a half to get to the location of the shoot.

Pedro walked with you to the sign-in desk and waited for you to get your badge, even with the dozens of employees trying to show him the way to his dressing room. He smiled as you draped the lanyard with your name around your neck and linked your arm with his as he led the way.

Your hands are raking through his hair, covered in a light pomade to bring out his natural wavy-curl texture. He always hums a bit when you work products in, so you take a little extra time to give his scalp a massage. His shoulders relax at the sudden pressure and his head falls back into you, resting gently on your stomach.

“You know that’s my favorite... mmmh,” he closes his eyes as your hands travel down to the base of his skull and you start kneading with your thumbs. “I've missed that.”

“I could so easily… just…” you snake your hands down and gently wrap them around his throat.

“Hey!” his spine shoots up straight as he yanks your hands from his neck. “Taking advantage of me at my most vulnerable… not very nice.”

“You've gotta to be more alert!” you joke as you go back to finger-curling his more defined ringlets. “Some crazed fan could seduce you with scalp massages and then try to crush your skull.

“Well I don’t let anyone else give me scalp massages, you know,” he looks up at you, tilting his head back, his gentle curls falling from his forehead.

“Oh, so you’ve been deprived these past few months, huh?” you tease, returning your hands to his scalp and deepening your pressure.

“Mmmmmhmmmmmm…” he hums.

“Well, just so you know, I don’t give scalp massages to any of my other clients,” you speak, slightly under your breath. “So, whenever you want one, all you have to do is ask.”

His eyes soften slightly at the statement and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but let a stifled grin spread across your face as well.

An easy and comfortable silence falls over you as you finish up styling his hair. The brief asked for bouncy, voluminous curls with a windswept look, and you’re curious to see what the wardrobe looks like to match. You cross your fingers, hopeful they'll let you go back with him.

Much of the time you've spent with Pedro has caused you to often completely forget that he’s famous. You’ve never really been out with him during the day, nor have you gone to any super crowded places together. The only time you've been reminded of his fame was when you went to that little diner on the outskirts of LA. But even then, it didn’t feel like he was famous exactly. It felt more like he was a regular, a familiar face, a friend.

Now this is the first time you’ve been in an environment like this with him. There’s a swarming hoard of interns popping in and out of the already cramped room every few minutes, offering various snacks and drinks and bringing handfuls of clothing to drape over the empty hangers. One of them even showed Pedro his Mandalorian tattoo.

Of course, Pedro is a fucking sweetheart to anyone who crosses his path. Flurries of his “yes please!” and “thank you so much!” flood the room as more and more people bob in and out, ready to wait on him hand and foot. You feel a bit goofy, standing awkwardly off to the side as people dart around, like you should be helping. It’s what you’re used to, after all.

After a few minutes, Pedro walks toward the door as he's called out of the room. You start to make yourself cozy on the loveseat until you hear the low bark of a clearing throat.

“Are you not coming?” Pedro turns to you with a quizzical brow.

“I… I can?” you stumble on your words as you shove your book back into your bag and get back on your feet.

“Come. What if my curls drop?”

“Not on my watch," you wink, gathering your things and following close behind him.

. . . . .

You manage to locate a fold out chair —wide enough to accommodate your hips and ass— and find a spot, somewhat tucked away but still in Pedro’s sightline. You pull your phone out and immediately send a picture of him to Bella, catching him just as he makes eye contact with your camera. You burst out laughing, garnering a few head turns and a middle finger from Pedro.

Bella’s name pops up on your screen. Incoming FaceTime. You answer.

“Hi! Hold on, lemme sneak out of here,” you whisper as you speed-walk out of the room, ducking your head slightly so as not to garner any attention.

Once you escape into a hallway, you exchange equally joyous greetings, gushing with excitement to see each other.

“I miss you!” Bella exclaims. “You're with P today?”

You find a corner to sit, tucked away from the hustling bodies in the hallways surrounding the studio.

“He needed a last minute hairdresser for a shoot and I just happened to be around,” you explain, your voice slightly above a hush. “I miss you sooo much! How are things?”

Bella updates you on the important bits. Work, family, dramas, a new possible romantic prospect, they wiz through it all. You listen intently, wildly entertained and extraordinarily grateful to get to witness the musings of a British teenager.

“Anyways, I don’t know what’s gonna happen with her. I don’t think I can be with a girl who isn’t out to her own mum,” they conclude after an animated recounting. “Too… messy.”

“Agreed,” you nod. “You’ve got too much goin’ on for messy.”

“Sooo… what about you?” they question in that sing-songy, teasing tone that they frequent in your presence.

“What about me?”

“Any… romantic developments?”

Your eyes do near 360 into the back of your skull.

“Bellie, you know I don’t really date.”

“When was the last time you saw Pedro? Other than today.”

“Uh… maybe two months ago? Why?”

You hear them mumble something unintelligible under their breath, only catching the last word, “Idiot.”

You crank the volume on your phone, trying to make out what they’re saying.

“What? Who’s an idiot?”

“He doesn’t... listen… nevermind,” they cut themself off.

“Who? Pedro?” you blurt, somewhat fervently.

“You’ve really perked up,” they tease.

“Can we use more words, instead of being purposefully elusive and mumbling?” you quip, half-teasing but with an air of genuine frustration.

Bella starts giggling as they attempt to get their words out.

“I… I know. I. know you like him."

Your jaw goes slack, your mouth falling open in surprise.

"Your face!" they cackled.

You don’t have to see yourself to know that you’re certainly a sight to behold. Your cheeks are burning up. The air is grazing past your widened eyeballs, drying them out as your lips curl inwards. Bella’s laugh is bellowing and crackling through your headphones.

“Bella! Does he know?” you whisper, the fire in your cheeks beginning to become unbearable.

“I… I don’t know! I think so? Man, I wanted to just let this run its course, but I’ve known that you guys have feelings for each other for sooo long now. It’s been seriously painful to watch.”

Your stomach somersaults as the heat spreads to your ears.

“Did… did he tell you that?”

“I can’t believe you guys are the adults in this situation,” they mutter through their stifled chuckles. “I mean, he didn’t outright tell me, but he didn’t have to.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Listen, no grown man asks for advice on how to ask his hairdresser to hang out.” they say quite matter-of-factly. "Even my gay ass knows that."

You chuckle briefly in response, until a moment of understanding silence hangs between you. You realize you have no rebuttal to the statement. They really aren't wrong.

“Well I can’t… do anything about this, right? He’s… Bella, he’s Pedro fucking Pascal for christ’s sake.”

“And? He’s still just P. And you’re still you. Fame might make things complicated, but then again, romance is always complicated. Life is complicated. But the journey is where you find the joy.”

Wise ass kid.

You go silent for a moment, the belligerent swarm of contradictory thoughts and feelings buzzing around in your head getting louder and stronger by the second.

You almost don’t want to believe it. Once you allow yourself to step into that territory, you know you won't be able to reel it back. It would change things, permanently, whether you want it to or not.

“You’re right,” you admit, your expression softening into something more akin to defeat. “I just... I need to think about it for a little longer."

You say your goodbyes and end the call, feeling slightly breathless and a tiny bit dizzy from the gravity of it all. It’s stupid, yes, because no matter what lies you've told yourself, you know there is something more between you and Pedro. There’s been far too many moments, too many palpable signs to ignore. Actually admitting that to yourself and allowing your brain process it as a fact is something else entirely; something that simultaneously thrills and terrifies you.

It takes you a few minutes to settle yourself and muster the strength to stand up and walk back to the studio. Nothing has to change, you tell yourself.

Nothing has to change.

You re-enter and spot Pedro, mid-smoulder, working the hell out of the color block sweater they chose for him. It’s enough to garner a small chuckle from you as you make your way back to your seat.

You make yourself cozy in your folding chair and pull out your book, attempting to lose yourself in the pages to distract from the butterflies ravaging your stomach. It doesn't take long for the power of Jane Austen to transfix your attention once again.

“Is there something over there? You keep looking to your right,” you overhear the photographer saying to Pedro. You look up and immediately lock eyes with Pedro. He lets a gentle smile paint his face as he turns his attention back to the camera.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

The group breaks for lunch about 30 minutes later, but you’re too immersed in your book to actually notice. You only snap fully back into reality when you feel a wide hand gently graze your shoulder.

“Pride and Prejudice, eh?” Pedro peers over your head. “Is this your first time reading it?”

“Oh god no. I’ve lost count at this point,” you admit. "It's probably my favorite book."

“Good girl,” he gives you a gentle pat. “I knew you had good taste.”

… Much harder than you thought.

. . . . .

The remainder of the day flew by. You ended up taking a little snooze on the loveseat in the dressing room while Pedro went to interview (not entirely on purpose, but it did help the time pass nonetheless). You and Pedro said your goodbyes to the team, and the creative director liked you so much that he even asked for your card for future projects. Score.

The traffic you’re currently sitting in is horrendous. You’ve been in stop and go for nearly 30 minutes now and the GPS estimates another 30 until you make it out of the majority of the congested zone. Fleetwood Mac lilts from the speakers on the dash as you and Pedro jabber on about whatever comes to your minds. You just pray he isn’t picking up on the incessant nervousness you’re swallowing between each sentence.

“So what’s your favorite flower then?” you blurt, changing the subject almost entirely. “You know mine, only fair I know yours.”

“I don’t know if I have a favorite, per se, but I like purple flowers,”

“Oh, come on, that’s cheating,” you nudge his forearm that rests on the console between you. “There’s gotta be one you really like. This is, like, vital information. How else am I gonna know what to get you when you win your first Emmy?”

“Ha!" he bellows. "Well, in that case, I’d love a bouquet of daisies. They’ll remind me of you.”

He places his hand softly over yours, his fingers falling effortlessly into the gaps between your knuckles. You inhale with surprise, your chest noticeably hitching as you draw the breath in. A tightness surges in your chest, hot and asphyxiating as his thumb traces a little circle on the back of your hand.

You can’t bring yourself to remove your gaze from your lap, but you return his touch with a gentle squeeze, a reciprocation to the best of your ability. You wait anxiously, fully expecting him to unweave his fingers from yours, but he doesn’t. The muscles in his sturdy, flexing hands soften into a state of rest and settle atop yours.

This is the kind of thing Bella was talking about.

You’ve worked so hard to convince yourself that the little moments like this mean nothing, that Pedro is just a highly affectionate person or that he speaks to his other friends this very same way. Of course you’ve held hands with friends, but never with such tenderness and intention as the way he’s touching you. Your skin never felt like it had been lit ablaze, not in the way that it does at this very moment, with any friend you’ve ever known. With anyone you’ve ever known, if you're being honest with yourself.

Curiosity and apprehension rage like a wildfire in your mind, though ultimately your desire to know what he’s thinking breaks through the clouds of smoke. You turn your head to face him and are met with his profile, the sunset kissing the outline of his skin and illuminating him divinely. Your most favorite parts of his visage are displayed like a wonder of the universe, as his dimple slowly appears and his eyes wander to meet yours.

And then he smiles, teeth and all, and you want nothing more than to lunge out of your seat and kiss him.

But you don't.

You sit there, lips parted and breaths heavy as you turn your gaze back to the road. Frozen, as he unwraps his fingers from yours. Silent, as he turns up the volume of the music. You curl your hand into a fist at the loss of his touch.

Unable to withstand another moment of tension, you offer to show Pedro a podcast you think he'll enjoy. He obliges, and you listen the rest of the way home. You laugh, add little comments here and there, argue for a brief moment about the pronunciation of an artist’s name, amiably of course. You inch your way back to normal once again.

Once you finally arrive at your apartment complex, it’s almost 7 o’clock. The sun has long since vanished, your street only lit by two warm-yellow street lamps on either side of the main doors to your building.

“Well, this is me,” you turn to him and say, your voice mimicking that of a cringey romance film.

He laughs, the sound certainly escaping the confines of his car and down the street, as a couple jerk their heads in surprise towards your direction.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offers, unbuckling his seatbelt as you do the same.

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” you mutter as you gather your bag and water bottle from the floor.

“I waaant to do that,” he quips, his tone jovial and his head bobbing slightly as he teasingly mocks you.

You roll your eyes with a grin and exit the car as he meets you on the other side. You point to your entrance and start towards it, and suddenly feel his hand softly rest on the small of your back as he follows by your side.

His touch ignites something inside you, awakening a train of thought that you're incapable of slowing down. You can’t deny it anymore, he is everything you could ever ask for, everything you've ever wanted. And here he is, walking you to your door, making sure you get home safe.

You arrive at the doorstep and Pedro swiftly pulls you into a tight hug, his hands softly squeezing at your hips as he gently presses his face into your hair. You wrap your arms clumsily around his shoulders and embrace him on your tiptoes, your chin resting perfectly in the crook of his neck as you drown in his intoxicating scent. He presses his body into you and breathes deeply, letting out a little hum with the exhale.

His hands snake across your back and land uncrossed, resting softly on each side of your waist. He pulls away to look at you, and a tender smile crinkles his eyes and tinges his words as he speaks.

“Thank you so much fo—”

His sentence stops short as your hands grasp his face, your body possessed by something buried within you.

And you kiss him.

Hard. With desperation, like you're moments from death and his lips are your saving grace. He lets out a little grunt of confusion as your mouths collide and he grasps at your skin, bunching up the fabric of your skirt with his grip. And right as you feel him start to soften into your touch, his hands pulling you in, his lips melting into yours, you pull away.

“I... I...” you stutter, your eyes blown wide and mouth agape as you scour your brain for a string of coherent words amongst the rubble inside your head. “‘I’m so sorry.”

He inhales, and before he can respond, you interject.

“I-I’m so, so s-sorry,” you fumble as you yank your keys from your purse, frantically trying to scan your key FOB to unlock the door. “God I- I’m so sorry.”

The light on the detector turns green and you scramble to get your hand on the door handle.

“Shit... cmon...”

“Wait, I—” Pedro grabs your free hand.

You swing the door open as you slip through his grip, lunging yourself into the opening and slamming it behind you. You bolt to the elevator, jamming your finger on the button repeatedly until the doors part. You can hear Pedro’s voice, calling your name from down the hallway behind the glass keeping him away from you. You turn as you enter the elevator and see him, his hand flat on the window, a desperate expression as he shouts to you. The doors close and he disappears from your sightline.

Your knees fail you as your back slides down the wall, until you thump gracelessly onto the floor.

“Shit.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

chapter six

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #plus size reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #chubby reader #fem reader #slow burn

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boobo13cambridge · 11 months

Text

I’ll Take Care of You | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: none just angsty and some passionate kissing

Summary: Kylian is feeling stressed as the news that he will not be extending with PSG comes out. He seeks comfort in you.

A/N: Hello, everyone! When I got this request I absolutely adored the idea and wanted to get right to it. As always, please leave me feedback and don’t forget to reblog. I would greatly appreciate it. Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

The sun had long set over the city of Paris, casting an ethereal glow upon the Eiffel Tower as its lights illuminated the darkened sky. In the midst of the bustling city, a heavy atmosphere hung over Kylian Mbappé's lavish apartment. The young football prodigy, renowned for his incredible talent on the field, now found himself at a crossroads that weighed heavily on his heart.

Kylian had spent years with Paris Saint-Germain, captivating fans and leaving a lasting mark on the club. Since his arrival in 2017, he had steered his team to five Ligue 1 titles, secured three French Cup titles, and clinched the coveted Player of the Season award on four occasions. Yet, beneath the surface of success, a storm of discontent brewed within him. He felt betrayed by the club. He wasn't happy with the Mercato, he wasn't happy with the coach, and he was even less happy about practically being threatened by the president of the club that he would never be able to leave. The project that they tried to sell him was all a lie, leaving him consumed by frustration.

Paris was his home, his people, and his beloved city, and he never desired to depart its embrace. But his relentless ambition gnawed at his conscience, whispering that remaining stagnant would be a betrayal to the dreams of the little boy from Bondy who yearned to conquer all. The time had come to draw a line in the sand; he had reached his breaking point. Enough was enough.

As he lay sprawled on the couch, his gaze fixed upon the sprawling Paris skyline, an overwhelming headache descended upon him. It felt as though the weight of the entire world rested squarely upon his shoulders. The relentless media scrutiny only exacerbated his turmoil, incessantly hurling names at him and peddling baseless stories about his character (as if they even knew him), and practically harassing him on social media.

He was just so tired.

The young French captain longed for your presence by his side, but fate had conspired against him as you were working until 6 pm that day. Gazing at his iPhone, he saw that it was merely 5:30 pm, and a sense of dejection washed over him. With a heavy heart, he decided to text you, hoping that he could somehow persuade you to leave early.

Kylian: bébé can u leave early?

Kylian: tu me manques 🙁 (I miss you)

You: aww mon bébé 🙁 (aww my baby)

You: ouvre la porte je suis là 😘 (open the door, I'm here)

Surprised and filled with a glimmer of hope, he swiftly rose from the couch, his anticipation mirrored by the chime of the doorbell. A small smile spread on his fatigued face, as he felt a fraction of the weight burdening his shoulders dissipate.

Opening the door, he felt a sense of relief surge through his body as he saw your smiling face.

"Surprise, Kyky," you said, winking at him. Kylian didn't know what had come over him, but he felt his eyes welling up with tears as he pulled you inside, enveloping himself around you as he kicked the door closed. His heart weighed heavy, and he struggled to control his sobs, burying his face in your hair.

Surprised, you wrapped your arms around him, gently stroking the back of his head. "Mon bébé, what happened? Are you okay? Talk to me, mon cœur."

Hearing your voice only intensified his tears. He yearned to share his innermost thoughts, to unburden his soul, but he found himself unable to articulate the complexities of his emotions. The past few days had been gruelling for him. People knew him as a confident, self-assured individual, seemingly impervious to the world's judgments. He felt they took advantage of that side of him and perhaps his confidence enraged them. He felt that it was unfair that they used that to vilify him at every given opportunity. This time the footballer just couldn’t take it anymore, he had reached his breaking point.

You were filled with worry. Never before had you witnessed Kylian break down in such a way. Even after the heart-wrenching moments of missing a penalty at the Euro or losing the World Cup in Qatar, his composure had remained intact. However, the recent news of his decision not to renew with PSG had evidently struck a nerve far deeper than anticipated. You knew people wouldn’t take it kindly but you didn’t think it was going to be this bad.

"Shh, allez mon amour. Ça va bien aller. I'm here for you," you attempted to console him. Gently pulling back, you held his face between your hands.

The sight that greeted you shattered your heart into a million pieces. Kylian's face was flushed, his cheeks stained with tears. Seeing him in such anguish brought tears to your own eyes. "Ky...," you started, softly wiping away his tears with your thumbs. Shaking his head, Kylian pressed his forehead against yours.

"I can't do this anymore, bébé. Je suis tanné, putain," he cried, gripping your hips tightly, seeking solace and grounding himself in your presence.

"Je sais, mon cœur, je sais," you consoled him, gently guiding him to the couch as he lay down, his head buried in your lap. You caressed his head, your other hand soothingly rubbing his back, placing tender kisses upon his head as you whispered words of comfort.

Gradually, Kylian's sobs subsided, and he lifted his head from your stomach, wiping away his tears as you used a tissue to dab at his runny nose. "Let me get you some water, Ky," you attempted to rise, but Kylian shook his head. "Non, stay please... I just want you to hold me."

"Okay, bébé. Anything you want," you said, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "But please, talk to me, Ky."

Kylian was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, uncertain of where to begin. His emotions and feelings tangled within him, threatening to overwhelm him. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability. "It feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Everyone has a fuckin’ opinion about everything I do. If I stay at PSG, I'm a fuckin’ loser who's ruining his career by staying in a farmer's league. If I leave, I'm a traitor who doesn't care about the club, only about money. I can't catch a break, bébé. No matter what I do, I'm always the bad guy, always painted as the fuckin’ villain in whatever fairytale they cook up every week. I feel suffocated, and on top of it all, I feel like a complete piece of shit for dumping all my feelings on you. I've been a shitty fiancé."

“Mon amour, don't say that. You are not a shitty fiancée and I want you to know that I love you so much. Secondly, I want you to talk about your feelings with me because that's what I'm here for. We're in this together bébé. We're a team, and I’ll always be here for you whenever you need me. As for the media, those assholes are just jealous because you’re this confident young man who’s so incredibly talented. They could never hold a candle to you, mon amour. Besides, most of them are just a bunch of racist fucks.”

“I feel like no matter what I chose, people will still make me out to be a bad guy.”

"Bébé, you can't control that. At the end of the day, you have to make the best decision for yourself, and I'll be right by your side through it all."

You gently caressed his cheek, trying to smooth the lines of worry etched upon his forehead.

"Are you sure, bébé? I just..."

"Kylian, mon amour, mon cœur, ma vie. You mean the world to me. Your dreams are my dreams, and your happiness is my happiness. Wherever you decide to go, I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way."

Gazing into your eyes, Kylian's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. These past few years, sharing his life with someone as extraordinary as you had transformed him into the luckiest man to walk the earth. With every beat of his heart, he recognized that you were not just a partner, but the missing piece that completed his very being—the woman he had always yearned for in his wildest dreams.

In an instant, he surrendered to the intensity of his emotions, his hand instinctively finding the curve of your neck. With a gentle yet possessive grip, he drew you closer, erasing the space between your bodies. Their warmth melded, and the world around them faded into insignificance as their lips collided in a moment of fiery passion.

Time seemed to stand still as their mouths moved in a fervent dance, their souls entwining amidst the raw fervor of their connection. It was a kiss that transcended words, conveying depths of love that mere language could never capture. In that single act, Kylian poured his heart and soul into the embrace, a testament to the profound love and desire he held for you.

The taste of his lips, the electric touch of his hands, and the fusion of their breaths ignited a blazing fire within both of them. Each kiss carried an unspoken promise—a vow of unwavering devotion, a pledge to traverse any obstacle that lay in their path. In that fleeting moment, the world existed solely for the two of them, bound by an unbreakable bond that defied all logic and reason.

As you broke apart, your noses nuzzled together. "But, you know, now that you've decided to leave once your contract ends, maybe choose a city with better weather, oui? I absolutely refuse to have our future babies be born in a cold, rainy place."

A soft chuckle escaped Kylian's lips, blending relief with joy. "I was only joking, bébé. I'm not actually going to Manchester United or Liverpool. Don't worry your pretty little head, princesse."

"You better have been joking because there's no way you're dragging me to a whole new country and knocking me up in the frigid cold.”

“Oh, please. You love it when I do you raw, princesse.”

“ Oh yeah? I'll fly right back and give birth to your child in Marseille,” you retorted, cheeks turning red.

"Take that back, bébé. You're not allowed to say that. No child of mine is going to be a Marseillais."

Laughter filled the air, a melody of hope and love. In that moment, you both knew that no matter the challenges ahead, your bond with Kylian was unbreakable. Together, you would face the uncertainties of life, drawing strength from the unwavering support and affection you shared.

As the night progressed, you held each other close, finding solace in the arms of the one who mattered most. And in that embrace, you both understood that regardless of where fate led the brilliant Kylian Mbappé, love would be your guiding light through the storm, ensuring that the journey ahead brimmed with hope, adventure, and an unyielding bond that would endure forever.

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breaddwoo · 1 year

Text

-Warm Light-

pairing: xavier x reader

word count: 2.73k

warnings: none :)

desc: when xavier sees your ability to glow, he gets a lil crush and y'all have a sleepover :))

a/n: my friends bully me because all i did today was write this 👊

had you been a normal child, life would have gone much differently. your emotions wouldn't get outed by your very skin; every boy you've liked wouldn't instantly understand through your illumination.

no matter how much you tried to control it, your flesh seemed to have its own conscience that made its own decisions.

your skin glowed. bright, radiant lemon or sometimes just a comforting, somewhat dim gold. this curse had embarrassed you more times than one should be mortified in a life time. a malediction passed on to you by a higher being with unknown intent.

so, there came a time when the bullying was too much. it was never violent, there were no harsh words spat in your direction. you tried your best to be nice to every classmate.

it was the isolation. a metaphorical twin of suffocation; you had no friends and never once held a romantic partner. no one wanted to get close to you, either wierded out by the power or didn't want to be associated with it.

in the end, nevermore was inevitable. no one paid any attention to you in the beginning of your enrollment; all eyes were on you, however, once you gleamed like a beacon during a school assembly after someone's hand brushed your ass.

that's how you met enid and ajax, and in turn, wednesday. you could tell she was perplexed by your ability just as the other two were, but she never gave into her curiosity. they made you happy.

you had some control when it came to your ability; you could "turn it on", as enid would say, whenever you wanted. you just couldn't flick the light switch off when you became a human light bulb.

but night time in dark hallways was the perfect place to practice, especially the halls of nevermore where moonlight was scarce and pitch blackness was abundant.

with a snap of your fingers, you'd illuminate the narrow corridor; another snap, and sometimes the light would go away. most of the time it just stayed on until you were randomly plunged into darkness.

as you continued this, you came upon a dead end. there was a large, looming figure in front of you but it was impossible decipher what it was.

with a snap, you tried to get a better look. nothing.

you snapped again and the blackness continued. by now your eyes had adjusted enough to understand that the figure was an antique statue; however, curiosity got the best of you and you needed the statue in full visibility.

to anyone wandering these shadowy halls at night, these random clicks may have made for a good horror story at a slumber party.

in frustration, you snapped your fingers a few times in attempt to get your skin to brighten when you heard a loud click.

then, low rumbling within the walls in front of you.

your body took this as the perfect opportunity to become a floodlight, revealing that the statue was now gone and a large set of stone stairs spiraled into mystery.

even this school is a goddamn oddity.

you sighed, knowing that this meant you'd have to go down the stairs or this scene would haunt you to your grave.

the first step you took was hesitant. no booby traps, no arrows flying into your chest. is this safe??

the decision had been made to enter, so with more confidence, you descended the twisting staircase.

you feared that your light would dissipate, but continued on until you saw a circular library holding old, dusty books.

"... hello?" you whispered. there was no one you expected to answer, but you were weary of the volume of your voice anyway.

"hello?" you asked again, this time with a bit of wavery confidence.

then, someone stepped out of a hallway to your left. someone tall, wearing a costume-like robe.

"jesus, can you please put that flash light away? you're blinding me," the figure complained, covering their eyes with a comically large sleeve.

you tried to dim the lights a bit. surprisingly, your skin successfully emitted a soft golden glow instead of the headlight it was before.

when you did this, you could make out that the figure was, in fact, a boy.

a very cute one.

"was- was that your body that scorched my eyes?" the boy asked with intrigue before backtracking, "wait, sorry, wrong question right now. who are you and how did you get in here?"

you laughed a strained laugh, wringing the hem of your skirt in your hands, "uhm, yeahhh. i was- i was just practicing my, uh, glowing and happened to somehow make a statue move? i don't know, i'm probably as confused as you are."

you were nervous, afraid that you had happened upon a cult that would cut you up for finding their secret lair.

the boy studied you for a second, then stepped forward. you could see the details of his face a little better when he did this. man he's cute.

the room may have been dark, but your light cast shadows on his face in all the right places. he was taller than you, and he may not have had a conventionally attractive face, but you were nevertheless starstruck.

he gave an awkward, but adorable, smile.

"this is the hideout for a secret society called the nightshades. there's really no point in hiding it since you already know about it, though you can't tell anyone you found this place, " he explained, running a hand through his shoulder length hair.

"oh, okay, then i definitely shouldn't be here. i'll get going."

you hurriedly began for the stairs; a small tug on your sleeve stopped you from going further.

"wait, wait," the boy protested, "can i get your name? just, y'know, for future reference."

you snorted, "what would you need my name for in the future?"

"many things," he grinned.

"also, i wanna see your... light?" he said for lack of a better term.

you dropped down from the step you currently stood on so you were once again on ground level with the boy.

"i'll show it to you in exchange for your name."

he crossed his arms, "but i asked you first."

"maybe, but im the bargainer here. deal or no deal, " you stated, stifling a laugh.

the boy placed his fingers on his chin to feign consideration, saying, "you give a tempting offer."

you raised your brows to ask so, deal or no deal?

he let a grin spread on his face, "fine. xavier thorpe, that's my name. can i see the light now?"

xavier. what a cute name for a cute boy.

you gave an obviously exaggerated sigh and tried to make your skin glow a little brighter. holding out your hand, you let him examine your abnormality that brought you to this school.

xavier's hazel eyes glittered with wonder as he ran his hands over your candlelight skin.

beginning to feel embarrassed, you pulled away with a faint blush painting your cheeks.

"anyway, i- i should go," you mumbled, feeling too bashful to stay there any longer; your skin may glow again as it did with every boy that piqued your interest and you'd had quite enough of that and the reaction the boys would give.

you could tell that xavier had more to ask, but he kept his queries to himself and allowed you to ascend the stairs.

"oh," you began, halfway up the stairs, "and my name is (y/n)."

when xavier heard the wall at the entrance of the stairs close above him, he wandered to the step you were standing on when he touched your warm, illuminated hand.

"(y/n).. " he whispered to himself, a small, innocent smile painted on his face that was hidden by the darkness.

> > >

after that day, you noticed xavier in the halls much more often. he was even in your third period class. how have i never noticed?

xavier would catch up to you on your way to different classes, talking about whatever came to mind. the company was new and unusual, but not unwelcome.

after a little while, you were able to call him your friend. your best friend, even.

it was friday, the weather outside was abysmal as rain streaks on the windows beside you cast odd shadows on your desk.

it was a quiet study hour instead of the usually rowdy third period debate class.

there was a small tap on your shoulder, so you turned around to feel the brunt of a small folded paper hit your forehead.

"ow..." you whispered to yourself, frowning at the offender. xavier presses his lips together to keep himself from laughing and pointed at the floor.

looking down, you found the little weapon sitting on your book bag.

you gave him a really? are we in middle school? look, but picked up and unfolded the tiny note anyway.

inside were crudely written words that said:

hangout at the paint shed tonight?

you couldn't help the smile that stole your expression, giving him a small thumbs up. the little invitation left you giddy; you could already feel your skin beginning to warm with a warning flare.

xavier retaliated with a gracious smile. god, he's so adorable.

now the school day was going to take forever.

> > >

"xavier, what is this?"

the art studio now looked like a girl's room after a slumber party. there was a thin foam mattress in the middle of the wooden floors, decorated with many plush pillows and knitted blankets. snacks covered almost every empty surface that wasn't occupied by art supplies. there were even fairy lights hung above the makeshift bed, giving the room a comfortable and inviting appearance.

xavier looked proudly at his work, "i just thought, since we rarely get to spend more than an hour together, that we could have a little- uh, sleepover."

looking at his embarrassed blush, you burst into a fit of giggles.

"i didn't know we were middle school besties. did you ask your mom?" you jested, covering your mouth to attempt to suppress the laughter.

xavier noticed your skin begin to emit it's usual glow that he adored, but he feigned frustration as he crossed his arms. the blush on his cheeks became a fiercer shade of scarlet.

"sorry, sorry. i know you worked hard on this, thank you," you grinned, wiping a tear caused by your outburst.

"so, what did you want to do first?"

the question left xavier quiet. there was a very specific activity he wanted to do, but he was afraid the very question would reveal his true feelings.

"do you- uh, do you remember the first time me met?" he questioned.

you nodded, "of course. how could i forget the night that i burned my image into your poor pupils."

"well..." he began, "ever since then, i've wanted to paint you. with that glow, it'd give me insane practice at lighting with acrylics." and you're insanely pretty and i want to watch you glow any time i wish.

he didn't add that last part, though.

the request forced the dim luminosity of your skin to radiate a brighter light.

just seeing you like this, xavier melted. ever since the first day he felt your light touch his skin, everything about you occupied every corner of his mind.

each time he walked with you in the hallway, each day you sat together drawing, he felt himself falling for you a little more.

tonight those feelings turned him into a tight envelope of emotion ready to burst, his wax seal already cracking.

you looked down, "okay then."

xavier could tell you were embarrassed but quickly grabbed his paints. tonight he would paint a masterpiece.

> > >

the whole process had been difficult, what with you laughing every time he made his concentration face and him playfully scolding you not to move.

"do you ever sit still?" he asked, almost finished.

"do you ever concentrate without biting the inside of your cheek?" you shot back.

he squinted his eyes, "touché."

you were about to giggle again, but restrained yourself to avoid more reprimanding.

finally, with the acrylic still drying, he was done. "do you want to see it?"

you breathed out, "i don't know. i'm scared."

xavier put a hand on his chest to feign offense, "and why would you be scared?"

"uhm, cuz- because i'll see myself through your eyes."

the room went silent; you could even hear one of the shed's lightbulbs go out.

"what does that mean?" he questioned, putting down his brushes. you shook your head to avoid the topic, dismissing him, "nevermind. forget it, i don't even know what i'm saying."

he pushed on, "no, seriously. do you think i see you in a bad way?"

"no- it's more like i'm afraid you won't see me in the way i most want you to."

xavier knew exactly what that meant. considering the way you brightened the room every time he was in it, he guessed that maybe you felt the same; but here was some (hopefully) solid proof. this was it: the opening he needed.

he lifted from his stool, walking over to you and guiding you to the flimsy bed he had put together.

when you both were laying down, he turned on his side to look and you and you reciprocated.

"(y/n), you- god, how do you not see? i feel like im pretty obvious, even if i don't physically glow every time i see you," xavier began, moving to prop his head on his hand with his elbow using a pillow as support.

"well i'm sorry! if i could control this damn ability i probably wouldn't even be here," you said defensively.

he back tracked, remembering he can be a bit rude at times, "no that's not what i meant, sorry. what i mean to say is that i look at you as if you hang the stars in the sky. when we're together i can't rid myself of a stupid grin that plagues me even after we've parted, and though i enjoy it, it sure makes my cheeks hurt. "

you laughed at the last comment and he felt warmth in his stomach. "well, i literally glow when i see you so i think i win."

"i didn't know this was a contest of affection," he teased, moving a bit closer.

"it's not, but i want a prize anyway."

both if you knew what you were suggesting, xavier just needed to take the initiative to do it.

he leaned over you, your back pressed to the soft foam beneath.

the moment his lips touched yours, a bright white light exploded in the room.

he pulled back, an uncomfortable tingling sensation rising to his face.

"did you just...?"

"oh my goodness," you gasped, reaching for his now sun burnt face.

"i-i'm so sorry! i didn't know i could do that!" you were mortified. you've ruined everything. you burned the first boy you've ever kissed.

then came a chuckle, along with full blown laughter. xavier rested his face in your neck as he continued to laugh.

"i can't believe the first time we kiss i get sun burned! that's so adorable!"

the word adorable wasn't how you would describe it, but you smiled and went along with his positive reaction.

"god, I'm so in love with you, " he blurted out of pure affection.

another snap of light almost caused xavier's eyes to dry out of his head, but you luckily covered his face just in time.

"please xavier, " you stated, your whole body a beacon of light that lit up the room, "no more of that. i'm literally going to cook you alive."

xavier laughed. he was fine with that, as long as you and your warm light were his.

> > >

-extra-

the both of you lay on the bed, sprawled across each other.

"i want to give you a pet name," xavier stated matter-of-factly.

"you can do that if you enjoy a 24/7 sun burn, " you laughed.

"hmm... " he stared at the ceiling, deep in thought, "i've got it!"

"and?"

"my little glow stick."

you gave a horrified expression, "xavier no, do not call me that."

"aww cute little glow stick," he teased.

"bro stop."

you spent the rest of the night smothering xavier with a pillow.

#xavier x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wednesday imagine #xavier x you #xavier x y/n

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madeinparadis · 4 months

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NIGHTLY SORROWS | THOMAS SHELBY

pairing: thomas shelby × reader

tw: grief (reader is dead), angst

word count: 724

masterlist: all characters

a/n: this is more of a drabble, just a little something i wrote before bed. italics signal a flashback/memory.

Far into the winter, all of Birmingham was covered in fog and cold. The houses were dimly illuminated by the bleak sunshine during the day, then engulfed by darkness in the later hours, and Arrow House was no exception, looking and feeling particularly gloomy. Despite all efforts done by staff to make it warm and hospitable for its owner, the most important part of it was lost forever, and could never be replaced- you.

The clock on the bedside table read one o'clock. Tommy sat in what was once your shared bed, now only his. His mind was playing tricks on him yet again, clouding his conscience with visions of you, the feeling of longing and regret leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

No matter the circumstances, Thomas Shelby wouldn't ever say he is an emotional or sensitive man. With all the horrors he's seen, all the men he's brutally murdered, the business he leads, there was just no space in his life for feelings. Even so, that doesn't mean they didn't plague him- in fact, they took over his mind at every given chance. Every time he let himself breathe and relax his muscles, he was taken there, to a place where you exposed the thoughts and emotions buried the deepest in his consciousness.

"Tom?" you called, a smile painted on your face. Oh, this was one of his favourite memories. "Look, I want you to see this." your request caught his attention, making him glance up at you, taking notice of the new garments on your frame. "What do you think?" you gestured at your outfit. "The seamstress finished it earlier today. I'm thinking of wearing it the charity event next week."

If only he didn't take you to that ball...

"It looks perfect. you're always beautiful, love." Tommy replied, watching you change back into your nightgown, joining him in bed- back when it was still both his and yours to share.

"Fuck." he spoke in a low, tired tone. He had to get his shit together, stop reminiscing, he thought to himself. Well, perhaps later he would- for now, he wanted to keep you around, in whatever way possible.

The hours went by as Thomas drowned himself with work in the office, a poor attempt to drown out the thought of you. He got up from his chair, dragging his tired self to the cabinet and pouring himself a glass of whisky. Sitting behind the desk again, he drank up the contents of the glass in one uninterrupted take, setting it on the wooden desk quite harshly.

For a second, his head was empty. Then, there you were- the vision of your ghost like an oasis sighting to him. You took a step closer to him, standing behind the office desk as you rested your hands on his shoulders, earning a relieved sigh from Tommy, who leaned into your touch almost desperately.

"Did you miss me, darling?" Your voice was like medicine to his soul, making the pain drift away while he heard it- except it made his heart ache even more after, when he was reminded you weren't truly there anymore.

"Everyday, love." He replied with a tormented tone.

"You know you can't keep living like this, Tom. Our son needs a father." You spoke softly. "He needs you."

"There's no joy in this house without you, (y/n). Charlie misses you just like me, everyday."

You remained silent for some time, offering comfort with your touch rather than words. Tommy accepted every gesture of yours, taking every second he could get with you.

"It's not your fault, Tom. There was nothing you could do to prevent that bullet from reaching me." You spoke up again, kneeling down until your lips reached his ear. "Do you remember my last request to you, just before I died?"

"To be good to Charlie, take care of him." The expression on his face was pained as he answered your question, reminding him of your last moments on earth.

"Exactly. Have you gotten him a horse yet?"

"Yes. I bought him one for Christmas, a good breed."

"That's good. Be patient with him, Tom. He's got a strong-willed spirit like yours."

Tommy felt your lips on his cheek, looking up to see your face. But just like that, you were gone once more.

#madeinlisbon #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #charlie shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #grace shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #winter #angst #drabble #my writing

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eksvaized · 1 month

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Part Two König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf

Usually, you look forward to your boyfriend coming home. Even when you find yourself upset with König as he departs, the time has a way of softening the sharp edges of your most recent argument. The reasons behind your fight slowly fade and blur in your memory, like a photograph left too long in the sun. As the details of your disagreement become less distinct, a profound longing for his presence gradually replaces them. You yearn for the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, and the reassuring solidity of his presence in your shared home.

When König’s away on the mission, his communication with you becomes infrequent, to say the least. He hardly ever calls or sends a text. This was a difficult adjustment for you when you first started dating. The experience of dating someone who didn’t make a habit of keeping in touch while gone was a challenging one. However, as time passed, you adapted to the irregularity of his communication.

And now, the rare moments when his name appears on your phone’s screen, you are filled with anticipation. It’s typically a brief and straightforward message. A few simple words informing you that he’s on his way home. But these few words, so sparse and infrequent, send a rush of excitement coursing through you each time.

This time around, however, when the familiar vibration of your phone resonates through your fingertips and you glimpse his name brightly illuminated on the screen, the sight of a new notification doesn’t fill you with the sense of anticipation. Instead of the usual thrill that bubbles up at the thought of König’s homecoming, you find your stomach tied in a knot. A thick, heavy feeling of anxiety sinking to the very pit of your belly, pulling your joy and excitement down with it. It’s a feeling that is difficult to shake off.

You’re well aware that you haven’t done anything wrong in a literal sense. Yet, there’s a nagging sensation of guilt, a feeling that persistently gnaws at the edges of your conscience almost relentlessly, making you question your actions. Over the course of the past two weeks, your casual curiosity about the new neighbour has escalated into something more intense. You’ve found yourself keenly observing his daily routines, meticulously noting the patterns in his comings and goings, essentially stalking him from the safe confines of your kitchen.

You’ve noticed that your new neighbour rarely ventures out of his home. His presence inside seems almost constant. And on the rare occasions when he does step out, his outings are brief and seemingly purposeful, further adding to the shroud of mystery that surrounds him.

On several occasions, the thought of introducing yourself to the stranger across the street has crossed your mind. As you watch him from the safety of your own home, the idea seems simple enough. But as soon as you slip into your shoes, ready to embark on the quick journey across the road, anxiety takes hold.

Your fingers hesitate on the door handle, eventually falling away as you retreat back into your home. Merely observing him from your window is a far cry from actually mustering the courage to walk up to his front door and ring the bell. It’s a line you’re not quite ready to cross. Despite the innocence of the act, you’re well aware that if König were to find out about your little daydreams, he would not be amused.

As a way to make up for the time you wasted staring out the window, you decide to do something nice for your boyfriend.

Each time König completes a mission and returns home, he adheres to a strict, almost ritualistic routine, one that never alters or shifts. As soon as he steps through the front door, he’ll head straight for the bathroom, letting the hot water pour over him, washing away the grime and dirt. He stands there until the water runs clear, an act of purification, of transitioning from his work life to his personal one.

Once he’s clean, he’ll join you at the dinner table. And then, no matter how late the hour may be, once the dishes have been cleared, and the kitchen cleaned, he retreats into the quiet solitude of the bedroom, where he sleeps till the next morning.

But would it really hurt him if he deviated from this routine for one night? You hope not.

You devote nearly two hours of your evening cloistered in the sanctuary of your bathroom. After indulging in a long, steam-filled shower that leaves your skin dewy and refreshed, you take your time to meticulously straighten each individual strand of your hair. Then, you patiently apply your makeup, carefully accentuating your best features. Once you are satisfied with your reflection in the mirror, you change into a stunning dress—a dress that always seems to catch König’s eye, making it impossible for him to keep his hands to himself whenever you don it.

With a sense of accomplishment radiating from every pore and a newfound confidence in your step, you hurry to the kitchen, eager to continue the evening’s preparations.

In the kitchen, you get to work, savoring the fragrant aroma of his favorite meal as it fills the air. As you chop, stir, and season, you feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you. All of your efforts tonight are for one sole purpose - to make König’s return home feel special.

As you set the table, you carefully pour the rich red wine into the delicate crystal glasses, ensuring each one is filled to just the right level. You take a moment to survey the dining room, double-checking each minor detail. Your gaze sweeps over every corner to make sure that not a single thing is missing or out of place.

Your heart skips a beat as the distinct sound of a car pulling up in the driveway reaches your ears.

In a slight state of frenzy, you rush to the ornate mirror hanging in the hallway, taking one last hurried look at your reflection. You check to make sure that your lipstick, a bold shade of red, isn’t smudged. You then quickly run your hands down your dress, checking for any stains that might have appeared while you were busy preparing the feast in the kitchen.

Everything looks perfect—you look perfect.

As you see the dark silhouette of König approaching through the frosted windowpane, you can’t help but take a sharp breath in. The hallway is suddenly filled with a sense of urgency as you quickly stride over to the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hand reaches out, clasping the cool metal of the handle, and you swiftly pull it open just before his knuckles can make contact in a knock.

As the door swings open, a welcoming, genuine smile spreads across your face, illuminating your features. His eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, a wave of confusion washes over his face. His brows furrow. However, as his gaze travels down the length of your body, taking in every detail of your appearance, he sucks in a sharp breath, as if caught by surprise. His eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Hey,” you greet him, your voice soft.

The soft glow of the outside evening light highlights his tall frame as he steps over the threshold of your home, and you can’t take your eyes off him. You don’t hesitate, moving with a familiar ease to close the distance between you, reaching up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. The feel of him, so familiar and yet so thrilling, brings a comfort that you hadn’t realized you had been craving.

As a response, he reaches behind him, his fingers never leaving the small of your back, to shut the door, effectively separating you both from the rest of the world. His duffel bag is tossed carelessly onto the ground, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

You rise onto the balls of your feet. Your lips brush against his lightly before you place your palm on the nape of his neck, pulling him down toward you. The kiss is brief, but unlike your previous interactions, you can feel a distinct shift in his demeanor. His movements, typically mechanical and reserved, now hold a hint of passion, as if he’s returning your desire with an intensity that mirrors, if not surpasses, your own.

“Care to explain?” he inquires, pulling back, his lips curling upward into a teasing smile.

“I don’t think there’s anything to explain,” you respond, stepping back from him. His hands trail down your curves before falling to his sides, a lingering warmth left behind. “I just wanted to do something nice for my boyfriend because I haven’t seen him in two weeks and I miss him.”

He nods, leaning in to steal another sweet kiss. His hands, instinctively drawn back to the contours of your body, rest on your waist. “I’m going to take a quick shower—”

“—and then we can eat,” you finish his sentence for him.

When he moves past you, his shoulders brush against yours. You remain rooted in your spot, as he strides into the bedroom. The door closes behind him, obscuring him from your view. You are left alone, standing in the quiet hallway.

He spends a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom, a length of time that feels like an eternity to you. Meanwhile, the delicious food that you’ve prepared with so much care is slowly losing its warmth. Yet, you choose to remain seated alone in the dimly lit dining room. His mood is buoyant tonight; he’s practically radiating joy and you don’t want to put a damper on it by impatiently knocking on the bathroom door, urging him to hurry up.

Finally, König re-emerges from the bathroom and takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. His eyes meet yours across the candle-lit expanse.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Schatz.” He murmurs approvingly, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as you both begin to savor the meal.

A wave of contentment washes over you, warming you from the inside out. All your meticulous planning seems to be paying off. So far, everything is going according to plan.

From the moment you both sit down at the dining table, silence fills the room. He is ravenous. His attention fiercely concentrated on the food before him, leaving no room for idle chatter. You don’t mind, though; you find comfort in the quiet, allowing it to envelop you as you recline in your chair, the taste of wine gracing your lips.

Your eyes are drawn to him, taking in every detail, capturing this moment. A part of you can’t help but yearn for this to be your everyday normal. The dream of an ordinary life, with him by your side more often than not, has always lingered at the back of your mind. But you know that life is not a fairy tale. You play the hand you’re dealt. He is a soldier, a man of duty and honor, who pours his soul into his work.

You understand this and accept it. If being with him means spending some nights in a cold, empty bed, dinner for one more often than you’d like, you can cope. It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. But deep inside, there’s a hope that in some time, after many years roll by, he’ll also yearn for the same regular life and be ready to settle down with you. You’ve never really asked him about his vision for the future, and whether it includes you, but you’d like to believe you know his answer, and that it aligns with yours.

Shaking your head, you finish the last of the wine. Why are you allowing yourself to dwell on this now? Now is not the time to dissect every aspect of your relationship and life that you wish you could change.

“More wine?” You ask after noticing his glass is empty as well.

Gently, you rise from your plush chair, the soft fabric rustling against your dress. You cross the room with a graceful stride. The rich, ruby red liquid sways in the bottle, catching the flickering candlelight as you approach him.

“No, thank you,” he says, placing his palm over the top of the empty glass. The unexpected refusal surprises you, prompting a wrinkle of confusion to form on your brow. “I think I’ll retire for the night. I would prefer not to wake up with a splitting headache tomorrow—I believe I’ve had enough.”

“Really? Can’t you stay up just a bit longer?” With a hint of disappointment, you set the bottle down on the table with more force than necessary. The sound of glass against wood echoes through the room, causing the entire table to shudder under the impact.

“I’m exhausted,” he murmurs, rising from his chair with a heavy sigh, every line of his body speaking of fatigue. He leans towards you, an attempt to plant a soft kiss on your lips. But you react quickly, turning your head to the side and taking a step back, creating a space between the two of you. “I just want to—”

“And what about my wants?” Your voice cuts through the tension, a crescendo of frustration and disappointment. Hours you’ve spent in the kitchen, laboring over a meal for him, only for him to make a swift exit the moment he’s done with his plate. “Is it really that difficult for you to break away from your usual routine? Can’t you set it aside just for one night? For me?”

“I told you already. I’m tired,” he repeats his earlier sentiment. However, this time his tone is different, colder. His irritation is thinly veiled, barely concealed behind a frosty exterior. You can tell there’s more he wants to say, the words hanging in the air, yet he seems to bite down on his tongue. He holds back, stopping himself from adding fuel to the brewing argument.

“And I,” you say, voice low but firm, “want to be fucked.”

König clenches his teeth with such force that you’re filled with a fear they might shatter into a thousand pieces. He rolls his eyes at you. “We can do that tomorrow,” he asserts, his voice heavy with a dismissiveness that stings.

You hold his gaze, the corners of your mouth down-turned in a grimace. “Are you sure? Because I know you’ll be long gone by the time I wake up,” you retort, your voice laced with a bitter taste of resentment that has been simmering for far too long; you spit out your words with a certain venom, a clear signal of your growing discontent with him.

Turning your back to him, you start cleaning the table, desperately seeking a distraction from the sight of him. His presence, once comforting, now feels invasive and unbearable.

Tonight was meant to be different. It was supposed to be special. You had envisioned a night filled with laughter, a chance to rekindle the spark that once defined your relationship. But the reality is a stark contrast, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. This is not how you had envisioned the night would draw to a close. It was supposed to be a celebration, not a battlefield.

He lingers in the dining room for a little while longer. His silence is heavy. It looks like he wants to say something, perhaps apologize or explain, but after visibly struggling with his thoughts and shaking his head, he walks out of the room. The sound of the bedroom door closing behind him is like a gunshot in the quiet night, leaving you with the echo of its loud bang.

You collapse onto the chair, your body suddenly feeling as heavy as the weight that now burdens your heart. Your hands instinctively reach up to cover your face, your skin feeling unusually hot against your cool palms. You attempt to take deep, steadying breaths. Each one is a conscious effort to calm your racing heart, to control the tumultuous storm that rages like a tempest inside you.

You don’t want to cry. You’ve made countless promises to yourself that you wouldn’t. But despite your best efforts, your eyes betray you; they flood with unshed tears, threatening to spill over and stain your cheeks. A quiet whimper, eerily similar to the whimper of a wounded animal, rises up from the pit of your stomach.

As you try to suppress the overwhelming urge to give in to your sorrow and cry your heart out, you reach out for the bottle of wine on the table. Pouring yourself another generous glass, you watch as the deep red liquid swirls around, playing with the scant light in the room, casting fleeting shadows on the otherwise cold and barren walls.

The bitter-sweet aroma of the wine wafts up, filling your senses, providing a momentary distraction from the sadness threatening to consume you. Each sip you take is measured, deliberate. You let the rich flavors dance on your tongue, trying to lose yourself in the complexity of the taste, hoping it will numb the pain, if only for a little while. Yet, as you continue to drink, you can’t help but notice how the bottle on the table grows steadily emptier and emptier. It’s a cruel reflection of the loneliness that fills the room, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of the glass.

The shrill ring of a doorbell reverberates through the house, abruptly pulling you out of a deep reverie that you hadn’t even realised you’d fallen into. You’ve been sitting, lost in a maze of your own thoughts, for close to an hour now, the only company being the ticking of the clock on the wall. You glance up at it, having to squint a bit because your vision is slightly blurred, and you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. 8:24 PM.

It isn’t shockingly late, but it’s not exactly a time when you’d expect visitors, especially on a day like this. You’re left puzzled, wondering who could possibly be on your doorstep at this hour. You consider staying put, but when the bedroom door remains closed and König doesn’t make an appearance, you summon the strength to drag yourself to the front door.

Before opening it, you hastily wipe at your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the smudged mascara that’s probably making you look like a raccoon. With a deep breath, you open the door, coming face to face with the last person you’d expect. The man you’ve spent the past two weeks stalking from your kitchen window is now standing in front of you.

You find yourself captivated, eyes sweeping over his features, taking in the reality of him up close. You’re so engrossed in studying him that you momentarily forget the basic courtesy of greeting a guest. As a result, he breaks the silence that had settled between the two of you, his voice cutting through the quiet night air.

“I realise that it’s late,” the stranger says, his words carefully measured and deliberate, “but I noticed a light in your window and figured that someone must still be awake.” His eyes, sharp and curious, dart around the inside of your house, taking in the details of your space with an almost palpable interest. He pauses to glance over your shoulder, his gaze lingering on the cosy ambiance of your home before his attention returns to you. “I was wondering, could I possibly borrow a cup of sugar? I’ve taken up baking recently, but I’ve run out of sugar and it’s far too late to make a trip to the shop.”

His request catches you off guard, and without thinking, you blurt out, “You’re baking..? At this hour?” The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you regret your lack of tact. But he doesn’t seem phased. Instead, he simply shrugs, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he leans casually against the frame of your doorway.

His tall stature casts an imposing shadow over you, the disparity in your heights making you feel tiny in comparison. His eyes, piercing and intense, seem to bore into yours, creating an unsettling feeling within you. It’s as though he can see right through you, reading your deepest thoughts and uncovering the inappropriate musings about him that you’re desperately trying to keep hidden.

“A hobby of mine. Keeps me busy when I can’t fall asleep.”

“Stay here,” you finally utter, your voice trembling as you struggle to maintain a steady tone. You close the door abruptly behind you, a loud sigh escaping from you as your fingers nervously rake through your tousled hair.

Your mind is in overdrive, thoughts spinning and whirling like a carousel in your head. You’re aware that your boyfriend is at home, and it’s due to this that you didn’t invite the stranger inside. The thought of König finding a stranger, particularly another man, in the kitchen, would surely spark a reaction that would be less than positive, to put it mildly. Even if the man is just a neighbour, innocently seeking to borrow a handful of ingredients, it could stir up a whirlwind of unnecessary tension.

After carefully scooping a heaping cup full of sugar, you walk back to the hallway, your heart pounding with each step.

“Thank you,” your neighbour says. As you extend your hand to pass him the cup, his fingers graze lightly against yours, an almost accidental touch that sends shivers cascading down your spine like a waterfall, each ripple of sensation making your stomach perform a series of somersaults. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” he adds.

As he speaks, his dark, almost fathomless eyes slowly scan your body, taking in every detail as though it’s a priceless work of art. They pause and linger on your dress, where it’s stretched tight, accentuating the curves of your figure like a second skin. The intensity of his gaze, akin to a physical touch, makes your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson—a telltale sign of the turmoil of emotions within you. This, in turn, makes him smirk, a playful glint in his eyes.

You just stand there, rooted to the spot in the doorway, caught up in a silent, staring game. Neither of you makes a move to break the tension that is thick in the air, almost palpable. He doesn’t excuse himself to leave, nor make any motion to break away from your gaze. And you, on your part, can’t seem to gather the courage to shut the door, to end this strange tableau.

The staring game continues, each moment stretching out into infinity. The silence grows, filling the space between you two, growing louder and more intense with each passing second. It becomes almost unbearable; the quietness echoing in your ears.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to murmur a quiet ‘goodnight’. With that, you slam the door in his face. It’s impolite, and it’s not a move you’re proud of. You know it’s not the best way to handle the situation. But it’s the only way you could make yourself peel your eyes off of him, the only way to end the electrifying tension that was building, crackling between you two.

By the time you finish clearing the dining room table and taking a quick shower, you are ready to go to bed. Walking into the bedroom, the sight that welcomes you is König deep in slumber. He’s sprawled all over the bed. His colossal frame nearly taking up the entire space. A blanket is carelessly draped over his body, rising and falling gently in time with his breaths. His lips are slightly parted, and the soft, rhythmic sound of his snores fills the bedroom.

A pang of longing hits you. All you want is to crawl into the bed next to him, to feel the familiar warmth of his arms wrapping around you. You yearn for an apology, for him to say he’s sorry for the disagreement you’d had, for things to go back to the way they were. But the reality is that he’s sleeping, oblivious to your internal conflict, and there will be no apology tonight.

You’re not ready to let this argument conclude so easily, not without a proper resolution. Your resolve hardens and with a heavy sigh, you grab your pillow. You leave the sight of the peaceful, sleeping König behind and march towards the living room.

The couch is unconformable, but you are determined to sleep there.

As you attempt to settle down, you roll around restlessly. Each minute feels like an hour as you toss and turn in a vain attempt to find a position that brings some semblance of comfort. The mounting frustration of your futile attempts to fall asleep is palpable, the discomfort of the couch only amplifying your struggle.

Your head is a whirlpool of thoughts, dominated by the events of the day. König and what has happened occupy every corner of your mind, forcing you to revisit every moment. It’s as if a film is playing in your mind.

Despite the discomfort, sleep begins to flirt with the edges of your consciousness. Just as you are about to succumb to the arms of slumber, a sudden realisation jolts you awake. A nagging detail that you had overlooked earlier comes to the forefront of your mind. You realise you had forgotten to ask the name of your neighbour, a detail that now seems profoundly significant in the dead of the night.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #writing #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x you #call of duty #cod #ghost x y/n #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #konigxghostxreader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #konig

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lafeedelaverite · 9 months

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D'abord tu t'es perdu/perdue, puis tu as réalisé que tu t'étais perdu/perdue, maintenant il est temps d'avancer avec cette prise de conscience!

Y a-t-il un moment dans la journée où ta conscience de toi-même s’estompe? Félicitations! En étant capable d’identifier le fait que tu as perdu conscience de toi-même, tu as en ait découvert un moyen d’arrêter le rythme effréné de ton esprit. C’est ça, la conscience! Peux-tu trouver un moyen de t’écouter plus souvent de cette manière? Un jour, tu as compris que tu t’étais perdu. Cette prise de…

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best-overplayed-song · 9 months

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fun facts

About "Running Up That Hill", Kate Bush explained: "I was trying to say that, really, a man and a woman can’t understand each other because we are a man and a woman. And if we could actually swap each other’s roles, if we could actually be in each other’s place for a while, I think we’d both be very surprised! And I think it would lead to a greater understanding. And really the only way I could think it could be done was with the devil. And I thought, ‘well, no, why not a deal with God!’ You know, because in a way it’s so much more powerful, the whole idea of asking God to make a deal with you. You see, for me it is still called “Deal With God”, that was its title. But we were told that if we kept this title that it would not be played in any of the religious countries, Italy wouldn’t play it, France wouldn’t play it, and Australia wouldn’t play it! Ireland wouldn’t play it, and that generally we might get it blacked purely because it had God in the title"

thanks to Stranger Things, Kate Bush has broken 3 records: the longest-ever gap between #1 singles, the longest time for a single to reach #1, and the oldest female artist ever to score a #1.

when asked what he meant by "a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs", Adam Young said: "I was the recipient of 1,000 hugs from 10,000 lightning bugs for a grand total of 10,000,000 hugs. As the lyrics of the song clearly state, the average layperson would not believe their eyes if 10,000,000 fireflies were to illuminate planet Earth, nor would the average person conclude by natural instinct that 10,000 lightning bugs acting as a collective group, are capable of embracing a human being 1,000 times without difficulty. By the same token, a gathering of lightning bugs in such vast numbers form a sort of “swarm,” and a swarm can collectively surround a human and deliver a “hug” that a single firefly, acting according to the dictates of his own conscience, simply cannot. Consequently, I was embraced 1,000 times by 10,000 luminescent insects. This may seem inconceivable due to the firefly’s soft-shelled body, which is common among all winged beetles within the Lampyridae insect family. Members of the scientific community may be tempted to cast doubt upon the possibility of this exchange due to the immobility of the prothorax and pterothorax, in addition to the elytra protruding outward while a firefly is engaged in mid-flight. However, I can testify to the accuracy of this exchange. I can furthermore add that while each individual hug took place, each firefly participated in the chemical reaction commonly known as bioluminescence in which the enzymes within the firefly, in the presence of oxygen, magnesium ions and ATP, emitted a chemically produced light or “glow” because they were happy to be hugging me"

#best overplayed song bracket #tumblr bracket #tournament poll #polls #kate bush #owl city

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strawheart-pirate · 8 months

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Drought

Portgas D. Ace x gn!Reader

Words: 2268 CW: Alabasta Setting (spoiler-free), SFW, dehydrated Reader, mention of robbery, passing out, lizard, bonfire, food, talks and cuddles

You were in the middle of the desert in Alabasta. Your water bottle was empty, you were robbed, on the edge of passing out and now a sand storm is coming your way. Could this day get any worse?

Empty. Not a single drop fell on your lips as you lifted your head and turned your open bottle upside down above you. You were on your way to your home in Nanohana but you doubted that you would make it. Every step forward felt like too much, the sweat pouring down your face like a river. The march to Alubarna was familiar since you walked this route twice a week for work without problem, but today was different. Bandits crossed your path halfway and since you forgot to take your weapons with you, they stripped you off your water. Mostly. This last bottle was the only one you could protect before they left your bruised body behind.

Just five more miles. It’s not that far. You tried to convince yourself, but you stumbled and fell into the burning hot sand. You lifted your gaze, slamming your fists into the sand, as tears streamed down your face. Ugly sobs escaped your throat as you thought about your grandma. If you won’t come home today, how will she make it? She was a strong woman but her age was noticeable in her actions, so you helped her. You two shared home and salary ever since your parents died and your bond was strong. She will be worried by now, since the sun was about to set in almost two hours.

You got up with determination. There must be some way to make it. Your body was gathering all the last strength he could find to send your feet forward. Slowly but surely, step by step, regardless of how much your legs we’re shaking. You would make it out of here, your grandma needs you and you won’t let her down. In the distance, the outlines of the city slowly got noticeable and you smiled. You started to walk faster, the joy fueling your system when suddenly everything turned black around you and you fell to the ground.

Cold. As your conscience was back, you could feel the cold, hard ground beneath your back. That was not right. You opened your eyes and sat up quickly to look at your surroundings, leaving your head a bit dizzy. You were in a small but spacious cave with just one exit and in front of you was a small, crackling bonfire, which illuminated the stony walls. It was dark outside. Just how long have I been out cold? I need to get going before my kidnappers return. Gladly you realized, that you were alone with no trace of another living thing and so you stood up and slowly walked towards the entrance without making too much sound.

You were just a few steps away from freedom when you came eye to eye with a big purple lizard. Startled you covered your mouth with your hands and stopped breathing. Not a single movement was giving you away and after minutes that felt like hours, the lizard laid down right in front of the entrance, their back facing you. You exhaled the air you’ve been holding. Crap! Just a moment earlier and you would have been out of here.

You sighed and sat back down, resting your back on the stony wall across the exit as you watched the crackling fire. Whoever brought you here, friend or foe, you would handle them, when they get here. But you could at least enjoy the warmth of the fire and soothe your bruises. You inspected every scratch on your body but found none of them bleeding. As you searched your pockets for any leftover food, you were not lucky and your stomach growled loudly in disapproval.

“Thank you!” the hushed words picked your interest and as you looked towards the entrance, you saw a small flame jumping over the relaxed reptile.

A flame can jump? You wiped your eyes and blinked a few times, but you were not hallucinating things. As the flame hit the ground, it turned into a man and your face shifted into a surprised frown.

“Ah, you’re awake! Finally!” the man said as he stripped off his black coat decorated with red flames and his scarf. Beside he wore combat boots, black shorts and had an orange hat on his head. With a grin on his freckled face, he offered you his hand. “I’m Ace.”

You stared at the hand dumbfounded but quickly gained your posture back. “Who are you?”

“Huh?” he tilted his head to the side and retreated his hand. “I said I’m Ace. Are you dumb?”

“I’m not dumb, you dimwit!” you roared and got into a fighting position. “Are you friend or foe?”

Your body hurt, but you needed to be able to fight back in case he was a bandit or worse, a slave trader. As you waited for his answer, he eyed you from head to toe and broke into laughter.

“What?” you asked, not fooled by his antics.

“You’re hilarious.” He spit out between his laughter.

“I’m not! I will fight you if you dare lay your hands on me!” you cracked your knuckles to strengthen your argument.

“Calm down, I won’t harm you.” His laughter subsided. He sat down at the fire and opened his backpack. “I was out to restock. Bet you’re hungry.”

Your stomach growled at his words and you admitted defeat. You took a seat at the fire across from him and let out a sigh.

“Water?” he asked and offered you a blue bottle.

You grabbed the water bottle and sniffed its contents first. No smell. That was good. You let a few single drops fall onto your finger and licked them off. No taste, either. You were 90% sure this was water, and that was enough for your dehydrated self. You gulped down half the bottle in a rush. A smile appeared on your face and you enjoyed the refreshing feeling of the liquid slowly fueling your body with new power. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He said and grabbed one of the skewers. “Food?” A perfectly barbequed piece of meat was offered to you and you exchanged the bottle for the skewer. As you were hesitant, he grabbed your hand that held the meat, brought it to his mouth and took a bite himself, chewed and swallowed. “It’s not poisoned. I swear.”

You blushed a little at his words, since he recognized your concern right away, and retorted your hand. The first bite was still a bit hesitant, but you soon devoured the tasty meat. It was delicious and outstandingly juicy. “It’s perfect.” You said between bites.

“I’m glad you like it.” He answered and you two enjoyed your meal in a peaceful silence.

You sat back fully stuffed. “Dare to tell me your intentions now?”

“Hm? … Oh, I’m sorry, I have none.” Ace said and laid down on his side, eyeing you from the distance.

“None? Why would you pick up a random unconscious person in the desert if you don't get any benefit from it?”

“As you said, because you were unconscious. I was on my way to Nanohana when I came across you. When I picked you up, a sandstorm surprised us and we took shelter in this cave.”

“…is this a ‘Noble hero saving the damsel in distress’-thing and now I shall praise you? Offer you my heart and soul in exchange? What do I owe you, huh?” You just couldn't figure this man out.

“What?! No, nothing! You are strange.” Ace stuttered, totally taken aback by your words, and added in a low voice. “Although a genuine ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

You buried your head on your knees as you thought about your situation. Ace seemed to be trustworthy and he saved you from certain death, which was a fact. Maybe you should trust him. He was the reason you might make it back to your grandma.

“I’m sorry. Thanks for picking me up, Ace.” You said and bowed your head.

“Ahh, no problem.” A slight red painted on Ace cheeks at your words. “Why were you out in the desert so poorly equipped anyway?”

“I was on the way home from Alubarna when bandits robbed me halfway. I carried on but something knocked me out just before I reached Nanohana.”

“Maybe one of those giant scorpions hit you. They were madly running through the desert, moments before the sandstorm raged.”

“That would make sense. It’s common knowledge that they go batshit crazy right before a storm. They are a natural indication of storms.” You sighed and got up. “Anyway, I need to leave now. My grandma will be terribly worried by now. Thanks again for everything.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Ace said and stood up, too.

“Oh, now you show me your true colors, huh?”

He rolled his eyes and walked past you to the entrance. You followed him until he stopped right in front of the giant lizard.

“Lizzy!” Ace called and the purple giant lizard turned around. You dodged when her huge leg was about to hit you.

“Good girl.” Ace said and patted her leg, which made her happy. “As you can see, it’s dark outside and the sand storm has obliterated any trace of the path. If you go now, there’s a good chance you’ll get stuck in quicksand.”

Your gaze wandered over every grain of sand in the landscape. He was right. No sign of a path and the moon was behind clouds. “Damn it!” Frustrated you went back inside and paced around the fire. There was no way you were going to make it to town alive tonight. Frustrated you slumped down across from the entrance once again. Might at least get some sleep until the sun comes up and I can finally go home. You thought and tried to make yourself as comfortable as possible.

Ace followed you after he left some meat for his lizard. He laid down next to his backpack and put his head on top of his rolled-up coat, shutting his eyes. “Lizzy will guard us, so you can rest assured.”

“Okay.”

“As I said, I’m also on my way to Nanohana. We could keep each other company.”

“I’ll think about it… Ace?”

“Hm?”

“My name’s Y/N.”

“Oh, changed your mind? Am I not the bad guy anymore?” he asked in a cocky tone.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, you’re still a dimwit. Just an acceptable dimwit.” A sly smile spread on your face.

“Thank you for your kind words, your highness.” You both chuckled. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.” Ace said and you heard him shifting.

“Night, Ace.” You said and tried to be comfortable.

Not only your position, but your whole day made you restless and sleep was out of the question. You thought about the bandits, your grandmother, your near-death experience and the man who had saved you. Could this day have been worse? Possibly. You could have been raped, traded as a slave or be even dead. Oh what irony. You snorted. Most bad luck and most good luck happened to you in just one day. You hoped your grandma was okay and got some sleep. Tomorrow you will be with her again and laugh about what happened today. You would tell her about your savior. Your anger and doubt towards him had long since faded and been replaced by gratitude and trust. You had to admit that he was handsome as you thought of his…

“Hey” Ace interrupted your thoughts. He stood right in front of you, his coat in his hands.

“What?” you opened your eyes, looking questioningly at him.

“You’re shaking. Let me sleep beside you.” He said and waited for your approval.

You were about to question his action, when you noticed the strong trembling of your body. Maybe it was the cold or your exhaustion, given all the things that happened today, or maybe it was both, but your body didn't stop. You looked up at him and nodded.

He laid down silently, one arm above his head as a silent offer to lay your head on his bare chest.

You accepted his invitation and moaned a bit as you made contact with his warm skin. When you stopped squirming, he spread the coat above you and wrapped his arm around you.

“You’re half naked, how can you not be cold?”

Ace chuckled. “I’ll show you.” He lifted his finger and a flame appeared on top of it.

You gasped and your eyes sparkled with fascination. “Wow. Is this a real flame?”

“Yeah. I ate the Mera Mera no mi, so I’m basically all flames.” He explained and changed the form of the flame into different shapes.

“Awesome. Does the heat in the desert still affect you even though you are literally on fire?”

“Unfortunately, it does.” He yawned and with a single motion, the flame was gone. “After all I’m still human. You’re in for sleep?”

“I’m in.” Your answer more a mumble than anything else as you shut your eyes and snuggled closer.

Ace adjusted his grip around you and a blissful smile was on his lips. As you struggled where to put your hand, he gripped your wrist and put it onto his chest, resting his hand on top of yours. It felt strange at first, considering how intimate the position was. But the warmth radiating from him wrapped you in a cozy blanket and his trained muscles under your fingers promised protection. The last thing you heard was your name, falling softly from his lips as the slow rise and fall of his chest rocked you to sleep.

All content unless otherwise stated belongs to: ©Strawheart-pirate. Please do not copy / modify / translate / repost my writing, banners or art on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated!

#portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #gn reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece oneshots #strawheart-pirate.writing

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