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izzyreadingblog · 2 days

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I didn't knew love (till I found you) (1)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

tags: Angst / Internalized Homophobia/ Strangers to Friends to Lovers

“What do you mean, you want me to buy the Soulmater? Do you know how much it costs?" Robert’s voice was tinged with disbelief.

Yes, of course you knew. The device cost was astronomical, but that paled in comparison to the turmoil churning inside yourself. You needed to be completely sure of your decision to marry your long time boyfriend Mark. It wasn’t just cold feet; it was a gnawing uncertainty that clawed at your heart and hasn't stopped worrying you for some time now.

“You can take the money from my share of the inheritance. I don't care about that Robert, but please help me with this, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” you implored, your eyes brimming with a mix of desperation and hope. You approached your brother and grasped his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I need to know. I need to be sure about this, please Rob help me.”

Robert’s gaze softened at your words, but his words remained firm. “If you really need to know then that means Mark isn’t your soulmate. If he were, you wouldn’t be so consumed with doubt and worries.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that something has been feeling off for a time now…” you shook your head, a gesture of frustration and confusion, unable to articulate the storm of emotions inside you.

“Why don’t you go buy it yourself then? You’re old enough to make your own decisions; you don’t need to drag me into this, I don’t want to get involved.” He pulled away from your grasp and stood up, ready to leave the room and the weight of your request behind.

“I don’t want Mark to find out and you are the only person I trust to do this. Robert, please, do this for me. I promise never to ask you for anything else.” you mustered your most convincing expression, the one you knew your brother couldn’t resist. And just like that, you saw the familiar resignation in his eyes. Despite his protests, he would be always there for you no matter what.

“Okay I would do it, but this is the last crazy thing I do for you.” The both of you knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. You lunged forward, enveloping him in a hug, your smile radiating pure joy. “I’ll stop by after work and bring it to you tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you! I love you so much; you are the best brother in the world,” you exclaimed, your gratitude genuine and boundless.

Once Robert had left, a wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Mark wasn’t your soulmate? What if your true match was already married to someone else? Or what if he was single? Would you have the courage to introduce yourself as his soulmate, hoping for a fairy-tale ending?. Taking a deep breath, you tried to lower down the rising panic. There were too many questions and too many uncertainties, so you decided to scour the internet for stories of others who had used the Soulmater, seeking guidance for the myriad of potential outcomes that would come once you know the name of your soulmate.

The Soulmater, according to its creators, was an infallible computer algorithm that boasted a 100% success rate every time. The device itself was really simple: a screen where one entered their name and date of birth, and within moments, the name and birthdate of their soulmate appeared. It has a hefty price tag of $100,000 so it’s meant only for a few who had the means to try it, but those who did were unanimous in their praise. Upon meeting their soulmate, they were instantly certain the device had not failed. You found nothing but happy endings in the reviews, save for one heart-wrenching account of a man whose soulmate had passed away before they could meet. A chill ran down your spine, and instantly you regretted delving into these stories. Now, your doubts hadn’t been calmed, they had multiplied.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Mark: ‘Where are you? We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!!!’

You had completely forgotten about the meeting you had planned with your boyfriend and your future mother-in-law to set the wedding date. ‘I had to take care of something important at home. I’ll be there in 10 minutes,’ you replied, your heart not in it.

When you arrived at the coffee shop, the sight of Mark sitting alone stirred a sense of nervousness. A tight knot formed in your stomach, the kind that no amount of rational thought could untangle.

“Hey baby, where's your mother?” you asked, planting a kiss on his cheek, trying to mask your concern with a casual greeting. The kiss was a mere formality, a gesture devoid of the affection it once carried.

“She left a while ago! you know my mom is too important a person for you to be wasting her time,” Mark replied, his tone laced with irritation. His words stung you, a verbal slap that echoed the growing distance that exists between the both of you.

But you didn't let those words stop you and unfazed, you countered, “Well, we can decide on the wedding date ourselves.” you signaled the waiter to bring her the same drink Mark had, seeking some semblance of normalcy. Cause normalcy was a facade, a thin veneer over the chaos of your inner thoughts and worries.

“There is no need for that, we've already decided,” Mark declared, his voice cutting through the hum of the coffee shop.

Confusion clouded your face. “What do you mean is already decided?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

“The date will be June 25, there’s nothing else to decide about that” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather, not your future.

“But that's in less than a month!” Panic rose in your voice, a crescendo of fear and disbelief. It was too soon; you wouldn't have time to prepare everything. The words 'too soon' echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the rushed decisions that had led you here with little chance to change anything.

“Please, the only thing we need to do is show up on the wedding day. Leave the rest to my mother, she knows what she does and she is excellent at making events” he dismissed your concerns with a wave of his hand. His indifference was a chasm that widened with every word he spoke.

You clenched your fists under the table, struggling to contain your frustration. “It's my wedding too, and I want a say in how it's going to be. I think I have the right to decide what I want for my wedding too.” Your voice was firm.

“Don't get upset. I'll ask my mom to involve you as much as possible. You can choose the venue, the catering, everything you want, my love. But the wedding will be on June 25. That's final.” His words were a gavel, pounding the final nail into the coffin of your hopes.

The coffee shop was a quaint little place, nestled in the heart of the city, its walls adorned with vintage posters and shelves lined with an assortment of colorful mugs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the scent of baked goods, creating a cozy atmosphere that usually brought comfort to her. Today, however, the familiar setting did nothing to ease the turmoil within. As you sat across from Mark, your mind replayed the events leading up to this moment. You remembered the countless times you had walked through these doors, hand in hand with Mark, laughing and planning your future together. But now, as you gazed out of the window, watching the world go by, you felt a disconnection from those memories. They seemed like scenes from someone else’s life, not yours. Mark was talking, but his words were a distant hum in your ears, you watched his lips move, observed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and yet, you felt an inexplicable void.

You thought about the Soulmater, that small, unassuming device that promised to unveil the mysteries of the heart. It was absurd, really, to place so much faith in a piece of technology. And yet, the possibility of discovering a connection so profound, so intrinsic, that it could be deemed a ‘soulmate,’ was too tantalizing to ignore. Your thoughts were interrupted by the waiter, who arrived with your drink, a caramel macchiato, the foam artfully swirled on top. You thanked him with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As you took a sip, the sweetness of the caramel was a stark contrast to the bitterness that lingered on your tongue from the conversation. Mark’s impatience was palpable. He checked his watch, tapped his foot, and sighed heavily, all signs that he was ready to move on from the coffee shop and from the topic at hand. You knew you should be present, should engage in the discussion about your impending nuptials, but your heart was elsewhere, lost in a sea of what-ifs and maybes.

The coffee shop began to fill up, the lunchtime crowd bringing with it a buzz of activity. Couples sat at nearby tables, some in deep conversation, others comfortable in their silence. You envied them, envied their certainty and the ease with which they seemed to fit into each other’s lives. As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight shifted, casting long shadows across the floor. The change in light marked the passage of time, a reminder that life was moving forward, with or without your consent. You glanced at Mark again, trying to picture your future together, but the image was hazy, obscured by doubt.

When the time came to leave, you followed Mark out of the coffee shop, the bell above the door jingling in their wake. The city streets were bustling, people rushing about their day, oblivious to the internal struggle that weighed heavily on your shoulders. Going back home was a blur, your mind preoccupied with the Soulmater and how a name can change her life upside down. As you approached your apartment, the sight of Robert’s car was a beacon of hope. You quickened your pace, eager to close the distance between you and the answers that lay within the small, silver package he had procured for you.

“Did you get it?” you asked Robert, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Yes, take it easy,” he reassured you, holding up the bag. “Let's go to your room.” His calmness was an anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Inside, Robert handed you the silver package. The Soulmater was smaller than you expected, fitting snugly in your palm. It was unassuming, yet it held the power to alter the course of your life. You hesitated before pressing the power button, your finger hovering over the decision that would unveil your heart's true desire.

The familiarity of your own space was a stark contrast to the chaos of your emotions. The walls held memories of laughter and tears, of dreams and plans made. It was here, in the sanctity of your room, that you would take the leap into the unknown.

“What's wrong? Do you want me to leave you alone?” Robert asked, sensing your hesitation.

“No, it's just... I'm scared,” you admitted, meeting his understanding gaze. The fear was a tangible thing, a shadow that loomed over you.

“Whatever the result, it'll be okay. Remember, you can return it unused,” he reminded her. His words were a lifeline, a reminder that no matter the outcome, you had the power to choose your path. Robert’s presence was a steadying force, together, you both sat on the edge of your bed. With each passing second, the anticipation built, a crescendo of hope and fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

And then, after putting her data on the device you pressed the button, and the world as you knew it shifted.

At that moment, you didn't need a Soulmater to tell you that Mark was not the one for you. The realization hit you like a wave, cold and unyielding. You had become complacent, accepting whatever life threw at you without protest. Your father's passing had been a wake-up call, prompting you to reassess your life and the choices you were making. It was this introspection that led you to go and try the Soulmater, and now, you are certainly using it was the right decision.

The screen scrolled, and after an agonizing wait that seemed like years but only was a couple minutes long, a name and date appeared: Alexia Putellas - 02/04/1994.

“Alexia Putellas? My soulmate is a woman?” you whispered, a mix of shock and curiosity in your voice. The revelation was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture you had of your life, yet it was undeniably yours.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso

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sailor-aviator · 1 day

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Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

#psa #public service announcement #this has been a psa #liz speaks #liz rambles #long post

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hd-junglebook · 5 hours

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My Sunshine

Jack Hughes X Reader

Part 1

a:n This is a little shorter than I wanted, but it's jack's intro and I think it's really cute. pretty much a bunch of fluff. the next chapter will be released on Friday since I am working on Lukes next. Message me to be added to the tag list and lmk what you think.

Masterlist Link

Summary: Jack and Y/N meet by chance at their local coffee shop on a day clouded with uncertainty. A piece of good news finds its way to Y/N, giving her the strength to keep moving forward.

Word Count - 3685

...

The air in the dimly lit home is heavy and oppressive, like a thick fog that clings to your skin as you stumble through the door. The alcohol coursing through your veins dulls your senses, making the world around you feel distant and muted.

Jason sits on the worn couch, his posture rigid and unmoving, like a statue carved from ice. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now bore into you with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

The shadows cast by the weak light play across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the deep furrows of his brow.

As you come into view, disheveled and intoxicated, his features contort with a mixture of anger and disappointment. The lines around his mouth deepen, his lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line. His eyes narrow, the icy blue of his irises almost grey in the gloom, like a winter sky heavy with the promise of snow.

"You're home late. Where were you?" His voice is calm, but it carries an edge.

You try to steady yourself, but the room spins around you, the walls closing in as if to suffocate you. You struggle to find your words, your tongue thick and clumsy in your mouth, the taste of regret bitter and metallic.

"Out with the girls," you manage to slur out, the words sounding hollow and unconvincing even to your own ears. You kick off your heels, the clatter breaking the heavy silence like the crack of ice on a frozen pond.

He rises from the couch with a deliberate slowness, his movements calculated and menacing, like a predator stalking its prey. The air seems to grow colder as he approaches, the chill emanating from his body palpable even from a distance. He closes the distance between you, his presence looming over you like a gathering storm.

He latches onto your purse, his grip tight and possessive, his fingers digging into the soft leather like talons. "You were flirting with other guys, weren’t you?"

His words are laced with accusation, each syllable like a shard of ice piercing your already raw nerves. The cold fury in his voice is like a winter gale, cutting through you and leaving you shivering in its wake.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you shake your head, movements jerky and unsteady, as if your body is fighting against the weight of his accusations.

"No, Jason, I told you, I was just out with my friends. I wasn't flirting with anyone." The words feel hollow and meaningless. The chill of his gaze seeps into your bones, leaving you numb and aching.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming as he towers over you, his broad frame blocking out what little light remains in the room. "I don't believe you, Y/N. You've always been too friendly with guys. I know you're hiding something from me."

Desperation claws at your chest, you plead with him, your voice cracking with emotion, "I'm not hiding anything! Why can't you trust me for once?" The question hangs between you.

Your words are a desperate prayer for understanding, for forgiveness, for a chance to thaw the barrier that has grown between you and salvage what's left of the love you once shared.

His grip tightens on your purse, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his hold. His eyes blaze with a fury that seems to consume him from within.

Under the weight of his gaze, you feel small and insignificant.

"Because every time I trust you, you betray me! You're always sneaking around, meeting up with guys behind my back. I can't take it anymore!" His voice rises with each word, the volume cutting through your silence,

Tears spill over onto your cheeks, the hot saltwater a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that fills your chest. They cascade down your face, leaving glistening trails that reflect the lights.

"Jason, please… I love you, but I can't keep doing this. I can't live like this anymore." The words come out in a choked whisper.

For a moment, his expression softens, the hard lines of his face smoothing out like snow drifts in the fleeting warmth of the sun.

"You're just like all the rest. Always looking for an excuse to leave me. Well, go ahead then. Leave. See if I care."

With a final, wrenching sob, you turn away from him, your footsteps heavy and leaden as you make your way towards the door.

The cold metal of the handle bites into your palm as you grasp it. But before you can turn the handle, Jason's voice cuts through the silence, his tone suddenly weary and defeated.

You pause, your hand still resting on the doorknob, your heart pounding in your chest as you brace yourself for whatever new accusation or insult he's about to hurl your way.

But when you turn to face him, the expression on his face is one you've never seen before. Gone is the anger and the suspicion, replaced by a look of guilt and shame that makes your stomach twist.

"I've been seeing someone else for the past few months. I... I didn't know how to tell you."

You stare at him, your mind reeling as you try to process the implications of his words. All this time, while he was accusing you of sneaking around and betraying him, he was the one who was being unfaithful.

"How could you?" you whisper, your voice barely audible over the roaring in your ears. "How could you do this to me, to us?"

Jason shrugs, his eyes cold and unapologetic as he meets your gaze. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but what did you expect? It's not like we were going to last forever anyway. You pushed me away, always nagging and complaining about every little thing. I felt like I was suffocating in this relationship."

"When I met her, it was like a breath of fresh air. She understands me in a way you never could. She doesn't try to change me or control me like you do."

You thought you knew him, thought you understood the depths of his love for you.

…

2 months later

You stood in line at 'The Brew' coffee shop, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The rich scent of roasted beans mingled with the subtle sweetness of vanilla and caramel.

Ahead of you, a charming elderly couple deliberated over their order, their laughter filling the cozy space. The woman poked her husband, her lips curved into a playful smile. "Do you think we should try something new today? Maybe one of those fancy lattes?" Her voice was a melodic lilt.

Her husband chuckled softly, the sound a deep, rich rumble that seemed to emanate from his very core. His hand rested gently on his wife's shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her.

"You know how much I love my black coffee," he said, his voice a soothing baritone. "But if you want to try something new, I'm more than happy to indulge you."

As you waited patiently, your eyes wandered to the man next to you, who seemed lost in thought. He was engrossed in a conversation on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, creating a series of deep lines that etched themselves into his forehead.

He shuffled his feet nervously, the movement causing the light to catch on the polished leather of his shoes. His gaze flickered to the menu before him, a brief moment of indecision flashing across his face.

Your curiosity piqued, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him, admiring the way the soft, golden light of the café danced across his features, The angles of his jawline were sharp and defined, a stark contrast to the soft, inviting curve of his lips.

The air seemed to crackle with an invisible energy. Who was he speaking to, and what stories lay hidden behind those piercing, enigmatic eyes? The questions danced on the tip of your tongue, begging to be asked, as the world around you faded into a blur of color and sound.

the man beside you turned, his eyes catching yours in a moment of recognition. His lips curved into a charming smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he spoke.

"Oh hey, you're my neighbor, right?" he asked, his voice smooth and warm, like honey drizzling over freshly baked bread. “You live on Baker Street?”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden acknowledgment. Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, "Yes, I do" you replied, your own voice soft and hesitant, a stark contrast to his confident tone. You felt your shyness begin to fade, melting away like frost under the warmth of his gaze.

"I'm Jack," he said, extending a hand towards you. His movements were fluid and graceful, his arm cutting through the space between you with a sense of purpose.

As he reached out, you noticed the way his fingers flexed, the tendons in his hand shifting beneath his skin like the strings of a finely tuned instrument.

You shook his hand, your own fingers grazing against his skin. His hand was warm and firm, his grip strong and reassuring. You could feel the roughness of his palm, the slight calluses on the skin.

"I'm Y/N," you said, your own name sounding foreign and new on your tongue.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Jack said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The light seemed to dance in his irises, like stars winking in a midnight sky. "I've seen you around, but we haven't had a chance to chat."

"I'm usually too shy to say hello," you admitted, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. The heat rose in your face, painting your skin with a rosy hue. Your gaze darted away from his, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his attention.

"Well, I'm glad I broke the ice," Jack said. His words were punctuated by a soft chuckle, the sound rich and inviting, like the first sip of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. "I'm a bit of a chatterbox myself."

You laughed, finding yourself drawn to his easygoing nature. The sound of your laughter mingled with the ambient noise of the coffee shop. As the line moved forward, you approached the counter, your steps falling into sync with Jack's.

Standing nervously, your gaze fixed upon the menu, you tried to focus on placing your order. Jack stood beside you, his voice was a soothing hum, his sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you deliberate over your choices.

As you opened your mouth to speak, Jack's voice broke the silence. "Can I have a banana muffin? And whatever she's getting, we're together." His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise.

Before you could protest, he raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. "Yeah, I'd like a banana muffin and a green tea as well, thanks." You uttered to the cashier.

The barista nodded, punching in the order as you stood there, momentarily stunned by Jack's gesture. You managed a small smile, your heart pounding erratically in your chest.

…

You collected your drinks and made your way to a nearby table. Settling into your seats, you wrapped your hands around your warm cup, the heat seeping into your skin and grounding you in the moment.

Jack's gentle gaze fell upon your hands, and you suddenly became aware of your own nervous habit. Your fingers were picking at your cuticles, a subconscious gesture that betrayed your inner anxiety.

"You should stop doing that, you'll do some serious damage to your cuticles," Jack said softly, placing his warm hand over yours.

"Nervous habit," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of conversation around you.

Glancing at Jack, you found his piercing gaze already fixed upon you. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, seemed to see right through you, as if he could read your every thought and emotion. You felt exposed, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable.

"So, Y/N," Jack said once you had paid, his voice smooth as honey. "What brings you to The Brew today?"

You fumbled through your words, your shyness threatening to hold you back. But as you looked into Jack's eyes, you saw nothing but patience and genuine interest. He listened intently to your every word, his focus unwavering as you spoke.

"Just a quick drink to fuel my day," you replied, your fingers fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve of your cup. "I have a lot of work to catch up on."

"Sounds like my kind of day," Jack said, his lips curving into a sympathetic smile. "I play sports, so I spend a lot of my down time at coffee shops."

A playful glint flashed in your eyes as a sudden burst of confidence surged through you. "Oh, so this is something you do all the time? Talk to pretty girls in coffee shops?" you said, your tone light and teasing.

Jack's eyes widened, and he sputtered, caught off guard by your unexpected quip. You raised your hands in surrender, a grin spreading across your face. "I'm kidding, Jack. What do you play?"

a laugh escaped his lips, the sound rich and warm. "Ice hockey for the Jersey Devils," he stated nonchalantly, his eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. You nodded, a hint of uncertainty in your response. The name sounded familiar, but it was never a sport you had invested much time in.

You vaguely recalled Jason, your ex, being an avid Rangers fan, and you assumed the Devils must have been the team he was always passionately screaming about during games.

"I don't know much about the sport, but it sounds like fun. Do you enjoy it?" you asked, your tone genuine and curious.

Jack nodded, his response somewhat reserved, as if he didn't want to delve too deeply into the subject. Shifting the conversation, he inquired, "What do you write?"

"Novels, mostly," you replied, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about your passion. "Romance usually, and when I can, I help out with this sports magazine, ya know."

"I love reading romance novels," he said, his confession causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You hadn't pegged him as the type to enjoy the genre, but the revelation only served to intrigue you further.

"Well, then I guess I'll have to add you to my mailing list," you said, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

With each sip of your green tea, you felt your nerves slowly melting away. Jack's laughter filled the air, the sound rich and infectious, and for a moment, you forgot all your worries.

As you finished your muffin, savoring the last few bites, Jack turned to you, his eyes holding a hint of something more profound.

"I'd like to see you again," he said, his voice a gentle whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe we could exchange numbers if you want to, of course?"

A surge of excitement coursed through your veins, your heart beating a little faster at the prospect of seeing him again. "Yeah, I'd really like that," you said back. You smiled, feeling a flutter in your heart as you exchanged numbers, your fingers brushing against his as you handed him your phone.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N," Jack said, his voice warm and sincere. His eyes lingered on yours, holding your gaze for a moment. "I hope to see you around."

"I hope so too, Jack," you replied.

…

The sterile smell of disinfectant mingles with the faint aroma of latex gloves. You sit nervously in the doctor's office, your foot tapping an anxious rhythm against the tiled floor. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to echo in your ears.

The door opens, and the doctor enters, a warm smile gracing their features. Their white coat rustles slightly as they move, the fabric crisp and pristine. The doctor's presence brings a sense of calm to the room.

"Hello, Y/N," they say kindly, their voice soft and soothing. They take a seat across from you, the leather chair creaking slightly under their weight. "Let's get started, shall we?"

You nod, swallowing hard as a lump forms in your throat. Your hands fidget in your lap, fingers intertwining and untwining as you try to calm your nerves. The doctor begins by asking about your medical history, their pen gliding smoothly across the clipboard as they jot down notes.

The conversation shifts to your recent symptoms, and you describe the fatigue that has left you drained and listless, the nasal swelling, and the tender breasts that have made even the slightest touch uncomfortable.

After discussing your health, the doctor suggests running a few tests to confirm your suspicions. "We'll start with a urine test to check for the presence of hCG," they explain, their tone reassuring. They hand you a small plastic cup, its surface cool against your fingertips. "I'll be back shortly to collect the sample."

You take the cup, your hand trembling slightly as you rise from your seat. As you make your way to the restroom. The tile floor feels cold beneath your feet.

In the privacy of the restroom, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. You follow the instructions, your movements mechanical and precise. As you cap the sample, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

You return to the examination room, the plastic cup clutched tightly in your hand. The doctor takes the sample, offering a reassuring smile as they prepare to run the test.

The minutes seem to stretch into hours as you wait, the silence broken only by the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. The waiting is the hardest part. The doctor returns to the room, a reassuring smile on their face.

"Thank you, Y/N. Now, while we wait for the results, can you tell me the date of your last menstrual period and any potential dates of conception?"

You take a deep breath, trying to focus your scattered thoughts. As you provide the information to the best of your recollection, a knot forms in your stomach, the memories of those moments flooding back to you.

The doctor nods, jotting down the details on their clipboard. They ask a few more questions, their tone gentle and understanding, the conversation flows naturally.

After what feels like an eternity, the doctor excuses themselves to check on the test results. The room falls silent, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall, each second a reminder of the life-changing news that awaits you.

When the doctor returns, they have a file in hand. They take a seat beside you, their expression softening as they meet your gaze. There's a warmth in their eyes, a sense of understanding that puts you at ease, even as your heart races in anticipation.

"Y/N," they begin gently, their voice filled with compassion, "the urine test came back positive for hCG. It looks like congratulations are in order—you're pregnant."

A wave of conflicting emotions washes over you, a tempestuous sea of feelings that threatens to overwhelm you. Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and sorrow, hope and fear. The doctor places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

They talk about prenatal care, healthy lifestyle choices, and the importance of self-care during this transformative time but it's tempered by a sense of overwhelming sadness, a bittersweet realization that this moment is not quite as you had imagined it.

…

As you step into your home, the weight of the news settles upon your shoulders. Your hand instinctively finds its way to your stomach, a gentle caress that acknowledges the life growing within you.

You look around the living room, your eyes falling upon the photographs that adorn the walls and shelves. Images of you and Jason, frozen in moments of happiness and love.

One by one, you lift heavy pieces of furniture, rearranging them with a vision of a brighter future. The familiar layout melts away, replaced by a canvas upon which you can paint your hopes and dreams.

Framed photographs and cherished trinkets that once held sentimental value now seem like relics of a bygone era, you gather them up, your heart no longer clinging to their memories. The walls, once adorned with the echoes of a broken past, now stand bare, ready to be filled with the laughter and love of a new chapter. You run your fingers lovingly over the smooth surface of your stomach just as you finish your cathartic cleanse, your phone chimes with a message.

You pick it up, a smile spreading across your face as you see Jack's name on the screen. You settle into the couch, sinking into the soft cushions as you eagerly open the message.

"Hey there, I was thinking about you. How about dinner tomorrow night? I know a great little Italian place."

Your fingers hover over the screen, poised to type a response, but hesitation grips you. Your fingers hover over the screen, poised to type a response, but hesitation takes hold. The news of your pregnancy weighs heavily on your mind, a secret that both excites and frightens you.

You know you should tell him, but doubt creeps in, insidious and persistent. You and Jack aren't even officially dating yet. Your relationship, while promising, is still new and undefined.

The thought of burdening him with this life-altering news so early on feels unfair, potentially derailing the tender connection you've begun to forge. What if the prospect of fatherhood sends him running?

"Dinner sounds perfect," you type, hitting send before you can second-guess yourself.

…

Tag List <3

@fearfam69691, @alwaysclassyeagle, @rebelatbay, @dancerbailey3

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rollercoasterwords · 9 months

Text

hi! thank you for the kind words, i'm happy you're enjoying the fic. but i also want to use this message as an opportunity to talk about something/set a boundary that i haven't really known how to discuss, and i've blocked out your name because even though i'm not angry or upset with you, i want to make sure i'm not sending any hate back your way.

i know that this message is well-intentioned, and i know you likely think it's nothing but a compliment to ask me to write more--after all, you're only asking me to write more because you enjoy the story so much! shouldn't that be a nice thing for me to hear?

and like. i think that's why this is difficult for me to talk about. i don't want to come across as ungrateful or overly sensitive or like i don't appreciate the compliments, because i do. but at the same time, hearing someone say, "please write more of this fic for me, i love your writing so much!" is still hearing someone say "please write more of this fic for me!" like. 300,000 words is incredibly long. most novels are between 70k-100k words. a 300k word book usually takes years to write--years, and hundreds of hours of labor. maybe you chose that number randomly, or you're exaggerating for emphasis; but no matter how nicely you're phrasing it or how facetious you're being, ultimately this sort of message still puts pressure on me to produce a massive amount of writing in a short period of time. and even if you meant it as a compliment, it doesn't feel nice to me. being pressured to churn out hundreds of thousands of words makes me feel as though i'm being seen as a content-creation machine for the entertainment of others, and i don't like that. writing is a labor of love for me, but it is still labor--hours of time and effort that i'm putting into these works which i share for free, with no expectations of anything in return except maybe a few kind words from those who feel like reaching out. when i get messages or comments like this pushing me to write more, to write faster, it makes me feel as though my time and labor are not respected at all; as if there's absolutely no consideration for the amount of effort it takes to write the stories. which, again, makes me feel like i'm being viewed as some sort of fic-writing machine that can just pump out hundreds of thousands of words on demand for others' entertainment.

and none of this is helped by the tongue-in-cheek comment about how you're "suffering" waiting for updates. again, i understand that this was well-intended and maybe even a playful exaggeration that's supposed to be complimentary. but there are ways to tell me you enjoy my writing and eagerly wait for updates without telling me how much you dislike waiting between chapters. posting once a week is already a difficult schedule for me to maintain, and it's entirely possible that i'll need to take another break in the future or skip a week or something. i've been very clear about the fact that my update schedule is subject to change since i started writing the fic; that's just part of reading a wip. but when i get messages or comments like these with people telling me how they don't like waiting for updates, or comments directly asking me to post more than once a week, or--back when i did take a break--comments begging me not to take a break, it all adds together and builds up and creates this pressure to write more, write faster, post the new ch now now now. if you were the only person making this type of comment, it probably wouldn't bother me and i'd just respond and go "thanks lol" and move on. but the problem is that you aren't the only one--since more people have started reading the fic, i've consistently been getting comments like these, where the backhanded pressure to write more or write faster is couched in compliments. it's just so hard to wait for updates because i love your writing so much! i just want you to write more and post now and write faster because i love your writing so much! i know it's all well-intended, but none of it makes me feel good. it just makes me feel a mounting pressure to produce produce produce.

i feel like there are so many conversations happening in this fandom about how we need to treat writers better, where people go "the fandom is so shitty" and everyone goes "yeah!" but no one ever thinks they're part of the problem. and i think it's because everyone thinks the problem is like...really blatantly rude and entitled messages. and like, i get those too--people telling me they don't like a certain characterization and asking me to rewrite the fic; people repeatedly demanding that i write a certain fic for them; people just outright shitting on things i've written because they don't like it and for some reason think i want to know that. but none of that is super common. what is super common is the steady stream of comments and messages like this one, where they are so well-intended and don't see anything wrong with what they're saying because they think they're giving me a compliment. but all these "compliments" build up and create this pressure that hangs over my head to be constantly producing and writing, which is ultimately what leads to burnout and also makes me feel like i'm not being seen as a person so much as a machine.

so like. idk. i'm not gonna try to speak for every writer in the fandom; maybe there are people out there who do appreciate this kind of message, who feel like it motivates them to write. but for me, i want to make it clear: i really don't appreciate being asked to write more or write faster or to write a certain trope/ship/etc; i am not a waiter taking your order at a restaurant. writing fic is not a service i'm providing for you that you pay me for in comments or kudos or messages or any sort of attention, because i am not writing for that attention in the first place. so when it comes to interacting with me, i'd ask that you reevaluate the way you give compliments and think about what sort of pressure you're putting on me, regardless of how well-intentioned your message is. again, no hard feelings towards you--like i said, this message probably wouldn't even register as pressuring to me if not for the fact that i get so many little comments like it, all from equally well-intentioned people who think they're just giving a compliment, all of which builds up together.

anyway. all that being said. to answer your question: the fic will likely be four parts, not three as i originally intended. it will probably end up somewhere between 100-200k words based on the fact that we're already at 80k and i've only just started part iii, but i am not going to put pressure on myself to write a certain amount of words or hit a certain length. i'm just going to write what i want to write when i want to write, and share it as i want to share it. i'm happy to have you along if you want to be here, but if the cliffhangers or waiting for updates becomes too unenjoyable for you then there's no pressure for you to stay, yknow? no hard feelings on my end either way :•)

#have been talking w a few friends abt this recently and just. felt like it was getting to a point where i need 2 set a boundary lol #like again don't want to come across as ungrateful bc i DO appreciate the kind words and i love talking abt my writing w people #but those kind words and conversation are not the reason i write in the first place. i write in the first place purely for the fun + joy #of writing a story that i want to read #so as much as i appreciate the compliments etc #people being nice to me about my writing does not then entitle those people to make requests or demands about the way i write #yknow?#feel like its hard to phrase this without sounding cunty lol but like. it is simply the truth #anyway. like i said no hard feelings towards the person who sent this message truly #i just picked this as an opportunity to respond to allll the comments + messages like it #might put a note at the end of the next ch or something bc this type of thing happens in the comments moreso than tumblr messages #which is part of why i usually just ignore and move on but. it builds up guys #and it's only been increasing so. feel like i need to be firm abt setting expectations etc #ask #wfrau #ranting and raving

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