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wosoamazing · 3 months

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The Call Up

Summary: Leah's sister chooses a different national team and she isn't happy

Warnings: IDK, angry Leah??, if there is more let me know and I will add them.

A/N: Hey guys, this is my first fic, I'm thinking of turning this into a series I guess, kind of following Leah's sister and also Leah. I'm open to any feedback and also please send in any requests. I hope you like it. Also thank you to @girlgenius1111 for giving me the confidence to post this.

You and your sister were sitting in your living room, surrounded by your team-mates, having a mini team bonding day, it was mostly filled with phones ringing and “I’m in”s. Today was call up day for the senior international break that was coming up, everyone in the room had gotten a call except you, but you weren’t expecting a call, at 16 you were lucky to be in the Arsenal Women’s team, a senior call up was not something you expect. So, when the activities of the room were interrupted by a phone ringing everyone was confused no one else was let to get a call. Their eyes all darted the room checking they hadn’t forgotten someone before they all landed on you.

You sat there holding you buzzing phone, “I guess I better take this”, you stood up and walked out of the now silent room swiping to accept the call.

“Hello, this is Y/F/N Williamson speaking” you answered, every time you answered the phone differently you received a lecture from your sister, so answering the phone this way was now habit.

“Hello Y/N, it’s Tony Gustavsson, the Matilda’s head coach,”

“Yeah, I know,” you heard him chuckle, shit you said that out loud “Sorry, I’m really sorry I shouldn’t have said that”.

You were sure this was a call up, it wasn’t necessarily the call up you expected but secretly it was the call up you always wished for.

“No, no it’s all good. I’m just calling to ask if you would like to join me and my staff and the Matilda’s on international break, you are really quite talented, and we think you could bring a lot to the team.”

“Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, I would love too! Thank you so much!”

“I’m glad, you’ll get an email soon with all the details you’ll need, I look forward to seeing you”.

“Thank you, bye”.

“Bye” he said as he hung up.

It was an unexpected call up but a warmly welcomed called up. You had lived in your sister’s shadow for years; yeah sure you were 16 and in the Arsenal Women’s team but you couldn’t help feel that your sister had something to do with it. Everything you ever did was because of her, your parents put you in football because she played it. You were an avid Arsenal support because that was her team. You always knew one day you would have to choose a national team, but you didn’t expect it so had never actually talked to anyone about it. You had spent your whole life living in England however you were born in Australia which meant you were a dual citizen and could play for either team. You had just chosen which team would be your national team forever without even a second thought.

You were in shock as you walked back into the room that held all the girls, you were on cloud nine, but soon you would fall from that cloud.

“What’s wrong” Leah asked.

“I got a call up”.

“What but under 18s call ups aren’t until next week” you were always called up to the under 18 Lionesses even though you were still eligible to play in their under 16s, so it was fair for her to assume the call up was for that team. There was a silence as you slowly nodded, a small grin appeared on her face growing larger by the millisecond until she screeched “You’re coming on international break with us!”

“Um… Well not exactly” She lost her grin immediately. Was this the right choice?

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going on international break with you, but I am going on international break with a senior team” you replied as you looked around the room everyone’s faces were plastered with absolute confusion, expect for one, Steph Catley, in this moment she held a small barely noticeable smirk on her face, she seemed to know something the rest of them didn’t.

“Well-“, you continued however you were cut off by your phone ringing, “Sorry I should take this” you say as you walk away, you knew who this was, you had remember this number off by heart.

“Hello, it’s Y/F/N Williamson speaking” you answered.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Sarina Wiegman, I was wondering if you would like to join me and the team for international break, my staff and I have been watching you and your quite the powerhouse.”

“Um, I’m really sorry Sarina, thank you so much for the offer but I’m going to have to turn it down”.

“Oh okay-“, she was cut off as you hung up on her. You stood there for a minute soaking it all in before starting to walk back in.

“So?” your sister questioned, you were about to speak but your sisters phone rang “Sorry its Sarina,” you wished you could just disappear, that second, you knew exactly what Sarina was going to say to her, Leah had already received her call up and it was no coincidence that Sarina was calling her just after you hung up on her.

“Hi Sarina, how are-” it seemed she was cut off, “Okay. Oh. Yep. Thank you. Will do, bye” and just like that the call was over.

“Um why did Sarina just call me to say you turned now her offer for you to join us on international break, and worse hang up and not listen to her fish?” The girls’ jaws dropped simultaneously in disbelief, expect for Steph whose smirk had grown larger.

“Because I’m already going on international break like I said” you reply.

“But with who?”

“I think you’re all forgetting something” Steph chimed in. Leah flashed her a glance, Steph’s grin caused Leah’s confused, annoyed and shocked mix of a face to turn into one of almost disappointment and anger.

“What.” you nod, she had realised and there was no turning back now “No.” You smirk “You didn’t. How could you. You know what I don’t even care anymore,” and with that your sister stormed out of living room down to her bedroom and slammed the door, but it opened again “If I was you I would find a place to stay for tonight, and maybe ever,” the door slammed again.

A tear rolled down your check and you let out a shaky breath. “Hey, come here it’s alright,” Steph said softly, holding her arms out gesturing to you. You climbed onto her lap and she embraced you in a tight warm hug.

“Wait, but can someone catch me up, I’m still so confused” Beth piped out, causing some of the girls to giggle.

“Do you want to tell them, or do you want me to?” Steph whispered to you.

“I will.”

You shuffled in Steph’s lap so that you were facing the girls. “I um… well, the first phone call I got was from Tony.” you took a deep breath, Steph gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze “Tony Gustavsson. He, um, he asked me if I wanted to join him and the Matilda’s for their international break, and um, well I-I said that I would love to….”

“Wait, but how are you eligible?” Beth asked, if she’d forgotten they must have all forgotten.

“I was born in Australia, Dad was posted at one of their army training bases by the UK military, because of some agreement between Australia and the UK in terms of training or something. Leah was about 10. Mum fell pregnant with Jacob and I and we were born there, but we moved back here, to England, when I was about one and have lived here ever since. But it does mean I’m a dual citizen meaning I was eligible for both teams”. Jacob was your annoying twin brother that’s all there is to say about him.

“Wait but is Leah?” “That is so cool” “Congratulations” “Don’t worry about Leah she will get over herself.” the girls all spoke at once.

“No Leah isn’t but Dad, Jacob and I are”, they all came over and gave me a big hug.

“We might just go check on Leah if that is okay” Beth, Kim, Viv, Katie, and Lia said. I nodded at them, and they turned around to go find Leah.

“We’re going to head off, if we want Amanda to be packed in time to go to camp, we better get her home now” Stina said “Hey,” Amanda replied as she was offended. Majority of the team followed them out, Caitlin showing them out before locking the door and coming back to join Kyra, you and Steph, positioning herself in the middle of where you and Steph were placed on the couch and where Kyra was sitting on the floor, by sitting down on the end of the couch.

Kyra still held the huge grin on her face that had appeared earlier when you said Tony called you. Her cheesy grin going ear to ear and knowing what she was thinking about made you giggle slightly. At this Steph and Caitlin looked over to her, when Caitlin playfully hit her. “Hey! What was that for?” she said like a child.

“You’re not going to be allowed to cause mischief in Aus, Sam won’t let that fly, you know that”, Kyra dramatically pouted with an “Oh” which caused you to giggle again and the older two to chuckle.

“You excited bug?” “Do you want us to help you pack?” “It’s going to be so cool having you on the team” they all stated. Another tear rolled down your check at these words, however this time it wasn’t a lone tear, it was followed by another and another until suddenly you were sobbing. “Hey, hey, hey,” Steph calmly said as she turned you back around to face her and wrapped you in a nice warm tight hug, in efforts to calm you down. Caitlin scooted closer to you and Steph and started to rub your back. Once you had calmed down slightly Steph let go of you and wiped the tears from your face whilst also slightly lifting your head, so you looked at her.

“What’s up?” She questioned.

“I-I,” you stuttered as another tear rolled down your face, which you wiped away with your hand, you went to put you hand back towards your chest in efforts to keep the tight ball your body had formed, but it was intercepted as someone else took it in their hand. You looked up and it was Kyra, she must’ve moved to sit next to you guys when you were crying. Kyra gave you a warm smile to which you returned before you turn your head to face Steph again. “W-What, if, this isn’t,” another shaky breath left your body before you could continue “What if this isn’t the right decision, maybe I just decided this in spite of Leah and not for me.” You spit out, the tears start fall faster again.

“Oh baby, it’s okay to be unsure, but I know that you know this is the right decision. I remember you telling me you wanted to be on my team on your second day at Arsenal, I replied to you ‘well that dream came true’, to which you looked at me like I had three heads and said ‘No, I want to be a Matilda’.” All four of you giggle before Steph continued “I think that was one of the first, actually no it was the first thing you said to me, and you were so admit and sure about it, it was what you wanted to do, and it still is, and maybe part of you wants to do it to go against Leah and prove to yourself and to Leah and maybe even your family, that you aren’t Leah’s Mini Me, that you are, you, and not her shadow but even doing it for that reason doesn’t mean you’re not doing it for you” you hum in reply, as you soaked in everything Steph had said and thought about it.

“Does Leah hate me now?” you ask thinking back to her initial reaction.

“No, no she doesn’t” Caitlin spoke this time.

“She might,” Kyra added food for thought, “Oi Kyra don’t,” Steph told Kyra off “No she doesn’t hate you, she just overreacted that’s all, and I think she felt a bit caught off guard, after all no one else knew you were thinking about choosing the Matilda’s over the Lionesses.” Content with her answer you nodded, leaning back in for a hug, that’s how you four remained for the next few minutes, you in Steph’s lap, her hugging you, Caitlin’s hand still on your back and your hand holding Kyra’s. That was until you were interrupted.

Soft footsteps were followed by Beth’s voice “See I told you she was, and she would be fine” you could even hear Beth’s ‘I’m right’ smirk in her voice.

You lifted your head and turned it around to see you sister standing there surrounded by your older teammates, her tearstained, red slightly puffy face matched yours. As she walked towards you, Caitlin’s hand left you back. Letting go of Kyra’s hand you glanced at Steph who nodded before you once again found yourself shuffling in her lap, this time turning around to face your sister. She bobbed down in front of you taking both your hands in hers.

“Bug, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have behaved like that.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled as she glanced up at Steph who gave her a reassuring smile and said, “It’s okay, she’s okay, we will look after her”, you watched your sister sit down on the couch and gesture for you to come over to her, with that you left Steph’s lap and climbed onto your sister’s lap.

Steph, Caitlin and Kyra communicated silently before standing up and following the others into the kitchen leaving you and your sister alone in the living room. You could hear that the others were speaking but you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you just continue to sit in your sister’s lap enjoying her warm embrace for a moment before looking up to her, and saying “I love you.”

“I love you too bug, so so so much” she said as a tear rolled down her check, “and I’m really sorry for the way I reacted, I-I, I just didn’t really expect it and was caught off guard slightly, but the girls helped me realised I never actually heard you say you wanted to join the Lionesses, we never spoke about it, it was just something that I assumed, something I thought was a given, but it was never a given, you were always eligible for two national teams, and it does make sense as to why you choose them. But I shouldn’t reacted that way and I really regret saying the things I said.”

“It’s okay” you said as you smiled at her.

“But bug it really isn’t, and I am very very sorry.” you nodded burying your head in her chest.

“Bug,” you looked up at her whilst rolling your eyes, how many times does she have to say bug in one moment. Bug was her nickname for you (there is a long story behind how it came about) and whilst you didn’t mind it she was the only one allowed to use it generally, you didn’t mind if the other girls used it when you were upset, or sick but in general it was prohibited, however maybe she needed to be prohibited from using it too. She chucked at your reaction before continuing “I am really proud of you, you know that. Getting a senior call up at 16, to a different team than your youth national team, that really is something bug, and I’ve never said it, but you really are amazing you know that, you are so talented and driven-”

“That’s a lie” she was cut off by Katie, to your surprise the rest of the girls were now standing in the living room, you were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t realise they were there, and by her slight jump neither did your sister. They handed you and your sister some water before sitting down around you two. You looked at Katie, who realised what you were ‘saying’ and continued “Well the never said it part is wrong, the amazing talented part is just straight facts,” you smiled at Katie, “but honestly, I don’t think a training goes by where she doesn’t say something along the lines of you being amazing.”

“Yeah honestly, it’s always like ‘did you see that?’” Viv spoke up before the rest joined in mocking your sister.

“Oh my God, she really is good isn’t she”.

“She might be better than you”.

“That was amazing”.

“I don’t think I was that good at her age, well maybe I was but you weren’t”.

You laughed at your sister’s expense. “But she is not wrong,” your captain Kim said before the room fell to silence, your head lay on your sister’s chest.

“Well, we best get going” Lia states, the others responded with many yeahs before getting up. “No stay,” you quickly spat out whilst they were all gathering their things to leave, you looked up to your sister, who after today’s events melted at your pleading little face, she looked up at the girls who were all looking at her awaiting a response.

“Guys, I mean you’re welcome to stay if you want, we are more than happy for you to stay, but if you have anything important on you don’t have to stay” she sighed.

“What else would we have on?” Kim questioned as they all sat down, someone turned on the TV causing some of them to have a heated argument over what to watch, you would normally be the ringleader in these arguments however today you just wanted to stay in your sister’s comfort, feeling slightly tired. You felt the slight dip in the couch, as someone sat down next to Leah, if anything slightly oddly close, but a familiar sent met your nose and you knew who it was and so you were content, the scent belonged to a person who had be coming over to your house more often recently, you didn’t mind her presence though, she made your sister happy and she could actually cook.

_________________

The sudden knock at the door woke you from your nap, you rubbed your eyes as the girls all looked at you some of them cooing. You heard another knock at the door followed by your sister’s “Oh Shit”.

“What?” one of the girls questioned.

“It’s our parents and the evil twin” you said not bothering to move from you position on your sister, however your position was different to the one you were in before your nap, she must’ve gotten up at some stage.

“I forgot they were coming over,” she said whilst trying to get up, her movement was only to be met with your grumbles. Lia went over and let you parents in. Once they stood in the living room you decided to get up and go greet them.

All the girls said hello to them too before Kim said, “Well we best head off, we will leave you to your family night.”

Your Mum gave Kim a tap on the arm before saying, “no nonsense you girls are welcome to stay, you’re family after all, just in a different way. And plus, Leah clearly forgot we were coming”.

“Oh okay, thank you. We’ve just had a bit of a tough day, most likely why Leah forgot.” Kim stated trying to help Leah’s case.

“Yes, I gathered that, anyone mind getting me up to date” Mum replied.

“I got a senior team call up!” you said excitedly.

“That’s fantastic!” “Well done sweetheart” your parents reply “Well, it’s official I’m the failure of the family” your twin brother joked.

“I’m going to be a Matilda” you said slightly more cautiously, there was a moment of silence, and you were unable to read your parents faces.

“Well, I did always like the Aussies” Your Dad remarked.

“That’s amazing sweetheart” they both pulled you in for a hug whilst looking around the room still a little confused, having a senior team call up wouldn’t be the reason their youngest daughter was fast asleep on their eldest’s lap when they got not, nor does it explain Leah’s guilty face, it wasn’t a I’m sorry I forgot guilty face, it was something else.

“Why don’t I take you to the kitchen, so you can grab a glass of water,” Kim said as they followed her in, whilst they knew where the kitchen was, they knew there was an implied meaning to what Kim had said, and apparently Jacob did too, “Wait for me, I want in on the tea” Jacob yelled running after them.

Jacob came running back in, your parents and Kim following shortly after. “High five” Jacob yelled as you high fived him. “What was that for?” You asked.

“For pissing of Patsy over there” you chuckled at his reply. He insisted on calling you sister Patsy.

“Well, I’m thinking Pizza and maybe a beer in celebration, anyone else?” You Dad asked, everyone in the room cheered.

The rest of the night was spent eating, drinking (one beers each as you all had training tomorrow), watching TV and just chilling. You soaked it all up, the moment, the feeling, the love, as your family, both blood and chosen, celebrated in your honour.

#woso x reader #woso community #arsenal wfc #woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson #awfc #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #arsenal women #matildas #auswnt #woso imagine #lionesses #womens football #woso soccer

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dreamwritesimagines · 8 months

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Garden of Secrets [36] - Middlemist Red

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Patience has its rewards.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 4200

Series Masterlist

Rumors were an inseparable part of the ton, and you were well aware of that. Every season people found different things to gossip about and you’d had your fair share of being the subject of the said gossip, so it wasn’t supposed to be this surprising that they kept talking even after you got married.

But it didn’t mean you liked this particular rumor.

This was the second time Lady Whistledown had mentioned just how close Margery and Benedict seemed to be with each other, joking and laughing in the park when they ran into each other and even though you knew it was nonsense, you still couldn’t help the discomfort at the pit of your stomach.

Especially now that you were seeing it happen on the other side of the park.

“If I see your parents, I’ll give them a piece of my mind,” Lottie said, making you turn your glances to her. “They show up and make you feel bad all of a sudden? How dare they?”

“Lottie—”

“And to think they’ve been mean to you all this time?”

Well, what your parents had done was a bit more than just being mean to you, but you weren’t going to correct her on that.

“Simply unacceptable,” Lottie said, pointing at you with the cookie she was holding. “I’ll be with you at all times starting now, so that if they dare bother you again, I can handle them.”

You repressed a laugh.

“Much appreciated,” you said. “But you can’t be with me at all times Lottie, you have a wedding to plan.”

A smile brightened up her face. “I do!” she said. “But nevertheless Y/N, you are alright are you not?”

“Sure,” you said. “We don’t even need to talk about it.”

Lottie took a deep breath.

“I hate to ask, you know I do,” she said. “But have you seen Whistledown?”

Your eyes found Margery and Benedict who looked very much interested in their own conversation, Benedict frowning before he nodded at something Margery told him.

“It’s nonsense,” you forced yourself to say, and Lottie pressed her lips together.

“It is, but…” she said. “You know what? I suddenly remembered I had something to say to Benny, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait—Lottie no!” you whispered but she had already walked away from you to Benedict and Margery. Benedict turned to her, and raised his brows at something she said, then quickly bid Margery goodbye and followed Lottie as she started walking towards the street vendor to buy some lemonade while Margery walked to Lucy.

“Y/N,” you heard Anthony’s voice and looked over your shoulder.

“Anthony,” you said. “Hello.”

“May I?” he motioned at the spot beside you and you tilted your head in confusion, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Of course.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine—you never ask me how I’ve been,” you said, confusion laced in your voice. “What is happening? Are you sick?”

“No?”

“Are you dying?” you asked, making him roll his eyes. “It would be very thoughtless of you to die before you spend a lot of years with Lottie as a married couple, she’s very much in love with you so if you—”

“I’m not,” he cut you off. “It’s just that, Benedict mentioned a pair of unwelcomed guests.”

You pursed your lips, trying to shake off the discomfort.

“And?” you asked. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“Not much to be honest,” Anthony said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know the details nor do I need to. I just want you to know that we’re family, so whatever you need, whatever you want, just tell me, alright? No questions asked.”

You blinked a couple of times. “…Easy as that?”

“Easy as that.”

“I thought you would have a thousand questions.”

“I don’t need to hear a thousand answers to protect my family,” he stated. “You’re one of us now. We will always be there for you, no matter what.”

You blinked a couple of times, the back of your eyes burning as a warmth spread through your chest, but before you could say anything, Benedict and Lottie approached you with the lemonade bottles. Benedict pulled his brows together, then motioned between you two.

“No one appears to be stabbed,” he commented. “Is it snowing in hell?”

“Benny!” Lottie elbowed him and he repressed a grin.

“Just wondering,” he said as he held out the lemonade bottle and you took it from him. “Would you like to walk?”

“I would actually,” you said and took his hand, your heart skipping a beat as he pulled you up to your feet, but he didn’t let go of your hand contrary to before. You repressed a smile, then stole a look at Lottie’s maid before turning to Lottie and Anthony.

“Don’t do something scandalous,” you said with a grin, making Benedict chuckle and Lottie gasp, then you started walking beside Benedict.

“So Lottie finally forgave you completely,” you asked him and he nodded his head.

“Took forever but yes,” he said and cleared his throat. “She did mention that Whistledown piece though.”

You raised your brows. “…Oh.”

“I hope you know there’s nothing like that,” he said. “Margery is a very good friend of mine, not to mention I would never do that to you.”

“No I know,” you said in a hurried manner. “I mean if I’m honest, I didn’t even bring it up because it was such nonsense that I almost forgot.”

Well, that was a complete and utter lie, but lucky for you, Benedict seemed to have bought it.

“Right,” he said, nodding his head fervently. “Of course. Lady Whistledown must be running out of gossip to write about.”

“Yeah!” you forced a dry laughter. “I mean you and Margery? Honestly?”

“Unbelievable.”

You took a sip of your lemonade, then motioned between you two. “Because, you know—we’re married.”

“Happily married,” he added in a haste and you nodded.

“Albeit a bit untraditionally.”

“Well—”

“Your mother assumed I was pregnant earlier.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have said it right when he was sipping his lemonade because he choked on it, pulling the bottle from his lips and coughing before hitting his chest.

“Oh,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And what did you say?”

“Nonexistent Bridgerton remains to be nonexistent,” you joked and scrunched up your nose. “I just said no.”

“Interesting assumption.”

“Uh huh,” you said. “Interesting and impossible at the same time.”

“I’m quite familiar with that concept,” he murmured and you frowned.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “Let’s go by the river, shall we?”

After the park, you had decided to go to your uncle and aunt’s house to spend some time with them and Teddy. Granted you still felt on edge especially because you were very well aware of the fact that both your parents knew about their house, and Teddy living there. When you got off the carriage, you looked around and let out a relieved breath upon not seeing either of them, then made your way to the house.

Thankfully, your aunt had no idea about what happened between Benedict and your father because you had only told your uncle at the night of the ball that your father had shown up.

“I don’t know how you and Benedict did it,” your aunt told you, excitement and pride apparent in her voice as a maid brought you tea and biscuits. “But Sir Henry Granville and Lord Gordon Easton! At my ball!”

“They run in the same social circle, auntie,” you said with a small smile. “All artists do, as it turns out. Benedict introduced me to them.”

“Well everyone in my Social Picnic Club has congratulated me for throwing such a spectacular ball,” she said. “I’ve even heard some say that it would be impossible to top it off, can you believe that?”

“I absolutely can,” you said. “It was a wonderful ball, auntie. You put so much effort into it, and it paid off.”

“With your and Benedict’s contribution.”

“We barely did anything other than inviting some friends,” you said. “Will uncle be at the gentlemen’s club the whole day by the way?”

“Mm hm, he’s with his friends,” she said. “Why?”

“Oh no reason, I just thought I could see him.”

She hummed, looking at you over her teacup and you frowned.

“I know that look,” you said. “What is it?”

“Is this about…” she trailed off. “What was on Whistledown earlier?”

You let out a groan. “Auntie!”

She held up her hands, gesturing surrender.

“It was on Whistledown,” she said. “You cannot blame me for being worried.”

“Just because it’s on Whistledown doesn’t mean it’s the truth,” you said. “In fact, it couldn’t be farther away from the truth. Benedict and I are very happily married, and Margery is merely a friend.”

She raised her brows, taking another sip of her tea.

“I heard that Lady Margery is quite charming—not that she’s anywhere close to you!” she added in a haste. “You are the most charming of course.”

“More like harming,” you mused and she shot you a lighthearted glare.

“Y/N.”

“What?” you said. “Just saying.”

“Benedict is completely in love with you, we all know that,” she said. “The same with you obviously, you are very much in love with him, anyone who looks at you for more than a second could see that.”

You blinked a couple of times, shifting your weight.

“I mean I wouldn’t say—” you said with a nervous laugh. “One could assume it’s not as—”

“Obvious?” she completed your sentence for you and scoffed. “Of course it is. Have you two seen yourselves?”

You cleared your throat, then reached out to take a bite from the biscuit.

“I’m just trying to make sure these nonsense rumors do not affect you two badly, that is all,” she said and you shook your head.

“It’s not—” you started but before you could even complete your sentence, Teddy rushed into the drawing room.

“Y/N!”

“Oh hello there,” you said, opening your arms as he flung himself to you for you to hug him tight. “French lesson is over for the day?”

“Yes!” he said and you pulled back to look at him, then tilted your head at the clumsily tied cravat around his neck. You stole a look at your aunt who looked like she was trying her hardest to keep a straight face, and turned to Teddy.

“What is this?”

“It’s a cravat!” he said, excitement laced in his tone. “Benedict always wears them, did you notice that?”

You bit back at smile. “Oh does he?”

“He does!”

“And now you’re…wearing cravats?”

He nodded, his eyes sparkling.

“I want them in different colors because Benedict has them in different colors, I told uncle and he said he would get me many,” he said. “This is uncle’s as well, you see.”

Your lips curled upwards. “Ah?” you said. “And you chose a green one for today?”

“It’s pale green!”

“Pale green, my apologies.”

“It’s alright, auntie told me it was pale green,” he patted your hand as if trying to console you. “We can learn those together.”

You nodded solemnly.

“That would be wonderful,” you said, reminding yourself not to laugh. “And you chose pale green because…?”

“Benedict was wearing a pale green cravat the other day,” he said, proud of himself for remembering it and you pinched his cheek.

“It looks wonderful on you Teddy.”

“Really?”

You kissed the top of his hair. “Really,”

“He is growing up so fast,” your aunt said, shaking her head with a smile. “I fear I will blink and he will be a gentleman of the ton.”

You let out a laugh and Teddy took a sharp breath.

“Y/N, I will show you my new sculptures!” he said, tugging you by the hand. “I made a dozen of them, come and see!”

“Am I allowed to boast about how I was the first one to see them when you’re a famous sculptor?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll be back auntie,” you said with a grin and stood up, letting Teddy lead you out of the room.

You had spent more time in your uncle’s house than originally planned. Your uncle insisted you stayed for dinner, so you sent Benedict a short note to let him know, inviting him as well but he politely declined, saying that he was in the middle of a painting. After dinner, Teddy showed you how he made some of his sculptures the way Benedict had shown him so by the time you left there, it was already near midnight and raining. A carriage went past your carriage a minute before you arrived home, making you frown and look over your shoulder, but you didn’t have the time to dwell on it much before your carriage entered through the gates and stopped in front of your house. The coachman helped you out and you thanked him, then rushed home to get away from the rain.

“Ma’am,” the housekeeper greeted you and you smiled at her.

“Hello,” you said as a maid took your cloak. “Oh I must change my clothes, it’s raining like crazy outside! Is Paula asleep?”

“No ma’am, I’m here,” Paula said as she rushed to you and you shot her an apologetic grin.

“Please tell me you did not stay up for me.”

“Alright, I will not,” she said and you let out a giggle, then started walking upstairs with her.

“I don’t know where this storm came from, honestly…” you mused, turning the corner in the hallway before peeking at the other end of it where Benedict’s studio was, but there was no light coming from there. “Is Benedict asleep?”

Paula didn’t answer you so you turned your head to look at her better.

“Is Benedict asleep?” you asked again, thinking she didn’t hear you and she shifted her weight.

“No he’s not, ma’am.”

You stopped walking, a frown pinching your brows together.

“Oh?” you said. “Where is he?”

Paula averted her gaze, making your frown deeper.

“Paula?” you said. “What is happening?”

“N—nothing, ma’am.”

“No, something is happening,” you said. “What is it? Has he gone outside or something?”

“He’s home, ma’am.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Where?”

“He is still in the greenhouse I think,” she said, still not looking you in the eye and you blinked a couple of times.

“Greenhouse?” you asked, “Benedict isn’t the gardening type, what is he doing in the greenhouse?”

“They went there earlier, ma’am.”

“They?” you repeated. “Who’s they?”

“Mr. Bridgerton and Lady Margery.”

Your head shot up, your heart dropping to your stomach.

“…I’m sorry?”

“Lady Margery came here an hour after your note saying you would be late arrived,” Paula said in a breath, “She left in her carriage just now, but they both went to the greenhouse straight away when she got here.”

It felt as if the hallway was spinning around you, the fire of fury spreading through your veins.

You had to have been an idiot for not listening to Lady Whistledown’s damn gossip, because apparently Benedict wasted not even a second to prove to you she was right. He was in fact sleeping around just as the rumors said, with Margery, right under your nose in the greenhouse he knew you never stepped foot into ever since you had moved here.

You spun around on your heels to go down the hallway where you came from, then rushed downstairs, your heels echoing on the marble floor. You passed through the foyer, then made your way to the back entrance that led to the backyard where the greenhouse was, but before you could reach there, Benedict stepped inside through the door, a look of surprise crossing his face as soon as he saw you.

“Y/N?”

You passed by him without even acknowledging him, your teeth clenched in anger.

“Wait, where are you—?” he started but you stepped outside into the heavy rain, and strode across the backyard, Benedict catching up with you in seconds.

“Where are you going?”

“Greenhouse,” you spat as the lightning struck in the sky and he stopped dead in his spot for a second before rushing to catch up with you.

“No you can’t—”

“Why not?” you asked through the boom of the thunder, “Can I not see your bachelor’s flat you so conveniently and disrespectfully put near my home?”

He frowned as if he was confused.

“My what?” he asked but you scoffed and kept walking, your head almost pounding from anger. “Y/N no, that’s not—”

“I’m such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head. “To think I was telling everyone Whistledown’s gossip was nonsense while you brought your fucking mistress here the moment you heard I would be late…”

“What?” he asked, shock apparent in his voice as you approached the greenhouse and reached out to hold the handle but he grabbed at your upper arm. “Y/N, just wait a moment—”

You could swear your vision went red as you yanked your arm out of his grip.

“You do not touch me!” you snapped. “I never want to see you ever again, do you hear me? I will apply for divorce tomorrow morning, I will—”

You stopped talking the second you slammed open the greenhouse door, your breath getting caught in your throat as you blinked a couple of times, trying to understand whether you were seeing was in fact real.

You had refused to enter the greenhouse just like you had refused to garden when you and Benedict got married and moved here, and before that, you had seen maybe only five greenhouses in total but none of them looked like this. The large greenhouse looked as if someone had plucked it out of a painting and brought it into life somehow, and you felt your body move on its own accord as you took a step inside almost in a haze. It was entirely made of glass with the plants covering the walls –ivy, if you weren’t mistaken- with a sharp arch on the high ceiling. Even under the moonlight, you could tell the various flowers surrounding you were not among those you could find in anyone’s garden, yours included. It looked so magical that for a couple of seconds you could only stand there and stare with your jaw hanging before approaching a Venus Flytrap, still breathing hard.

“I don’t…” you stammered. “What is this?”

“Well,” Benedict said, leaning back to one of the glass walls. “For starters, it’s not my bachelor’s flat because I don’t have one. It was supposed to be a surprise for tomorrow, I figured you could see it better in the sunlight.”

You blinked a couple of times, then turned to look at him. “But Margery—”

“Has been helping me prepare this, along with Mr. Binsted,” Benedict motioned around you. “They know the rare flowers better than I do. I was going to bring you here once it was completed, took more time than I thought it would. I figured since you were outside, it would be easier for the finishing touch. Like I said, I was going to show you tomorrow now that it’s complete.”

You swallowed thickly, all the fury leaving your body as disbelief took over.

“Complete?” you repeated and Benedict offered you a small smile, then nodded towards the center of the glass wall you were close to, making you turn your head to look at the shelf. The lightning struck the sky again, illuminating the whole greenhouse and you took a sharp breath as soon as your eyes fell on the flower.

Middlemist Red.

You had only seen it in the drawings on your plant books, but having spent over a decade wishing you could see it in real life, you would have recognized it anywhere. You weren’t even aware that Benedict had made a mental note of your favorite flower considering you had told him about it only once so many months ago and it was supposed to be impossible to even find it to gaze upon, let alone having it for yourself, for your own greenhouse.

And somehow Benedict had found it and brought it to you.

“It’s not possible,” you rasped out, still unable to look away from the flower. “It’s—it’s impossible to find Middlemist Red, everyone knows that. It’s the rarest flower in the world.”

“I actually sent word around after you told me about it back at the flower exhibit,” he said, making your head turn. “No one knew where to get it but Margery knows someone who knows someone who—well, you get the picture. At first it was just the Middlemist Red, but then we got married and I know you love flowers so I figured maybe you’d like to have all the rare flowers in a place that belonged to you, so…” he motioned around you. “The greenhouse that is.”

You swallowed thickly, still staring at him, both of you completely drenched with the rain pitter pattering against the glass walls.

“It was just a bud at first, the Middlemist,” he added, taking a step toward you. “And apparently you need to be very careful during that period so we had to wait around two months, and they sent it when it bloomed with a gardener who took care of it on the way here, and you obviously would have seen it if you were here so we took it to Margery’s house, and she brought it here and I—”

“You had someone grow the rarest flower in the world and then had it brought here just because I told you it was my favorite flower?” you cut him off, your heart beating in your throat, all your body warm despite the storm outside and he nodded.

“I know you said you wouldn’t garden but when you want to, it’ll all be here,” he said. “I actually have people building a greenhouse back at the country house as we speak, I figured you would want one there as well and—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when you rushed into his arms and pulled him down to crash your lips against his, standing on your tiptoes. Your head was spinning with excitement, the fire engulfing you in its flames once more like it had when he kissed you for the first time that night. He cradled the back of your head, pressing your body closer to his while you melted into his touch and it felt as if you two were the only people left in the world, as if the storm somehow took everything and everyone away but you two.

But much to your displeasure he pulled back, drawing a petulant whine from your lips.

“I can’t,” he stepped back, making you blink dumbly in confusion at just how tormented he looked. “You have no idea how much I want to but I told you before, I will not touch you until you—”

“I love you,” you cut him off, still trying to catch your breath and the lightning lit inside the greenhouse once again, letting you see the absolute shock on his handsome face. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, then shrugged your shoulders.

“I tempted fate just a little too much it seems,” you tried to joke. “I do – I love you. More than I thought it was possible, more than you could possibly know.”

The thunder boomed through the greenhouse and you took a deep breath, nervousness pulsing through you as the words left your lips.

“So, my heart is yours,” you managed to say, shifting your weight. “If you’ll have it.”

Benedict let out a breath, then strode to you to pull you into a kiss, taking your breath away. The feeling was so intoxicating that every single fear, every ounce of nervousness washed away from your mind until the only thing remained was him, and his burning touch, his lips on yours. He lifted you up, letting you wrap your legs around his waist without breaking the kiss and pressed you back to the wall, making you let out a squeal upon feeling the rustle of the ivy leaves behind you, one of the pots slipping a little on the shelf when you accidentally hit it with your elbow.

“No, not the flowers!” you exclaimed with a giggle. “Careful with the flowers!”

“Right, the flowers—” he let out a laugh and turned around with you still in his arms, then laid you down on the floor, his lips brushing yours again. You pushed his drenched shirt off of his body, dragging your fingertips over his chiseled torso, the fire of desire burning through your whole body. He looked so mesmerizing under the moonlight that for a moment you could do nothing but stare at him while he leaned on his forearm, his body covering yours, his hand going to your cheekbone to caress it gently.

“We can stop anytime you want, my love,” he murmured, his words making your heart feel like warm honey in your chest. “You know that, do you not?”

You bit back a smile, then leaned up to brush your lips against his.

“Benedict,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Chapter 37

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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winterrrnight · 2 months

Note

HI BAE!!!!!!! CONGRATS ON 600!!! 🙌🏼💓💓

go on without me - 16 + 21 with rafe🤭🤭🤭🤭

ahh thank you so much sweet abi!! I'm so sorry it took me so long, I just wasn't feeling satisfied with what I was writing :( I hope you like reading this! but please feel free to not read this if you aren't comfortable w the warnings given :)

protective

PAIRING: toxic!dark!rafe cameron x gn! musician!reader

SUMMARY: rafe doesn’t like another man touching you, not even as much as talking to you or looking at you.

WARNINGS: dark content! minimal swearing, established relationship, slight use of nicknames like babe, jealousy, over protective & possessive rafe, canon!rafe, toxic!rafe, threats to kill, allusions to anxiety and being scared, and kinda shitty writing (??) (please please let me know if something should be added!!!!)

EDITH SPEAKS: this is very, very new for me. this is my third attempt at this fic, the first two just didn’t turn out how I wanted, and the best approach just felt like dark!rafe. this is me basically exploring my writing and trying out new things and testing myself, so if it’s not as good as the rest of stuff you may have read, I’m really sorry, I’m a beginner 😭😭

please please heed the warnings, and it may not be as dark as some other stuff on here, it felt pretty dark while writing, and if at any moment you feel this isn’t for you please feel free to click off.

moreover, if I am being honest here, you might have read a lot of rafe fics based on this idea/prompt. so please don't think I copied someone off for this, this is completely my own creation.

and if you liked this, please please share your feedback with me, and reblog it to support my content <3

PROMPTS REQUESTED: “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” “No we don’t – oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.” & “You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!”

600 followers celebration (now closed!) || navigation

Everyone around you cheers out loud, glasses of champagne raised in the air as huge grins form on everyone’s faces. Your new single – after a break of over three years came out today, and you have already received an overwhelming amount of support. You’re in your studio, celebrating with your team and your amazing boyfriend.

“Congratulations babe,” Rafe smiles as he hugs you tight, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You grin at him, hugging him back even tighter as you mumble a ‘thank you’.

You all celebrate for some more time, drinking fancy champagne, eating food, and taking pictures to savor the moment.

You, Rafe, and Jim, your producer, are just talking at the side when you hear your name being called. You turn to see it’s Saylor, who is one of the interns at the record label you are signed with. Your single was the first project he worked on.

“Yeah?” You ask, smiling as you approach him.

“Congratulations on the release,” he smiles, and gives you a small hug. You gladly hug him back, a grin on your face.

“Thank you Saylor,” you smile. “You were absolutely great for your first project,” you say. “I was actually asking Jim if you’d like to continue working for the upcoming singles too,”

Saylor’s lips are pulled in a huge grin as his eyes light up. “You’re serious right now?”

You chuckle as you nod your head. “Yes, of course! I would love for you to be able to gain as much experience as you can,”

Saylor absolutely can’t contain his excitement as he pulls you in for another hug. You are caught off guard but gladly hug back, chuckling a little as you do so.

“Thank you so much,” he smiles. “Seriously, it means a lot to me,” he says, a certain spark in his eyes.

“Of course, a talent like yours shouldn’t go to waste,” you say.

His smile doesn’t falter as he speaks again. “Can I get a picture with you, if that’s not an issue?”

“Oh of course not!” You say, turning to look at Rafe. “Rafe?” You call out.

He breaks from the conversation he was having with Jim and walks up to you. “Yeah babe?” Saylor passes him his phone and asks him to take a picture of you two.

Saylor stands next to you as his arm wraps around your waist, maybe a little too tighter than it should be but you don’t really say anything. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe, and he takes a sharp inhale when he sees Saylor’s side pressing more against you, as your arm rests around his shoulder.

Rafe tends to be… possessive, and you’ve always known that. Even when you both weren’t together, he wasn’t the biggest fan of how others would usually hit on you at parties, and would feel enraged when they wouldn’t let you go after you would politely ask to leave you alone.

But that possessiveness only increased when you both got together, when you officially became his girl. There’s nothing you can do about it, because that’s how Rafe is.

You can see the expression on Rafe’s face; the subtle ticking of his jaw, the acute twitching of his eye – you’ve known him long enough to identify his facial expressions just the second they appear. You are quick to remove your arm from Saylor’s shoulder, your arm now resting on your side, but Saylor doesn’t seem to catch on that; instead his grip on your waist tightens a bit, because he most probably wants you to wrap your arm around his shoulders again.

Nevertheless, Rafe takes the picture, and hands Saylor’s phone back. Saylor takes a few seconds before he lets go of you, which only happened because you gently removed yourself from his grip. You quickly appear at Rafe’s side and intertwine your hands, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Thank you for the picture,” Saylor smiles as he looks at the phone screen. All you say is ‘welcome’ with a small smile, and Rafe pulls you to a different part of the studio.

As the small party carries on, Saylor makes subtle moves – or moves which he thinks are subtle, but aren’t missed by Rafe at all. It’s Rafe’s last straw when Saylor gently grips your waist to move past you, saying a ‘sorry’ as he walks by. At that very moment, you decide it’s best if you talk to Saylor about it yourself, tell him that you know what he’s doing, and you clearly have a boyfriend. But before you can do that, Rafe’s arm wraps quickly around your waist, and his grip is tight.

Jim says something about going to a nice nearby restaurant for dinner, but Rafe cuts him off. “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” He says firmly. You look at him with a slightly confused expression, thinking if you both do have any other appointments today or not, but your mind is blank.

“No we don’t –,” you say, but Rafe snaps his head at you, his jaw muscles tense, and your eyes slightly widen at the sight as you catch up in the fraction of a second. “Oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.”

Rafe leads you out of the studio, and you barely save your half full glass of champagne from falling off the table you’re trying to keep it at as he ushers you out. He opens the door of his truck for you and as you sit down, he slams it a little too harshly than usual. He walks around the truck and sits down next to you, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he starts to drive.

You take a deep breath as you lean back in the chair. This is not the first time this is happening, and you know it’s certainly not the last. You aren’t scared because you already know how this entire situation plays out. He will raise his voice at you, say stuff like how you’re his and only his, how he absolutely hates other guys looking at you a certain way because he just can’t bear the sight, and how he gives you the best treatment you can get.

You’re just silently listening to the soft music from the radio as you look out the window. You steal a glance at Rafe and see his jaw is still tightened, his grip tight on the wheel.

“Relax your jaw Rafe,” you say plainly, turning to look back out the window. You hear him take a sharp breath.

“I did not like how he was looking at you and holding you,” he utters.

You just roll your eyes at him, as if you knew that’s exactly what he was going to say. “It was just a picture Rafe, you don’t have to be so protective about that,” you say.

Rafe snaps his head towards you, but quickly turns back to look at the road. “Just a picture?” He echoes. “So you’re telling me you loved the way he was holding your waist hm?”

“Oh god when did I say that!” You retort. “And besides, did you not see? I literally removed my hand off his shoulders the instant you saw it, and moved away from him the moment you took the picture. There’s no need for you to get so worked up!”

You can see Rafe’s chest heaving as he takes rapid breaths, his jaw ticking as you can literally see a thunderstorm brewing up in him.

“You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!” You say exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t have been upset in the first place because there’s literally nothing to be upset about!”

Just the second those words leave your mouth, he bellows your name causing you to shut up right that moment. “Shut up!” He yells, smacking his palm against the steering wheel once. You feel the truck speed up, his foot pressing harder against the accelerator. You glance at the speedometer and see the needle pointing to larger numbers more and more with each passing second.

“Rafe-” you mumble out but you are cut off the very next instant.

“You just refuse to see it huh?” He hissed. “You refuse to see how I am the best for you. How I can, how I do treat you better than anyone else,” he goes on, and he uses his free hand to gesture around in the air.

“Get this in your head okay?” He speaks, his voice now eerily low as he gestures to his head, tapping his fingertips at his temple. “I never, ever want you as much as looking at someone else, you got that?”

You can feel the truck speeding up more. Your hands are clutching the sides of your seat, as your nails dig into the leather. Your lips are parted as you let out shaky breaths, your eyes wide and shiny with the layer of tears that have formed over them.

You thought you had seen the worst. Which was him arguing with you and telling you he’s the best for you. But right now, when his foot only seems to be pressing more and more against the gas pedal, your back pushed back against the seat due to the fast speed of the truck, you realize there’s a hidden side to Rafe you’ve never seen before.

“Rafe I-”

“Say it!” He yells, cutting you off swiftly. “Say it, that you won’t even look at anyone else!”

“Rafe please-” you mumble out, squeezing your eyes shut as hot tears flow down your face, leaving a sticky trail as they go down.

“Say it before I crash this truck in a fucking tree!”

His breathing is heavy, his eyes are wide, and you can’t recognise him anymore. His eyes are an icy blue instead of the usual dark blue you get lost in so easily, and that’s the moment you realize Rafe will never ever let you exercise any control over him. Ever.

“I-” you hiccup, “I won’t look at anyone else, okay?” You gasp, gulping down the lump in your throat as the tears keep on streaming down.

When you don’t feel Rafe slow down the truck, the seatbelt starting to dig into your neck harshly and your grip on the seat gets harder, your breathing gets more erratic as you try to gather more air to speak up again.

“Rafe, baby, please please slow down I…” you whisper, looking at him desperately.

You expect him to lash out, but he doesn’t, and the truck starts to slow down, coming at a normal pace. You move a shaky hand to your face, running your fingers across your skin to wipe off your tears, but your breath keeps on coming out in short gasps, and you feel yourself tremble a little; your heart loud in your chest.

The truck slows down more and more, and you see Rafe has parked it at the side of the road. The truck comes to a full stop, and you turn to look at Rafe through your still slightly blurry vision, your eyes now red, and panic being the only feeling clouding your mind.

Rafe rests his forehead against the steering wheel, taking in a deep breath. His grip on the wheel loosens a bit, the knuckles not so white anymore as their color flushes back. He lifts his head from the wheel and turns to look back at you, his eyes now not so icy, but still not the comforting warm blue you’ve always loved and adored.

A smile tugs on his lips, and it’s not the kind which always warms you up the moment you look at it, but it’s… sinister. It’s a smile you’ve never seen before. It’s the kind of smile that shows that he is enjoying seeing you this way. Seeing you so weak under his control.

He moves his hands to your face, brushing any loose strands off your slightly sticky face and gently running his fingers across your cheeks.

“Now baby,” he says softly, but the softness doesn’t comfort you – no. It scares you even more. “You made that a little too hard didn’t you, hm? Next time when I ask you to do something, just do it, okay? Don’t have time to wait, or- or to see how you react m’kay? Just… agree to what I say. It’s not as hard as you may think,”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, but at that moment, all you want to do is to scrunch up into a ball and be far, far away from him and his cold, unknown touch.

Your breathing fastens up, but all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes, wondering where did that sweet, loving boyfriend of yours go and got replaced by this?

When he sees you aren’t arguing back, his menacing grin only widens, and he takes his hands off you, turning to start up the truck again and continue to drive – as if absolutely nothing happened.

A hand rests on your thigh, softly rubbing the skin through the material of your pants, but you’re too afraid to even slightly move under the touch. It’s cold, it sends shivers down your spine, and you don’t know who’s hand it is.

If only someone could stop and tell you that you had lost your ‘loving’ boyfriend forever.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment

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thisismeracing · 11 months

Text

His protector | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!comedian!reader (she/her)

Word count: 0.4k

Genre: regular imagine + smau (overall fluff)

Warnings: not proofread; mentions of Ferrari's disastrous strategy; fluff;

Summary: Yn is a comedian, who happens to date the f1 driver Charles Leclerc and who loves to joke around about how horrendous Ferrari is, but beware: she is the only one who can laugh at her boyfriend’s disastrous races. No one pokes fun at Charles in front of her, especially not on live TV.

A/n: This request has been sitting in my inbox forever because I'm a freaking perfectionist who loved the idea but wanted to get it to be perfect. It's my first time mixing social media au and regular images, I don't know if I'll be doing it again, but I hope you guys like it! Anon who requested: thank you sm for being so patient and kind with your request, it means a lot. I hope it's a bit like you imagined it to be. Every piece I write here it’s a new experience, so your feedback, comments, and asks are more than welcome. *mwah* 🤍

A/n2: A huge shoutout to Leri ( @elitebarzal ) for helping me with this (she was the one who sent me the jokes and helped me with the story's structure). ILY, Le!

A/n3: None of these jokes are originally mine, they're all from the internet, just like all the pictures used are from Pinterest. The writing, however, is all me, and I do not consent for it to be published anywhere else!

Based on this request.

see my masterlist | check here if you want to be on my new taglist

you can support my writing by liking, reblogging, and leaving a comment

“Why did Charles Leclerc take up gardening?” Yn asks eyes focused on the main camera in the studio, ready to deliver her joke. Anthony, Yn’s colleague, and part of the Saturday Night Live cast, was already trying to hold back his laughter when she added, “Because he wanted to be in "pole" position at least once this season.”

The crowd hollered in laughter, and Anthony almost couldn’t hold his own back.

“This one got me, I gotta give it to you that this is way funnier than whatever I had for tonight,” he bantered.

“It’s a live show for a reason, right?” she winked and turned back to the camera.

Yn was dating Charles for over a year now, and he was a constant topic of her jokes, the audience, and fans were used to her always roasting him, but everyone knew it to be just part of their relationship. Yn being sassy and playful as she was would make fun of whoever she was close enough to know her jokes wouldn’t come off as offensive.

Charles loved that side of her. It was nice to have someone who would cry with you but also make you laugh and take the hardships of life with a degree of lightness.

It was race week, Yn was in the paddock and it wasn’t uncommon for some channels to call upon her for a quick interview about her thoughts on the race. She usually wouldn’t mind, she would be polite as usual, answer their questions, sometimes even tell a joke or two and then follow her path back to Charles if he was free to have her around.

This time, however, this interview seemed to stress her more than to amuse her.

“We all know he can do better-”

“Can he?!” Yn asked, brows furrowing a challenging look on her face. “With Ferrari’s current strategy, I don’t think he can.”

“Well, most people seem to think he could, and I tend to believe that maybe that’s right. It’s not always the team’s fault.”

“Eric, have you tried driving a formula one car?”

The reporter gaped, taken aback by Yn’s question, before answering, “Well, no, I’m a journalist.”

“If you’re so sure he could do better, then maybe you should go there and try driving the car. See which position you get,” she kept her instance, lips pursed in a tight line.

The reporter chuckled, trying to light the situation, but Yn didn’t, and everyone watching the live interview saw the tension in the air. Everyone got the message: nobody downplays her boyfriend in front of her. There’s a line between making fun when it’s known Charles is comfortable and openly talking about how he could do better in a sports program.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @formulakay3 @mishaandthebrits @crimeshowjunkie @iloveyou3000morgan @saintlewis @fdl305 @chaoticevilbakugo @carojasmin2204 @wondergirl101ks @smiithys

#f1 imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc #social media au f1 #f1 x reader #op: smau #millie writes #black!reader x f1 #black!reader f1 #black!reader #charles leclerc x black!reader #cl16

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inmyicyworld · 10 months

Text

Jersey

College! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Natasha’s idea of getting a jersey with Bucky’s name turned out to be much better than you expected.

Words count: 3.2k

Warnings: established relationships, SMUT, unprotected sex (but they’re both safe and clean), dirty talk, sex in the locker room, a lot of pet names, Bucky is needy and caring, he’s deeply in love.

Author’s note: hey everyone! thank you for your feedback on my last posts, it means a lot to me. so this is my first smut, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. (I became creative with that photo of the red jersey because I couldn’t find a perfect picture, so I edited it for like half an hour😭)

I have many ideas for my future works, but you have something interesting in mind, feel free to write me about it. Maybe I get some inspiration and create something🩷🦋

*English is not my first language. Sorry if you find any mistakes*

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

It’s been another game for the "Avengers", where your boyfriend Bucky Barnes was a quarterback. Today was one of the most important games against "Hydra" – their biggest enemy. Obviously, you couldn't miss the game, and Natasha, your best friend and roommate, will be with you as always. And right now, she has convinced you to do something that has been on your mind for a long time.

"C’mon, It’ll be fun. He’ll like it, I promise!" She said as you two stood near the place that made custom t-shirts with any prints. And at this moment, Natasha wanted you to order a jersey with Bucky’s number and his name on it.

"I don’t know, Nat. I mean, I want to do it, but what if he thinks that it’s too much?" You nervously played with the hem of your skirt.

"Now stop it." She stood before you and put her hand on her hips like a mother who was scolding her child. "You’ve been dating for more than a year, and his guy loves you so fucking much that he can’t even tear his eyes from you every time you two are in the same room. So when I tell you that he’ll love it, I mean it." You silently looked at her for a few minutes, but when she questionably raised her eyebrow, you finally gave up.

"Fine, you won. I hate you."

"I love you too, baby." Nat chuckled and dragged you to the store.

It seemed like there were thousands of people because everyone wanted to see one of the most important games of the season. People were already taking their seats, but you and Nat went straight to the locker room to wish the guys good luck. Trainer Fury was very strict about this, and it was forbidden for people not from the team to go there, but for some reason Nat always found a way to solve this problem.

"Guys!" Natasha loudly knocked at the door. "Are all of you already dressed up? I’m not in the mood to see somebody’s ass today!"

"Come in!" You heard Thor’s loud voice.

"Oh, I see our support group is here." As soon as you two walked in, Sam ended up between you and Nat and threw his hands over your shoulders, leading you deeper into the room. "Barnes will be here soon; don’t worry."

"Okay. Are you guys ready to beat their asses?" You smiled and looked at the almost entire team that had come to see you and Nat.

"Don’t worry, Sweets, we’ll win, as always." Tony answered you while he was cleaning his helmet. "But you should tell your boyfriend to stay away from Rumlow, or else he’ll be suspended again. By the way, is that jersey with his name?" You quietly nodded as the whole team made an impressive ‘woo’ together.

"You two are disgustingly sweet, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes, and at the same time, the door slammed. "It’s him; go give him some kisses for luck."

"Shut up, Samuel." You laughed and left their little circle to find Bucky looking at his phone. "Don’t you want to say hi, James?" He moved his eyes to you, and his face immediately lit up with happiness.

"I just wanted to text you." He threw his phone on the bench and came closer to wrap his arms around you. "Hi, doll. I missed you so much today." He mumbled into your neck.

"I missed you too, Buck." You smiled when your heart filled with all the love you had for that man. "But wait, I have to show you something." You slipped out of his hands, excited and nervous at the same time. "Look what I’ve got!" You happily turned around to show Bucky your back and flipped your hair to the side so he could see everything better. "Do you like it?"

You had a big red jersey on you, to which Bucky didn't even pay attention at first. But when you turned around, his mouth went dry and his whole body became fuzzy. You had his number 17 and the word "Barnes" on your back. You were wearing his name.

For a few seconds, he was silent. He didn't answer your answer either, so with confusion written on your face, you faced him again, only to see a weird look on his face.

"What? You don't like it? Should I take this off? I'm sorry…" You started to apologize, only to be interrupted by his low voice.

"Don't you dare take this off, Y/N." He suddenly came closer to you again, and the next thing you knew, your back was slapped against the metal lockers when Bucky’s lips attacked you. He kissed you passionately and deeply, pressing his body against yours as if he was desperate to touch you and feel you closer. You couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your mouth when he tilted your head with his hand, helping his tongue slip into your mouth.

You thought that you heard the screams of the boys on the other side of the room, but they were really muffled when your head was filled with the thought of your boyfriend’s soft lips and warm skin. Bucky finally broke the kiss, leaving you two catching your breath while he put his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. You look so fucking hot in this jersey, I want to fuck you right now." He whispered so only you could hear. "You made me hard, doll." To prove his words, he pushed his hips a little bit closer to you so you could feel the hardness.

"‘M sorry; I didn’t know that you would react like that."

"Hey, Buck, we should already go." Bucky’s grip on your waist became only tighter, when he heard Steve’s voice, and he nuzzled into your neck.

"Give me a minute."

"The game is gonna start soon."

"I said, give me a minute, Steve!" He said it louder. Bucky deeply inhaled, and it was obvious that he just needed some time to calm down.

"Shh, it’s okay, James." You put your hands through his hair because you knew that it would instantly relax him. "You're gonna win this game, right? And without fights."

"I’ll do everything for you. I just love you so much, doll." He whispered into your neck when his body finally relaxed and he was able to move away from you.

"I love you too, James." He quickly kissed you again before turning around to face the team, who had knowing smirks on their faces.

"You two should get a room." Sam had an annoyed look on his face.

"Don’t worry, Birdbrain, we will. Are you ready for the game, or are you gonna stand here and complain all day?" Bucky winked at you and went out of the room without waiting for the answer from Sam.

"So…" Natasha suddenly appeared near you. "Did you make The White Wolf hard by just wearing a shirt with his name on it?" She grinned, as it was her original plan that worked.

"Oh, shut up!"

The game was tough. Hydra played dirty as always, and Bucky almost got into a fight with Rumlow during the intense moment. You almost jumped out of the seat during the last few minutes of the game, and when "Avengers" finally won, you and Natsha screamed at the top of your lungs.

As soon as the team was done cheering and hugging, Bucky looked at the seat where you were supposed to be but saw only Nat, who pointed at you already standing near the rim. He ran to you with the biggest smile on his face, and when he finally reached you, he crushed his lips into yours.

You didn’t care that many people looked at you, even though you knew that some particular groups of girls would gossip about it for the next week because… well, everyone wanted your boyfriend. You just wrapped your hands around his sweaty neck and pulled him closer to you as far as you could with a fence between you two.

"I’m so proud of you, baby." You whispered into his lips. "You were amazing as always."

"Thank you, doll. I'm happy that you’re here with me." He looked into your eyes as his right thumb rubbed your cheek.

"You know I couldn’t miss your game, especially if it’s that important."

"Mhm, can you… come to the locker room in like twenty minutes?" Bucky nervously licked his lips.

"To the locker room? I thought we were going to celebrate it with the team as always."

"Maybe later, but I’m thinking of something, so come, ‘kay?" He started to go back to the field, but not before giving you another sweet kiss on the lips.

You sat in the cafeteria for about twenty minutes, passionately waiting for the appropriate time to go to the locker room because you really didn’t want to see another naked man that wasn’t your boyfriend. One such experience was enough for you. You asked Nat to come with you, but when you repeated Bucky’s words to her, she just gave you a mysterious smirk and patted you on the shoulder, saying that you better go there alone.

When you finally got there and knocked on the door, you heard only Bucky’s voice, who told you to come in.

"James? What’s going on?" You asked as you came further into the room. It was empty except for Bucky, who came out of nowhere and locked the door. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t answer you; he just crossed the room, kissed you, and pushed your back into the metal lockers, just as he did it a few hours ago. He was greedy, passionate, and a little bit too rough, so you couldn’t keep the moan from escaping your mouth. Bucky’s hands squeezed your hips and then went higher under your jersey.

"Bucky…" You pulled away from the kiss, but he took advantage of it and started kissing your neck. Your eyes rolled back as you squeezed his shoulders and completely forgot everything you wanted to say. He sucked your soft skin into his mouth and even bit you. It was obvious that he desperately wanted to leave dark marks on your neck, but, honestly, you didn’t care. He smelled too good fresh out of the shower, with his bare chest and low-rise gray sweatpants, and his mouth… God, you knew what his mouth could do. "Baby, we can’t do it here."

"We can, and we will." He left your neck and looked at you, leaving only a few inches between your faces. "You can’t imagine how hard it was for me not to bend you over the closest surface when you showed me that fucking shirt. With my name on it? So everyone could see that you’re mine?" Bucky licked his already swollen lips. You pressed your thighs together, feeling how wet you were. He definitely felt that motion because his eyes became darker, and he looked like he was going to devour you at that same place.

"James…" You quietly whimpered, not being able to hold yourself anymore.

"Baby, fuck– doll, I love it when you call me that. You drive me insane." He decided not to lose any more time, so his hands went straight to the button of your jeans. He helped you get out of them, not losing a chance to touch your bare legs. "Now turn around, baby." You heard a deep moan, probably when he saw the back of the shirt again.

"Bucky, please." You whispered when you felt that more juices came out of you. You loved when your boyfriend became needy and possessive.

"Look at you, doll. You're already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet." He said that when he put his hand over your pussy, he probably felt the heat and pulse. "I would’ve eaten you out, but I need you too fucking much, so I promise to do it when we get to my place."

"O-okay, just do something, please." You pushed your ass back and heard a loud, deep moan as soon as you touched Bucky’s hard cock through his pants. You put your hands behind your back to try to push down his clothes, and at the same time, Bucky removed your black thongs.

You felt his hard cock on the bare skin of your ass, the tip already leaking with pre-cum. Bucky squeezed your ass with his hands and moved his hips. His perfectly shaped cock grinded against your wet folds, and you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your throat.

"Please, don’t tease me–" You didn’t even finish the sentence when Bucky moved forward and buried himself deep inside of you. The mixture of pain and pleasure washed over you, and you didn’t even realize that you moaned too loudly. He was too perfect, filling you completely and stretching you around him in the most delicious way.

"Sh-h, sweetheart, you don’t want other people to hear you, right?" One of Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt and laid on your stomach, and the other one covered your mouth, pulling you closer to his chest. "Good girl." He mumbled into your ear when you shook your head.

Bucky pulled away from you, still staying deep inside of your heat, letting you adjust to his size. He put one hand from your mouth on your back, which made you lean forward toward the lockers. The cold metal cooled your hot skin, but it still felt like you were burning inside.

Bucky finally started moving his hips, and the filling of his dick coming in and out of you made you almost faint. You two had sex a million times, but it still amazed you how full and satisfied he made you feel.

"That’s right, doll. You’re so greedy for my dick, huh?" He started to go faster, and you tried to move your body to his rhythm. "Was this your plan? Showing me that fucking jersey, so I could fuck you like a little slut you actually are?" His hand went over your back, tracing letters on your shirt with his fingers, and his motions became harder. In fact, it wasn’t your idea, but you should definitely thank Natasha because you really didn’t expect your boyfriend to become even more obsessed with you.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and you clenched around Bucky’s cock, making him moan. "I feel how you’re clenching ‘round me. I know that you like it when I call you my slut. Only mine."

"Yes, Bucky– James, please." A sudden slap on your right cheek pulled another moan out of you, and Bucky just chuckled, knowing that you’re always loud with him.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum, please– James! I’m so close." You felt too overwhelmed with pleasure, not even realizing that you started crying when his fingers moved to your clit, drawing little circles there.

"Fuck, one day I’m gonna make you Mrs. Barnes, so you will have a well-damn reason to wear this shirt." He deeply chuckled, moving harder and harder into you. More nasty sounds of skin slapping into skin and your not-so-quiet moan filled the room. "Can you imagine that, baby? Being my cute little wife, who likes when I fuck the shit out of her? Poor doll, crying. Can’t even handle my cock deep inside your pussy, can’t you?" He moved even deeper into you, and that was it.

"God– James!" You slammed your hands on the metal near your face, trying to find something to hold onto, as the wave of heat and extreme pleasure covered your whole body and mind. Your legs trembled, and the only thing that kept you straight was Bucky’s strong hands. He felt that you were over the edge, that you couldn’t stand on your legs, and he definitely felt more juices coming out of you. He looked down and saw how his shiny cock was coming in and out of your pussy that was particularly choking him, and that sight threw him over the edge. With the last movement, he pulled your body into him, wrapping his hands around you and releasing his hot seed deep inside of you.

You both moaned at the feeling of you being so full of his cum that it had already started dripping down your thighs.

"That’s it, baby." Bucky whispered into your ear. "You did so well. Are you okay?" He left light kisses on your cheek.

It was too intense; not a single thought came to your head, and for a few seconds you tried to put yourself together.

"Mhm." It was the only thing that you were able to answer because your body was still trembling with the leftovers of your intense orgasm.

You two stayed in that position for a few minutes until Bucky realized that you had become too sleepy. He tried to pull out, but you grabbed his hand.

"‘M too sensitive." You almost cried.

"I know, sweetheart, but now I have to clean you and take you home." Bucky gently came out of you, and your body got goosebumps at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you. It took him all the strength not to shove it back into you with his fingers, but you were obviously too tired, and he couldn’t properly take care of you since you weren’t at his or your bedroom.

Bucky fell on his knees, quickly took a towel from his bag on the floor, and carefully cleaned the mess between your thighs. He reached for your panties, helped you put them back, leaving a soft kiss on your leg, and then helped you sit on the bench.

He looked at your sleepy and tired face while putting on his clothes.

"Hey, doll? You’re too quiet. Is everything okay? Was I too rough?"

"I’m ‘kay, it was just as intense as when you make me come many times in one night. Just help me with my jeans; I can’t feel my legs."

"Of course, sweetheart." He helped you with your pants and then fixed your messy hair. You couldn’t imagine how you must’ve looked right now. "I love you so much. Thank you for being here today. You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to me." Bucky kissed your forehead and wrapped his hands around your body, standing up with you.

"I love you too, Buck. So so much." You happily buried your face into his neck, knowing that your boyfriend was going to take care of everything.

He picked up his bag and keys for the locker room and came out of there. Bucky didn’t even close the door when he heard a familiar voice.

"Do not tell me that you two did what I think you did!" Sam was standing there a few steps away with disgust and shock on his face. "I didn’t expect that from you, Y/N/N." He joked.

"Sorry, Sam." You moved away from Bucky’s neck and tried to give Sam your best apologetic smile.

"Well, I’m not. Since you’re here, close the door, Birdbrain; we hurry."

Sam stood there for a few more moments after Bucky left with you in his arms.

He decided that the headphones that he left in the room could wait until another time.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #college bucky barnes #football player bucky barnes #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfiction

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rippersz · 10 months

Text

𝖰𝗎𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺

───※ ·❆· ※───

(An OC/Named Reader x Larissa Weems one-shot) (Bittersweet/angsty. Possible part 2 depending on feedback.)

Summary: Odette sends a letter and it ends up in the wrong hands.

───※ ·❆· ※───

‘January 11th, 2023

Odette,

I am terribly sorry to inform you that the letter you sent to a woman named Mirabelle did not end up in her hands. I believe the mail carriers fell short along the way and got it mixed up within my pile of documents; thus my wayward response to you. Considering the nature of your words (I must admit I read them - my actions were caused by split curiosity and confusion), I suggest you re-envelope and reseal your letter before sending it again. I have slipped it in with this one. And if you choose to listen to me, then we shall both hope your sentiments arrive to Mirabelle in a timely fashion with no surprise stops along the way. Until then, someone must tell her that she is a very lucky woman.

And that I am very sorry she broke your heart.

Happy New Year Odette. Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 18th, 2023

Larissa,

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness. I am far sorrier than you are. Obviously if I knew that was going to happen, I would not have let it. Okay that doesn’t make much sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean. I think. Hopefully? Anyway, thank you very much for sending the letter back. I gave myself some time to think it over and did as you suggested. New envelope, new seal, new everything. Except the perfume on the letter was different. Are you wearing Jean Paul Gaultier? It’s very nice. Mirabelle may appreciate the mix of scents (I’m wearing Marc Jacobs - Daisy), so at least she’ll get something out of it. The words, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily. That’s a big flaw, I think. Oh well. I guess rambling’s a flaw too. And here I am. Forgive me?

Thank you again. Happy New Year. Odette’

‘January 23rd, 2023

Dear Odette,

Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault, as you know. And if I knew the letter did not concern me at all, I would not have read it. But, I’m sort of glad that I did. It was perhaps one of the best letters I’ve ever read in my entire life. Are you a writer, by any chance? If not, you should consider becoming one. The rambling could add a nice personal touch - it’s not as big a flaw as you think it is. It certainly introduced me to your keen sense of smell. Speaking of which, Daisy is wonderful. I may have a roll-on tube of that somewhere. Otherwise, you’re correct. La Belle was released in 2019, it has become my new personal favorite. Are you a perfume collector? Or perhaps a bloodhound? I jest, I jest. Though I do appreciate the follow-up. If Mirabelle doesn’t appreciate your love, I may have to send her a letter myself. That being said, please let me know what she says? If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.

Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 29th, 2023

To Larissa,

You are far too kind. I write in my free time, yes, but I’m not sure I’m good enough to become a writer. However, your support still means a lot - even from all the way in California. Quite a long way, right? Crazy how paths cross. Anyway, I’m not a perfume collector, no. But my friend, Cassie, wears the same kind. I know for certain that she’d say you have good taste. And I’d agree. That bloodhound comment was funny. I know you can’t hear my giggling, but trust me when I say I am. I wish I could be as witty, but I don’t know what to say. My humor is typically made up of making fun of people. Do you have a guilty pleasure I can harp on? An embarrassing secret? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. And as soon as I get something back, I’ll let you know. Don’t start writing just yet.

Best, Odette’

‘February 5th, 2023,

Odette,

Telling you my secrets already? My, I believe we’ve skipped a few steps. What happened to a favorite color? A favorite memory? An age or profession, perhaps? If you couldn’t tell by now, I am still jesting. One of my guiltiest pleasures, though you may find it juvenile and silly, is the fact that I am a huge chocolate fiend. Many of my coworkers are aware that the best drink to buy me is a hot chocolate - hold the whipped cream. I am watching my figure after all. And because I pity your lack of matched wit, I’ll tell you that my biggest secret is the fact that I quite enjoy Taylor Swift’s music. Don’t ask me about my favorite song, I don’t think I could choose just one. Oh is that- is that the sound of your giggling? Maybe I can hear it from here, Ms. California. Now it’s your turn to hear mine. In the meantime, enlighten me on what you write about. I’m thinking poetry and free-form, with a focus on romance. I do a bit of writing myself from time to time, but it’s always in a diary. Never further. Perhaps you can do both of us justice and contemplate publishing? I’ll be the first to run to the shelves.

I hope you are well, Larissa W.’

‘February 13th, 2023

Dear chocolate fiend,

White. My first trip to New York City after Mirabelle. I arrived in the afternoon, went to see a movie, grabbed dinner and headache pills on the way back to my hotel room, and couldn’t sleep for the entire night. So I went out at 3 AM to see Times Square. It was only a block away and let me tell you, Larissa, it was beautiful. It was unlike anything. I felt safe for the first time in a while - beneath all of those lights. I was invincible. Not even loneliness could touch me. 27 and counting. Secretary. And potential writer. Someone I met recently has been trying to push me further into my hobby- to really adopt the lifestyle. You wouldn’t know them, though. Them? They/them? Please correct me if I’m wrong, Larissa. These letters wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable if I was calling you something you weren’t. As for me, I go by she/her. Mirabelle did as well. Does? Did? I’m not sure - I haven’t heard anything back yet. But that may be for the best. Horrid segue here (shame on little writer Odette), but Taylor Swift? Wow, I must be giggling quite loudly. HA HA HA HA HA!! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!! I swear that one day I’ll get a laugh out of you as well. In the meantime, as you say, I’ll happily inform you that you’re a psychic of some sort. Yes, I write poetry and free-form romance. Novels have never been my thing though. But if I did write any, I’d have to say psychological horror is a favorite. I may give it a crack if you’d edit for me? Unless you’re terribly busy, Ms. Vermont. Then please don’t worry your pretty little head.

I hope you’re ‘weller’ than I am, Odette

(P.S. Happy Valentines Day)’

‘February 19th, 2023

Dear sweet poet,

Do forgive the late response. Work has been keeping me busy; but if you’re serious about editing, I’m sure I can set some time apart for you. That memory of yours does sound quite glorious - nearly heavenly. Such freedom is a dream for many people, myself somewhat included, so I admit I’m the tiniest bit jealous. However, I could always visit the city in the summer. Times Square is already calling my name… maybe I’ll even see a certain 27 year old stranger there. Maybe we could even grab hot chocolate. But I suppose you’d rather enjoy your independence. That being said, you are quite correct - they/them is one of my preferred pronouns. Much like yourself and the mysterious Mirabelle, she/her is another. And I’m glad we both agree that these letters are quite a treat. I have not had a pen-pal in quite a long time. My old roommate and I used to talk after we graduated, but times change. Much like they did for you and Mirabelle. I believe I may have loved my roommate in that way, too… but it’s as I said. Then again, she was always more of a psychic than me. I just got lucky. As for the answers to my questions, I’m quite sure none of those were secrets. Unless, of course, your favorite color is known only by myself. In which case, I’d consider myself lucky again. But either way, come to the table please Odette. Tell me yours - but only if you wish to.

Weller is not a word, Best, Larissa W.’

‘February 23rd, 2023

Dear Larissa,

Weller is a word if I want it to be. That is my secret. No, but in all seriousness, you’re correct. Fair is fair. So I’ll grant you this: I’m a redhead. Ugh I know! I know! It’s terrible. Horrible. I’m sorry. If you find that you can’t stand me anymore, I understand. A writer, secretary, AND a redhead? What’s next? An FBI agent? I can’t disclose that information. Speaking of which, you have yet to answer your own questions. All is fair in love and pen-paling, am I right or am I right Larissa? It’s okay. You can admit it. I’m right. Just like I’m right in saying that your roommate made a big mistake if she’s not with you now. Speaking from experience, love like that is not something one finds often. I’d say I’m glad you experienced it, for it has its good moments, but I know that the ache can be bad. Quite bad. Not to worry, though! If you figure you want to send her a letter, you may get a pen-pal out of it. Kind of neat, huh?

I’m sorry she broke your heart, too. What a foolish woman. Tsk tsk.

Best, Odette’

‘February 28th, 2023

To the resident redhead,

How could you betray me like this? A redhead? On the other side of these pages? I feel scorned. Scorned and touched. Very much like a writer to offer comfort for an offhand comment. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know. And just for your information, Ms. I’m-Always-Right: Silver. Getting my teachers certification and celebrating with a few friends before life pulled us in different directions. It was a wonderful night. I haven’t laughed so much since - and that was quite a while ago. 32 next year. Principal. I do hope that was enough to sate your burning curiosity; I’m sure you can be at ease now. And since I do so enjoy meeting you halfway, I’ll tell you that I’m very fair-haired. Very. Perhaps one day you’ll see. Until then, don’t let the curiosity kill you little cat.

Best, Larissa W.’

‘March 5th, 2023’

‘March 12th, 2023’

‘March 16th, 2023’

‘April 14th, 2023’

‘May 21st, 2023’

‘June 9th, 2023’

...

And the months went on.

And on.

And every few days, another letter came. Another letter went. Another letter was written. Another letter was sealed. Another letter was received. Another letter was cherished. Kept. Forever a lovely memory. Larissa and Odette went and went and went- on and on and on- exchanging and smiling as each paragraph grew in length. From this to that and whatever else they could find to think about; they formed a banter and connection like no other. Poking fun, making jokes, referencing previous letters, gossiping until their hearts were content. Purring within their chests, eagerly awaiting another letter. It kept their days moving. It kept their souls dancing. From miles away, they cheered each time they saw the thin familiar scrawl of Larissa’s writing and the loopy tilted words of Odette’s penmanship. At one point, they even tried copying each other’s style. It was hilarious. It had both of them laughing at the same time - and later doing it purely to mock. Such things, little but large, were frequent and lovely. One time, Odette mailed a perfume scent strip of her new favorite; and Larissa, never one to be outdone, sent a roll-on tube of La Belle. Odette got so ticked off she made her promise that they stick to letters and paper only. Larissa, usually a stubborn soul, agreed. That was their dynamic. Their push and pull. Their agree to disagree. Never did they fight; rarely did they not see eye to eye; and constantly did they playfully argue. It was small things- small insignificant little things- but they moved the conversation along. And it made them smile. It made them laugh. And during the hardest parts, the parts in which life pinched at their skin and dragged at their souls, it made them cry. It made them weep. It made them open up. It led to Odette confessing that Mirabelle had left her and it led to Larissa confessing that Morticia had left her as well. Two women, two ships in the night, both of which got away. And not gently, not two slow drifts into the night, but a harsh yank. Morticia left school with a man on her arm and Mirabelle returned to California one day from a business trip in France with a ring on her finger. The two of them agreed that it was funny how life likes to slap lovers in the face. That it was funny how life likes to get in the way. And enjoys ending good things and ruining them. Taking them away too quickly. With no warning at all. Without a single goodbye.

The last letter Odette sent was on October 28th, 2024.

Larissa hadn’t responded to her previous one. Or the one before that. And eventually, after much contemplation, she gave up. It wasn’t healthy- worrying so much. Odette figured that perhaps, finally, her worst fear came true and that Larissa realized their little arrangement was more odd than she thought. That she knew virtually nothing about Odette, not even her last name. And that she didn’t find her amusing anymore and didn’t want to associate with her anymore and didn’t want to even say hello. Or goodbye. Or anything in between.

It broke her heart a little bit.

Okay it broke her heart a lot a bit.

The radio silence left Odette living on autopilot for weeks. Months. Nearly half a year. She’d get up, check her mailbox, and go to work - only to come home, check her mailbox, and go to bed - just to do the same thing over and over and over again. Day and night. Night and day. It was worse than Mirabelle. It was worse than anything. No amount of teenage angst or familial grief could get over the deep void left within her soul once those letters stopped coming. Once the friend she found by accident, the kindred spirit she stumbled upon, the woman she lov-…. well. Once that one person decided never to write again.

Though like most difficult things that left her raw, Odette’s heart began scabbing over. She cleared her desk, packed away the special pens she used, put the paper neatly into a box, and tucked the leftover Larissa letters away right along with those sweet memories. Then she put them into the back of a closet she rarely rifled through… and tried to forget it was all there. The La Belle, which she rarely touched, was hidden in her pajama drawer at the very back- wrapped up in old T-shirts she no longer wore. And every other thing that existed around her, that reminded her of Larissa, was pushed out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight… out of mind.

The company was celebrating her 5 year anniversary. They wanted to fly her out to Vermont. Jericho, Vermont. To have a little vacation there. To enjoy life. To fucking torture her.

She almost didn’t go. She almost canceled entirely. She almost quit her goddamn job because that was the same job she had when she first met Lar-…..

But she went anyway. Vermont was large enough. She’d be fine.

And she was, much to her surprise. She was entirely fine. It was a beautiful change of season; the air was crisp, the trees were changing color- morphing back into sunny greens. The world enjoyed its rain as April introduced May to Jericho and as the year of 2025 blossomed into being. Odette spent her days reading, taking walks, basking in the beauty of the log cabin the company rented for her. It was truly lovely. Truly a dream come true. And she didn’t even think- didn’t even wonder- about the other ship that got away from her. That barely even brushed past her, or lingered, before parting the water and skating away into the night all those months ago.

It was blissful. It reminded her of New York. Of that freedom- that independence- that song within her soul, dredged up from the depths.

But there was one thing.

One tiny little thing.

One little reminder that never left her. That she didn’t let go of.

“Hot chocolate, no whip, for Odette?”

A small smile grew on her lips as she slid out of the booth and made her way up to the counter. The young man met her eyes, returned the smile, and gestured to the warm cup on the counter with a nod of his head.

“Thank you lots.” And with that, she retreated to her booth.

Hot chocolate.

She wasn’t going to give up hot chocolate, let alone any chocolate at all, just because a distant soul enjoyed it. The whipped cream was something she wanted, but… old habits did always die hard, didn’t they? Oh most definitely. And as Odette reclined against the comfortable seat, eyes tracking the screen of her work laptop, hot chocolate firmly placed on the coaster to her right, she lived up to that sentiment with no room to spare. Leaving work at home was hard. She dove into it some time ago; dedicating more time, thinking, and hours into the well-oiled machine of her job just to distract her from everything outside of it. When she was there, responding, taking calls, managing dates and meetings and this, that, and the other, the world fell silent. Into a distant buzzy din. Into a land of muffled sounds and unimportant chatter - like her head was dunked under water as soon as she opened her emails. To a certain extent, it was calming. Repetitive and not at all that difficult after she figured out a proper routine; the worst part was dealing with those who couldn’t write properly. And in the professional world, that was rare. Well- if a person wanted to keep their job of course. And she definitely wanted to keep hers. It was fulfilling. Enriching. She made some friends, she shook some hands, she reassured her bosses. They knew she was reliable. Friendly. Odette never faltered. And they counted on that. Counted on her. Gave her the time of day. Responded when they could. Cherished her like a human. Like a friend. Unlike-

“Larissa? Hot chocolate, no whip?”

Odette blinked.

The muffled bubble popped. The world flooded back. She looked up from her screen.

Was she going mad? Crazy? Bonkers, finally? After all that time? Had she misheard? Maybe the young man said Patricia. Or Melissa. Or-

“Larissa! Hey, long time no see!”

Larissa.

Odette turned around in her seat so fast, she nearly broke her neck. She shuffled to the end of the booth, peered around the side, eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the table… only to feel her excitement die as soon as it existed.

Of course. Foolish her. She didn’t know what Larissa looked like. She never got a proper description. Never got a photograph. Or a phone number. Or anything at all. Just a P.O. Box and a state. Just… nothing.

“Hello Jerry, it has been a while, hasn’t it? How are you?”

No, she- well she did get something. She got little things. Details. Odette’s brow furrowed as her eyes, hazel and starry and glazed over with apprehension and fear and admiration and horror, ran up and down the woman’s body. She was tall. Larissa never mentioned tall. She was curvy. Larissa never mentioned curvy.

‘I am watching my figure after all.’

…She was stylish. Larissa never mentioned style and fashion.

“Oh I’m good, I’m good. What about you? How’s the semester going?”

“I’m well, thank you. It’s… well it’s definitely going, Jerry.” They shared a laugh.

She was English. Larissa never mentioned being English. She wore gloves. Larissa never mentioned gloves. She-

Wait. Semester?

‘Getting my teachers certification…’ ‘Principal.’

Odette felt her heart drop.

But-

“I’m sure it is! I- oh shoot. More customers. Sorry, Larissa. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course Jerry. You know where to find me. Until next time.”

Hazel eyes watched the stranger wave. Then turn around.

Oh.

Dear lord…

She didn’t recognize her- not really- but the fair hair, which only registered then… and the silver jewelry. And the… the…

Odette watched as the woman walked past. She watched and she felt her heart in her ears- pounding, clawing, dancing- as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. So deeply. So deeply it made her lungs ache. So deeply it made her soul tear in two.

La Belle.

Odette had never packed up her things so quickly. She never slammed her laptop closed so fast, never slid it into her bag so messily, never threw the bag over her shoulder or shoved her wallet into her pocket or grabbed the hot chocolate with such vigor ever before. Not once in her life. And rarely did she act so impulsively- not after Larissa. But seeing her then, somehow knowing deep within her soul that it was her… it broke- snapped- the thin resolve of Odette’s sanity and sent her flying out of the Weathervane like a bat out of Hell. She was burning up inside. Electric. Her eyes held fire and ice and so much warmth, so much desperation, that she nearly toppled over herself in her hurry.

The woman- Larissa- was a fast walker. Her long legs took her far as she distractedly typed on her phone with one hand and held the cup of hot chocolate in the other. Odette, being short and clumsy, was red and out of breath by the time she got close enough to call out her name. And call, she did. Call, cry, silently plead, she did.

“LARISSA!”

It was loud. Like a roar. Like a harrowing yell. Like something that held months and months and months of pain and sorrow and grief behind it. It instantly made her throat hurt, running it raw in only a second, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. Not when her voice got Larissa to stop in her tracks and turn around, eyes searching and confused.

Of course, as to be expected, she had no clue who she was. Not even an inkling. Larissa got no description either - not even a photo. All she knew was that Odette had red hair. And that a woman with red hair was storming toward her, all fucks thrown to the wind, sneakers smacking the pavement hard as she stomped down the sidewalk. Larissa looked utterly puzzled, slightly mortified, entirely put off by the sight of such a determined stranger. Like she wasn’t sure if she had done something wrong and if she had, she wasn’t sure how to fix it. But Odette would tell her. Odette would make it known.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

A rather harsh introduction, but necessary nonetheless. She didn’t even really mean to say it, but the surprised widening of Larissa’s eyes had a twisted spark of satisfaction spiraling up within her soul.

And her outburst, naturally, meant many things. Not just ‘What the fuck?’ but ‘What the fuck? Why did you disappear? What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I say something? Did something happen to you? Do you feel sorry? Do you miss me? Do you wish you responded? Do you hope to never hear from me again? Did you always know this would happen? Did you ever even bother to think that you should tell me you’re that beautiful? What the fuck, why are your eyes so blue? And why are they piercing? Staring at me? Heavenly and deep and never-ending? Like.. oceans… and why are your lips so soft looking and plump and red? Where did that scar come from? Do you hate it? Do you know that I like it even though I’m only seeing it now for the first time ever? Did you always wear your hair like that? How long does it take you to get it like that? How does it feel to take it out after a long day? Did you know your makeup is flawless? And that your jawline is magnificent? And that you’re so tall… and you look so strong… inside and out… and why the fuck did you not mention you were British? English? What does it matter? Just what the fuck? Why the fuck? How the fuck? What the fuckity fuck?!’

But overall, it only meant ‘What the fuck? Why didn’t you say goodbye?’

“I beg your pardon?”

Unfortunately, Larissa could never read minds. Or hearts. So the vague pangs of longing, like old rusted blood, only ached harder as the taller woman blinked and frowned.

A blush painted Odette’s cheeks. Right. Somehow, along the way of admiring, she’d forgotten. Larissa had no idea who she was.

“Um.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Suddenly, things were very awkward. Terribly awkward. So horribly bloody awkward. It was a wonder if Larissa could feel the odd lull in conversation, the sudden dousing of Odette’s flames, but it didn’t really matter. If she wanted to, Odette was sure that if she chose to walk away, if she chose to take one last look before turning around and never coming back, then Larissa would never know. Then she’d just be another story. Another odd memory to tell her children one day, if she ever wished to have them. In her letters, the taller woman admitted that she didn’t think she ever would. But Odette always had a feeling that she’d be an amazing mother. Looking at her then, taking in the perfect posture and the crisp seams of her clothing, the feeling became fact. Larissa would be the best mom.

Funny that… there was a time, long ago, where Odette fantasized about making sandwiches for picnics and uprooting her entire life. Just to see the proud smile on her pen-pal’s face as her child grew and grew and grew and flourished. And maybe even ended up calling her ‘mom’ one day too.

But as Larissa wrote once upon a time, things changed. Time went on. And that was how it was.

So she could turn around. She could very well wrench herself from her spot and drag herself back the way she came. She could apologize, tell her she was mistaken, and that she was sorry - and then she could walk off into the sunset and pretend nothing ever happened. She could burn the letters. She could burn the very memory of her. She could forget the name ‘Larissa’ entirely and all would be left to rest. And that would be that. Que sera, sera.

But Odette was never the type to give up easily. Mirabelle, wherever she was, could attest.

So instead of abandoning ship, she powered through.

“It’s Odette,” came her firm tone. She straightened her back and tilted her head to look up properly, trying to stand tall in the face of heartache.

But heartache didn’t recognize her.

“Have we… met before?” Larissa blinked, turning to present her full attention.

Odette flushed red. Angry. Sad. Liberated.

“Have- have we met before?” She repeated, scoffed, outraged by her old friend’s obliviousness. “Just how many Odettes do you know?!” Her hands ran to her hips, firmly rooting themselves there as she began tapping her foot and glowering.

Such a display had Larissa scanning her from head to toe, desperately scrambling for understanding and recognition. The loose T-shirt, the black leggings, the sneakers, the hazel eyes, the pretty features, the freckles, the plump cheeks and curved body, the bag on her shoulder, the hair on her head. Red. Fiery. Standing out against the blue of the sky like a stain on white fabric. Messy curls and natural red red red.

Red… red…

Odette watched as Larissa froze. Her lips fell open, her eyes widened, she could practically see the way her heart stopped in her chest.

She remembered.

“…Odette?”

The shorter woman nodded, slowly feeling the anger and excitement drain from her body. It was fun being anonymous for just a moment. It was fun being the only one that remembered - having the chance to feel properly scorned and betrayed. But that didn’t last very long. The come down was harsh. Quick. A fall from immense grace. Especially when she saw the tears. They welled up in Larissa’s eyes, glossy and wet, making those sapphires shine. So swift they were. So rapid. As if sparked by Odette’s very existence.

Though maybe Larissa wasn’t the one that was tearing up. Maybe it was just her. Maybe the haze of the world, growing slightly blurry, was caused by the water that threatened to fall over her own lashes.

“Yeah.” It was all she could think to say.

For even with all of her passion, even with her love of words and her many discarded story drafts (all coincidentally started in the year 2023), even with whatever eloquence she was naturally born with, Odette couldn’t come up with a single meaningful thing to say. There was much, of course. But none of it fit. None of it made sense. Everything that lingered on her tongue, finally unlodging itself from the stickiness of her throat, was too heavy. Too heavy for the moment. Too heavy for the sidewalk. Too heavy for the side of the street. Too heavy for Jericho. Out in the open. Vermont. Miles away from home. Too close too close too close. Too much all at once. Maybe running after her was a bad idea. Maybe taking the vacation was even worse. Maybe sending that letter to Mirabelle in the first place was the poignant moment in which she should have changed her mind and threw it away when she considered it.

But she hadn’t.

And so there she was, staring up at Larissa, suddenly helpless. That ship that passed her in the night all those months ago had come back around; except that time she had stumbled upon it herself. And she wasn’t entirely sure if she was grateful- or terrified. Maybe the ship hated her. Maybe the ship would crash into her and ruin her and maybe the ship would begin shooting cannons. Maybe the ship would continue right past her. Maybe the ship would-

-hug her?

Odette blinked, very much unsure of what was happening as soon as she felt the comforting weight of long arms pushing themselves under her biceps and interlocking behind her back. La Belle and the soft clean smell of faded shampoo filled her senses. Her nose. Her lungs. Her eyes. Her heart. And soul. Part of her was so confused it wanted to grasp Larissa’s shoulders and shove her off. And the other part of her, the part of her that had dreams about receiving another letter from the one that broke her heart, wanted to give in.

‘That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily.’

Odette’s arms pressed against Larissa’s waist. Their holds were odd, skewed by the cups of hot chocolate they held and the other items in their grasps. But nonetheless, it was… it was unlike anything. Each breath died on Odette’s tongue. She felt the atoms in her brain disappear. Like they never existed at all.

“I’m sorry.” It was said so softly, she was near certain it wasn’t uttered at all. But then Larissa was pulling back, hands shaking as she brought them to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was grief in her eyes. A sadness that not even the most haunted of poets could explore, nor understand, nor emulate. It gleamed. It cut Odette in half. It had her taking steps back, suddenly unsure. Suddenly disoriented.

“What-… what happened?” She was breathless, bewildered at the sight of regret swimming in Larissa’s eyes.

The taller woman opened her mouth… then hesitated. Her gaze burned through her old friend- then twitched away and ran over the world around them. The sidewalk, the street, the shops, the Weathervane, the town itself. They were out in the open. And their… reunion… was too good for that. Too painful for that. Odette watched as Larissa’s lower lip quivered; as the thoughts ran through her mind at the speed of light. And before she even spoke, she knew what she was going to say.

“Please, come with me,” her voice was soft. Silken. Heavy with guilt. Pouring with unspoken words.

It was Odette’s turn to hesitate. Years… nearly. However much time. She didn’t really know. She stopped keeping track once she realized she was losing sleep over it. Hours upon hours of sleep. It affected her work - it affected her body. It slit the throat of her life and dragged it through dirt. ‘It’ being the silence. ‘It’ being the goodbye that never came. ‘It’ being Larissa, Larissa, Larissa.

The same Larissa who held an apology wound up in her lungs. The same Larissa who looked down at her as if she couldn’t quite believe she was real, standing before her, breathing and living. The same Larissa whose shaking hands held a cellphone and a cup of hot chocolate that was swiftly running cold. The same Larissa with the same shining eyes that glistened with tears and crackling memories and affection, warmth, that seemed so out of place. Years without the comfort of that dove-like soul… years without the… the love? Love? Is that what they had? Perhaps it was too little too late to wonder. Perhaps Odette was just dipping into wishful thinking. Giving into the dreams she repeated over the years. With every word, every breath, every letter - she found herself begging. Pleading. ‘Please. Please please please invite me to Vermont. See me. Know me. These pages are killing me.’ All of it secretly scrawled between her slanting lines. Running in circles behind her hazel eyes. Displayed for Larissa, even though Larissa did not exist before her at the time.

Not like she did in that moment. In Jericho. In tears.

“Let me explain, Odette. I meant- I… just- give me a chance.” Larissa blinked her tears away and straightened her shoulders, tone growing desperate, body growing tense.

Never before did she sound like that in their letters. But never before did she leave Odette for so long. Interesting circumstances… Funny how life ended things so quickly. Funny how life brought out the truth in a person when they felt themselves tugged at a loss. Pushed to their knees. Though she said she had an explanation… and her old friend had never been a liar.

“Okay,” Odette breathed, clearing her throat. “Okay.”

“Really?”

‘Yes of course, really,’ Odette thought, looking at her with a mix of surprise and anger and devotion. ‘What are you, mad? I’d never just walk away. I’d never just give up. I can’t help myself. I never could. You know this. You know me.’

───※ ·❆· ※───

I quite enjoyed writing this. Might take a break from writing 'Heat' and 'To People Watch One Person' for a bit- same with requests. For the foreseeable future, whatever comes to mind will be written. I've started watching GOT again... and a certain Ser of Tarth has strummed the strings of my heart {as always} so maybe expect something with her? Dunno. Either way, thank you for staying with me. You mean the moon and stars, believe me. - Ripley x

───※ ·❆· ※───

#fanfiction #larissa weems #wlw fanfic #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x you #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #rippersz #gwendoline christie #angsty fic #bittersweet fic

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racinggirl · 4 months

Text

Collision of hearts - 01

Lando Norris x OC (Fayenne Jackson)

word count: 2k warnings: none notes: I hope you like the first chapter, please let me know what you think about the piece at the end, I'm planning on incorporating that a lot more! Any way of feedback, whether it's positive, negative, in the comments, in my asks, as a reblog in the tags is very very welcome <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, read the bottom of this post 🧡

masterlist (will be up somewhere this week)

prologue

next part

🏎️ = Lando

⛸️ = Fay(enne)

⛸️

‘’You go first, I don’t want to be the one falling through the ice, that’s cold!’’

I let out a soft chuckle as my friend, Melanie, stood at the edge of the lake, a scarf around her neck, gloves around her fingers as she looked from the ice to me, very quickly. See, I loved to skate, it was something I used to do when I was little, something to escape the world for just a moment. No, I wasn’t a professional skater, I wish I was, though. I started on some home-made skates my father made me for my 6th birthday. I fell, a lot, but that’s part of life. You fall, get up, fall again, and keep trying till you get better and better, and that’s exactly what I did.

I’m 23 now, and my best friend is holding her phone with her right hand, positioning it so she’d capture the perfect content for when I’d fall through the ice.

‘’It’s been freezing for almost a week straight, Mel, the ice is thick enough!’’ A smile appears on my face when I hear the metal of my skates touch the still untouched ice. It was a beautiful sound, soft, but it pierced through my ears like it was the only thing I could hear. A few steps onto the ice, and I slowly turned around, watching how Melanie slowly put away her phone.

‘’Damnit, that would have made some great content to be fair.’’ She looked over at me with a smirk, a playful one, because I knew she didn’t mean that.

Melanie, she has been my best friend ever since kindergarten. We basically grew up together, only under very different circumstances. We finished primary school together, and even secondary school. However, after that, she went into a different direction for her career, one my parents would never allow me to take. She started modelling, and I was lying when I’d say I wasn’t jealous of her. She started of doing a few shoots for some of her boyfriends at the time. I know what you might be thinking, but Mel would never do THOSE kinds of shoots. She wasn’t your everyday influencer Instagram model, not at all, she’s smart, and made sure to have a backup while modelling.

‘’Come on! It’ll be fun, and totally safe.’’ I teased, skating around the lake to make sure every bit of the water at the top was frozen. I felt like a fish in the water, but on the ice, and not a fish, because that would be… You know what I mean. I felt like home on the ice. Like I said before, I’m not a professional skater. I’m actually a lawyer. I ended law school this year, and I couldn’t be happier to have finished it and never look into those books ever again. I’m a terrible lawyer, at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

‘The only way to do great work is to love what you do’

And well, I don’t love it. I hate it, even. I know many people would want to have a law degree, I know many people would want to finally have that paper and help people, help the innocent ones. But that’s the thing, you don’t get to choose who you defend, especially as a beginner. You take every job you can get, and that’s mostly not the one of the victim’s defenders. You’ll have to work with stubborn people, criminals, the so called ‘bad guys’.

‘’Okay, okay, fine, hold my hand.’’ I skate towards my best friend and hold out my hand for her, making sure she would be stable on the ice before we moved on the slippery surface.

‘’You’re doing great, Mel, just remember, lean forward, and focus on where you want to go.’’

Melanie has supported me every step of the way, even when I finished my degree and got a job at the local skate centre instead of being a lawyer, the path my parents set out for me. It was a hard decision, and one that came with consequences, but it was the first time I had actually gone against my parent’s commands. I felt torn, because they were the ones that paid for my university, they were the ones that made all the effort and what did I do? I just chose my own way, my own path, after everything they did for me. I know they want to see me happy, but telling them I wouldn’t be happy pursuing my career as a lawyer was the hardest thing to do, and they didn’t take it well. That’s why I moved out. That’s why I took the job as a skate instructor for the little kids, ages around 7 to 9, at the local skate centre.

‘’I have a better idea, why don’t we grab a hot chocolate and have dinner at my place tonight? I heard there’s this new club opening, and guess who got tickets for the grand opening?’’ She tugged my hands slightly, mostly to keep herself balanced on the ice, but also because of the excitement.

That’s the thing of having a well-known friend, she always knew where to go and where to be, receiving invitations for one of the biggest club openings, and me always being her plus one.

‘’One more round on the ice, and we have a deal.’’

‘’Okay,’’ Melanie groaned, holding my hand tightly. ‘’Fine, but just one!’’

🏎️

‘’What’s up chat! I’m back! I know, three times in a row, pretty mint huh?’’ I positioned myself in the chair, the headphones on my head, a snack on the side, next to my bottle of water. I scan through the chat, trying my best to read some of the comments, ignoring most of them.

The season ended, not the best way possible, but it could have been worse. The upgrades we brought the second half of the season made a big improvement to the car, and I’m quite glad about that. We’re going into the direction I wanted, which is up, and times like these are the moments I’m grateful for the patience I’ve had with McLaren.

‘’It’s gonna be a shorter stream though, chat, cuz I have somewhere to be after this.’’ I take a bite from the biscuits I held on the desk, immediately taking a sip of water after it.

‘Do you have a date?’

‘Where are you going after this?’

‘What are you eating?’

I quickly scan through the reactions, not really answering any of them. I loved to stream. I wasn’t able to do it a lot because of the busy season we had. Because of the busy schedule I had, but right now it was a little more toned down, meaning I had found a few free hours I could sit and talk to the camera on Twitch.

‘’Thanks for all the gifted subs, everyone! Holy shit, I can’t even keep up with them.’’ I laughed, trying my best to thank every single person that popped up on my screen. I never could get used to the amount of support I was getting from the fans. People chanting my name, the thousands of bracelets people would make for me, taking the time and effort to create something for me, it was surreal.

As the chat buzzed with questions and comments, I couldn’t help but smile at the energy radiating through the screen. The support from my fans was overwhelming in the best possible way. I glanced at the clock, realising time was ticking away faster than I anticipated.

‘’Alright, let’s jump into a quick Q&A, chat!’’ I announced, grabbing a handful of questions popping up in the chat. ‘’First up, where am I headed after this? Well, I’ve got a charity event lined up. Gotta give back when I can, right?’’

The chat exploded with emojis and words of encouragement. I chuckled at the flood of enthusiasm, feeling grateful for the platform that allowed me to connect with such an incredible community.

‘’Next question,’’ I continued, scrolling through the comments. ‘’What am I eating? Just some biscuits, nothing fancy.’’ I reach for the packaging of the biscuits, showing them to the camera. ‘’Not sponsored!’’ I joked afterwards.

Time flew by faster than expected, and as the charity event drew nearer, I reluctantly announced the stream’s conclusion. The chat flooded with messages expressing gratitude and excitement for the next stream.

‘’Thanks everyone, it’s been fun! You’re the best, love ya. I’ll catch you in the next one.’’ I said, creating a heart with my hands before I ended the stream.

I quickly gathered my things, leaving the streaming setup behind as I rushed to the charity event.

⛸️

It’s been a while since I went out to a club, especially one where a basic pair of jeans and a nice top weren’t ‘good enough’. The club we were headed to wasn’t your ordinary ‘I’m bored with my friends so let’s go out’ kind of club, not even close. It was a higher-end, new, influencer filled kind of club, one where normal people like me wouldn’t usually get access to. At least, if you didn’t have a model as a friend.

Melanie had been modeling ever since we finished secondary school, she got scouted by many modeling agencies across Europe, but she always chose the one near London, near me. She was like an older sister to me and when times were rough, she’d be there and vice versa.

‘’You know? I’m quite jealous of you, actually.’’ Melanie got me confused by that comment, she, jealous of me, what for?

‘’Oh?’’ I furrowed my eyebrows slightly but remained focused on applying my mascara.

‘’Your natural beauty, your eyebrows, your lashes, and oh my god your lips.’’ She said, sipping her wine as she applied some nude lip-gloss on her plump lips. I knew where she was going with it all. I never had surgery, not once in my life. I never wanted to, because maybe I was a little proud of my so called ‘natural beauty’. I barely wore make up, and whenever I did, it was a simple clear brow gel and a lip balm. My lashes were dark, black, long and they had volume without me having to do anything about it aside from curling them. My eyebrows weren’t black, but a nice dark colour of brown that matched my hair. My lips, never done anything about them, no fillers, nothing. I’m not saying anything is wrong with having fillers, I think it’s beautiful on Melanie, really natural as well, it just wasn’t something I’d see myself doing.

‘’Your lips are so.. urgh, plump, I wish I had that.’’ She says as she finished her make up and moved on to pick out an outfit from her never-ending closet. ‘’What do you think, this Versace dress? Oh, or this Elisa one?’’ She says, holding out two black sparkly dresses.

‘’Left,’’ I start the beginning of my next sentence. ‘’You have gorgeous lips.’’ I say, full honesty. ‘’Yeah, but they’re fake.’’ Melanie says and simply grabs the Elisa dress and starts putting it on, making sure every one of her curves and pros of her body were nicely hugged with the expensive fabric.

‘’Mel…’’ I sighed, closing the tube of mascara, and placing it back in her vanity as I almost always used her make up. ‘’I know, I’m just kidding, I’m just saying, maybe you should start to model too, it’s gonna give me competition, but if it’s you, I can handle it.’’ She teases with a smirk, making me roll my eyes.

‘’Come on, Fay, let’s go.’’

...

taglist

@smoooothoperator @itsjustkhaos @tpwk-cherie @skynel09 @peqch-pie @aphroditeisamilf

a/n: if you want to be added to the taglist, comment ❤️ down below

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softlyspector · 1 year

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Mothers

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc is trying. Really, he is. But mothers are never an easy topic. Or, Marc attempts several difficult conversations.

Tales Untold; Part V - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings (this chapter): angst, fluff, Marc Spector's terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, known menace Jake Lockley, mental health issues, feelings of guilt, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past death, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: Hello! Here is the chapter a day early as promised! This part was originally 3k, oops.

I'm still unsure if anyone actually reads the author's notes, but I want to say thank you again. This chapter contains the scene that inspired the series! Memories and relationships are so complicated, especially when your perspective has to shift and you have competing views, and when other things like grief come into play it only makes things more complicated. This chapter tries to tackle that. I'm sure many of you can probably tell, I have issues with my own mother (mine is not like the reader's, or Marc's), and I just want to say thank you for letting me write something so cathartic. Moon Knight in general is really special to me but that facet in particular really hit home and made me question things about myself and my own childhood. I hope it resonates with you all as well and that I've done the topic justice.

Again, I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means everything to me. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:48 PM

Marc sighs loudly through his nose.

“Stop being a pussy about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake.”

Jake promptly flips him off where he’s reflected in the shop’s front windows. Marc just huffs out another breath, irritated, and tunes out his muttering alter. He grips the cold steel rung of the ladder he’s standing on, both for support and to ground himself.

He misses Steven at that moment, because Steven would leave him alone about the date.

Probably.

“...said date -,” Jake continues. “Steven would agree with me. We definitely heard date.”

Or, maybe not.

Steven would probably harass him about it just as much.

“I also heard date, mate,” Steven chimes in agreement suddenly. “Definitely said date.”

Marc rolls his eyes.

So, he wouldn’t then. He would not leave Marc alone about it.

Marc grits his teeth and ignores both of them, reaching a hand out to finger one edge of the curling burnt orange wallpaper.

It’s true. You had said the word date to be sure.

It’s a date, is precisely what you’d said.

But people said that shit all the time. It was just an expression.

You hadn’t meant anything by it.

You couldn’t have.

It was just an expression.

It’s just something people say.

“Fuck off,” he snaps at both of them, when they continue muttering, trying and failing to refocus on the peeling wallpaper in front of him. “You’re distracting me.”

Jake snorts and Steven shushes him.

That little outpouring of emotion had been nearly a week ago, and Marc tries not to regret it. He tries not to let the shame that curls around his shoulders, that grows like a slow moving vine around his lungs and heart, strangle him.

But his heart beats like a caged bird whenever he thinks about it, like it would snap his ribs just to be free from his body. The nervous flutter of his pulse serves to remind him that he’s said too much to you.

That you did not deserve that kind of weight on your shoulders.

“I’ll just go on the fuckin’ date then.”

“You -,” he snarls, rounding on the glass, the ladder wobbling precariously, “- will not.”

Jake just smirks and crosses his arms, like he’s proud of himself for being able to get a reaction out of Marc.

Marc rolls his eyes again, so hard this time it hurts a little.

He’s still getting used to Jake, still trying to come to terms with having him around, especially when Jake seemed content to antagonize him most of the time.

It’s playful, really. Like the annoyance of a sibling that was intent on getting a rise out of him.

Even with Jake’s teasing, he’d much rather be here on the ladder staring at your wallpaper than upstairs.

He feels guilty, for leaving you alone with his father. But agreeing to have him over at your place for dinner at all had been more than enough of a challenge on its own.

It had been hard. To walk his father over to Tales Untold, his safe place, and meet you at the door. It had been hard to watch you smile and tilt your head, and lead them up the stairs. It had been hard to watch you turn your attention onto someone else.

They’d sat around your kitchen island, and you and Elias had done most of the talking while Marc sat silent and tense, not sure how to join a familial, familiar conversation.

You had set a beautiful spread, with candles and your good silverware and crystal, and a tablecloth laid haphazardly across the counter because it wasn’t the right size.

Although Marc hadn’t spoken for most of the meal, he had watched you, and followed the careful way you made your way through the conversation, the way your hands moved when you got excited about something.

He’d even learned things about you - like that you hadn’t finished college and were a server before you moved back to Chicago.

It hadn’t been as awkward or painful as he’d expected it to be. But he feels a large part of that is due to the fact that you were there. He was in your space, your domain, and by extension maybe his own. You’re safe there, and so is he.

He doesn’t like to think about what that means, that he’s become attached not only to you, but to your place. That he’s starting to feel at home there.

Home.

He’s starting to feel at home with you.

His father hadn’t commented on the piano, and Marc still isn’t sure how to feel about it. But when the plates were cleared away and you offered dessert, Marc hadn’t been able to sit still any longer. A strangely nervous energy had sizzled in his veins, washing away any sense of security he usually felt around you.

Family dinners weren’t exactly pleasant experiences for him, and it had been a long time since he was forced into that kind of box, especially with his father.

He shouldn’t have left you alone, but he thinks you probably understand. He’d helped you clear the dishes, before he leaned in next to you at the sink and said, “I’ll wash ‘em later for you. No, listen, please leave ‘em there. I need to go work on the wallpaper downstairs.”

He hadn’t needed to do anything. The wallpaper is your project and certainly not a pressing one.

Your mouth had still been parted, where you’d started to protest his insistence with the dishes, and it had been a struggle to maintain eye contact when all he wanted to do was stare at your mouth. “Okay,” you’d pressed your hand against his forearm, warmth jolting up his arm. You’d slid your thumb along his skin and nodded, “Okay. Go ahead.”

And, despite everything, you and his dad seem to get along fine. You found easy conversation with most people and his dad was no different.

The day before the dinner had been more stressful to you than anything else. You’d fretted over what to make for dinner, and Marc had helped you grocery shop and cook. “My dad keeps kosher,” he’d said while you pushed a shopping cart down an aisle, nervously chattering about what you could make.

You had paused, head tilting to the side. “He does?”

“He’s a rabbi.”

“Oh,” you’d continued pushing the cart before you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, my god. Marc, you’ve eaten at my place so many times…It wasn’t - I mean I don’t know if it was kosher -,”

He’d pressed a hand to the small of your back, urging you along, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I don’t keep kosher. My dad does. It’s okay, it would have been on me to tell you if I did.”

You still looked nervous despite his reassurance, anxiously consulting the list of ingredients on your phone as you chewed on your lower lip. “Look, a kinda shortcut is to make something vegetarian. It’s usually kosher that way. And I’ll make sure everything in your kitchen is kosher.”

“Oh! I’m vegetarian.”

Oh, Steven would love that.

“Great,” he had reassured you. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure it’s all fine.”

And he had. And it was. And he’d liked cooking with you, even though it didn’t seem to be something you did all that often.

Marc likes all the little mundane things you do together. Home improvement and grocery shopping and going to the hardware store and cooking.

He shakes the memory away and looks at the wallpaper again, orange and patterned with gold leaf. It’s curling off the walls, peeling down in strips in other places where you’d torn at it with your hands.

You’ve yet to paint your flower boxes, and Marc still hasn’t built you a new sign or finished repointing the brickwork. The fucking bell is still rusted where it hangs above your door.

Only one of the warped glass panels in the wooden front door has been replaced so far. A single pane of colorless glass replaced by a red and yellow image of a bird that you and Steven had made together one evening.

Despite all of those uncompleted projects, he’d caught you on a ladder earlier in the day ripping down strips of wallpaper when there had been a lull in customers. You’d had an odd expression on your face as you did so, one Marc couldn’t read.

Marc stares at the peeling paper, and what lay beneath. He wishes you would have said something before ripping it down. He probably could have salvaged it. The design is pretty.

“Marc!” You call. “C’mere, honey.”

He gut lurches with that pleasant little nickname you’ve gifted him. It feels unfair, like something he should get to call you, not the other way around. You’d first called him that in the hardware store, your hand curled around his bicep when you saved him from the sales person.

“Honey,” Jake coos at him. “Aw.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles before calling out to you, “Comin’!”

Jake cackles, and Marc knows he thinks he’s slick, but it's hard not to notice how much Jake has been showing up lately compared to before.

Jake likes you too, and he’s really only half joking about being the one to take you on a date.

He steps down the ladder to weave through the shelves to the back of the shop.

You’re just stepping down the last few steps of the back staircase, his father in tow behind you.

Before he can reach you, you’ve turned to his father and taken his hands in yours. “Thank you for coming over, Elias. I hope my cooking wasn’t too bad.”

“It was delicious. Thank you…for everything.” Elias’s eyes cut to where Marc stands before flicking back to you, an unreadable look passes between the two of you and he’s left to wonder what Elias means by that, what the two of you talked about.

Marc’s hands curl into uncomfortable fists at his sides, but he makes an effort to smile.

By the snort you try to choke back he doesn’t do a very good job. “You’re very welcome,” you say to his father. “Marc will walk you home.”

Elias blinks over at him again. “You won’t be coming with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” you say apologetically. “I have a lot to do around here. You see how Marc has been terrorizing my wallpaper.”

Marc shifts his gaze to you, glaring. “Right, it’s me terrorizing the wallpaper.”

To Marc’s surprise, his father laughs. “Okay, maybe another time then. For tea or coffee, whatever you prefer.”

You nod, though Marc knows you have no intention of ever accepting an invitation. Not without him, at least.

The thought warms him, just a little, that you wouldn’t even walk over to the house with them, not if Marc didn’t want you to.

He ushers his father ahead of him through the crowded aisles.

But before he can follow, you reach out and cup one hand under his arm, your fingers hooking in the crease of his elbow. “Are you coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you smile, rub your thumb against the delicate ridge of bone in his arm. “Tonight went well.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

It did.

Even if he’d had to escape a little early.

You laugh again, though he can’t fathom why. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” Your thumb traces over his skin again, before you release him and turn away.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 8:15 PM

His father is talking about you, moving around the living room slowly, gathering up a book and his reading glasses.

Elias likes you a lot.

Since Marc’s breakdown, since he finally explained to his father how hard it is to be at home, things have been less strained between them. A certain tension still lingers in the air, but not as thick as it had. It’s possible to breathe now, possible to stand still.

His father seems to understand why it's hard for Marc to be in the house, why it's hard for him to be around Elias himself. And Marc supposes it's a good enough start.

Nothing between them is fixed and Marc isn’t sure it ever can be. He doesn’t know if he wants to try, if he wants to reconcile.

Is there anything to reconcile?

It’s the one question he consistently comes back to. He doesn’t know if what had been fractured between them can ever be fixed again, or overlooked.

“Are you heading back over to Tales Untold?” Elias asks as he settles in an armchair, his book on his knees.

“Yeah.”

Marc considers leaving then, just turning around and walking out the door without another word. But speaking with his father has become easier in the last week, like Marc broke the protective seal of cordiality that made both of them quiet.

He can do this. He can ask.

Elias looks surprised when Marc sits down in the opposite armchair and adjusts himself uncomfortably. “We gotta talk about the piano.”

His father slips his glasses on and then peers at Marc over the rim. “Okay, Marc.”

“We gotta talk about everything.” He swallows, remembering the way he’d broken the week before, dashed his heart on the rocks of the house.

For you. Because he was protective and worried about you.

But he doesn’t know if he can do all of that in one day. To ask about the alcoholism and the abuse and why his mother had hated him so much and why his father let her hate him.

“Not right now, though.” You’re waiting for him to come back, and he says as much.

His dad smiles at that, the twist of his mouth soft, and Marc can’t understand why it would garner that reaction. Marc doesn’t comment on it, decides he doesn’t want to know. “Why,” he starts, mouth dry suddenly, his tongue like sandpaper. “Why did you donate the piano?”

Elias’s shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out of them. “I know you think the worst of me, Marc. And I can’t really blame you. The two of us…we’re not good at talking. We never have been.”

Marc nods and waits, because it’s not an answer to his question.

The muscle along Marc’s spine pulls tight while he waits for an answer, like he’s on marionette strings about to be cut.

“Your mother never played the piano after Randall died, and neither did you. When you left, I still had hope that you’d come home. But when she died, that left me. Neither of you were ever going to play it again.” He glances away, “It reminded me too much of you. It was painful to look at.”

Marc goes still, trying to piece together what his father had just said.

Reminded him of Marc. Given away because it hurt, not because he was being erased, not because it reminded him of Wendy. It reminded him of Marc.

“I have to get back to Tales Untold,” Marc says abruptly, standing up sharply.

Elias nods, “You should just stay there. You’d probably sleep better.”

The suggestion catches Marc off guard. “I can’t just -,”

His father shrugs. “You could ask.” Before he cracks open the novel, he says, “We talked about Shabbat. You should both come to a service one Saturday. Together.”

“I…you did?”

“Yes,” he shrugs. “Seemed interested.”

He’s not sure why he says it, he should just turn and leave. “We had to go shopping for ingredients,” Marc says.

And then, before he can convince himself not to say anything more, tells his father about how you’d been nervous about cooking for him, and about the kosher incident at the grocery store.

Elias smiles and then laughs. “I think you’ve found a really good person.”

The words well up inside him, the urge to tell his father he doesn’t know what a good person is, not really. But the words die in his mouth, because it feels like an insult to you.

Because his father is right about that, at least.

You’re an inordinately good person.

“Goodnight, dad.”

His father doesn’t look up from his book, “Goodnight, son.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:58 PM

By the time he makes it back to Tales Untold, you’ve managed to rip down the wallpaper on an entire exposed wall.

“Well,” you plant your fist on your hip and examine the yellowed wall beneath, your other hand still tailing a strip of paper. “I suppose I’ll have to clean the wall.”

“Then what?” He leans back against one of the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest.

You purse your lips, humming under your breath. “Maybe I’ll paint a mural.”

“Oh yeah?” He watches your mouth twist, the flick of your eyes over the blank wall, like you’re seeing more than the empty space. “Why’d you want the wallpaper down anyways? We coulda fixed it back up.”

“Reminds me of my mom,” you say, suddenly bending down to gather up the paper left on the floor, bunching it up between your palms. “I mean,” your mouth twists to the side a little as you consider the wall. “This is all her. Not me.”

A sense of vertigo sweeps through Marc, because he associates everything here with you. “It is?”

You hum in confirmation but don’t look at him, your eyes firmly glued to the paper in your hands. “Upstairs. That’s my stuff. But everything else. The shop and everything out front was hers.”

And Marc becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that he’s never asked you. He knows nothing about your past, not really. In his mind, you’ve just always been there, standing in the sunlight at the back of the shop.

He almost bites down the question. But he’s already tried his hand at one hard conversation, maybe he could do it again.

“What…uh, what happened?”

You turn and smile at him. “You don’t have to ask,” you say before walking away.

Marc frowns after you before following. “Yeah well, I wanted to.”

You stuff the long ribbons of ruined wallpaper into the bin behind the counter, leaning into the wood with your head propped on your fist. “I lived with my dad out of state. Chicago isn’t really my home, but I spent every summer here with my mom. I think she - I think she was like me. I think she felt things from the stuff people donated.”

Marc leans opposite you, leaving one hand open and extended toward you. He hopes it's not too obvious, that he’s hoping you’ll reach out and fold your fingers between his.

He feels a spike of jealousy sometimes, for how easily Steven touched you and how easily you accepted his touch. He doesn’t know for sure if it’ll be the same with him as it is with Steven.

You don’t immediately take his hand, but that’s okay.

Jake is reflected in a nearby case, gesturing at you. “Just do it.”

He ignores him, giving the tiniest shake of his head.

“Maybe that’s why you thought you knew me,” you say, mouth quirking in a smile. “Maybe we saw each other in the summer around the neighborhood.”

He nods, “Yeah, maybe. You think this thing is hereditary?”

“Maybe. We never talked about it so maybe she was just intuitive.” You shrug and then reach to take his hand as Jake calls him a coward for waiting. “Anyways, she passed away last year.” You squeeze his hand, “It was right around the time your dad donated the piano.”

You slide your fingers over his wrist, and Jake has gone quiet in the reflection of the case, carefully watching you. “I was meant to clean this place out. Sell it. I’d already gone through most of her things in the apartment and I was just starting on the shop when your dad came by. Something about it…I dunno, I felt like I should stay. Not like I had a career anyways. I never finished college and this place was paid off a long time ago so,” you shrug. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the rest of the street got gentrified. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

You’re rambling a little, your words nervous in a way they’re usually not.

You look up and meet his eyes. “It gave me peace. I kept it for you as much as I kept it for me. I should have told you that before.”

He remembers the way you’d went still when you realized what piano he’d been looking for the first day he stumbled into the shop, the guarded, watchful cut of your gaze before he explained who he was.

Marc watches you for a long time, trying and failing to grip at the emotions twisting and roiling inside him. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling.

Both your mothers’ deaths had brought you together. His father had. The piano had.

Without any of that, he would have never had cause to come over to Tales Untold. He would have never had cause to meet you at all.

“I just left everything alone after that. Well, I moved my things in and repainted upstairs. But now, thanks to you and your criticisms of my storefront,” you smile and roll your eyes, “I decided I should make it more me. Y’know? Like upstairs.” You fidget again, glancing away from him, your grin fading.

Marc nods, still not sure what to say, the weight of something unknowable setting on his lungs. He never really considered that he might be impacting your life in any way. This weight isn’t uncomfortable, not like it usually is.

Your hands are still stroking over his, the pressure of your fingers pleasant and warm, soothing, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“I liked the orange.”

You grin, the sudden beam of your smile blinding him. “I did too. It just needs an update. I don’t want to erase the character of the shop. And I don’t want to erase her.”

Marc doesn’t know how to respond to that, since he’s had days he wished he could erase his mother. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though you’ll have no idea what he’s apologizing for.

“Hey,” you press your fingertips to the pulse point in his wrist. “It doesn’t erase your feelings, honey. It doesn’t make -,” you stop and take a breath. “She wasn’t perfect either, y’know. She was only a good mom when it suited her, and only when I got older. It’s why I lived with my dad. Even though it was complicated, I still loved her.” Your voice is quiet, “I think you struggle with that too.”

He doesn’t want to admit that. It makes thinking about Wendy all the harder, thinking about his past all the harder. “I don’t -,” he stops, meeting your gaze.

The shop is usually flooded with natural light. Now, you stand cocooned together in the low overhead lights. It casts odd shadows across your face, and a sudden exhaustion hits him all at once.

You don’t pull away, waiting. “It’s okay,” you soothe, still working the tension out of his hands.

“I don’t want to miss her,” he shifts, cradling your hands between his, slowly sliding his touch along your palms and the falls and valleys of your fingers. “That’s…it’s fucked up. I shouldn’t fucking miss her. I shouldn’t remember anything good and the piano -,”

He stops again, not able to continue. “I understand,” you muse. “It’s obviously not the same. But sometimes, I’m mad at her. She didn’t want to change who she was to be my mom. At the same time, I had a lot of good times with her.”

Marc looks up from your twinned hands at the same time that you do.

You disentangle one hand to shift an errant curl back from his face. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to mourn who she was before. It’s okay to miss and mourn the mother she should have been to you. It doesn’t make what she did to you any less terrible than it was. It just means things are complicated. It just means you’re human.”

Marc doesn’t look away from you, chasing the cut of your gaze. Your lashes lie thick against your cheek when you look down, like you’re embarrassed about all you’ve shared. He doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’d listen to you forever. He doesn’t want you to be embarrassed about sharing things with him.

Instead of saying any of that to you, he nods slowly and says, “How’d you figure all that out?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about for the last year,” you shrug. “I’ve spent a lot of time with myself. I mean, you’ve probably noticed that you’re kinda my only friend,” you joke lightly.

“That’s not true.”

“Name one other person.”

“That girl at Flour Up. The hardware guy.”

You smile. “Okay, Marc Spector, the hardware guy is definitely a better friend to me than you are.”

“He’d like to be though, wouldn’t he?” Marc mutters, thinking of the other times you’ve had to go to the hardware store with him. Your laugh breaks the tension, the edges of your eyes crinkling up before he adds, “Steven, too.”

You before he can stop you, you’re tugging your hand out of his grip.

His grief only lasts a second though, because a moment later you’ve rounded the counter and yourself fitted into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You’re safe here,” your mouth is by his ear, your voice soft, and he can feel the movement of your jaw where it’s tucked against his shoulder. “You can talk to me.”

“I know.” And he does. “My dad said to ask if I could stay here.”

“You can stay here,” you say, even though it wasn’t a question. “Always.”

Marc turns you gently in his arms, presses you back into the counter. Your hands fly up to press against his biceps, your hands warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. “What?” You smile at him when he doesn’t say anything.

“My dad told me that he got rid of the piano because it gave him hope I’d come home. When my mom died, that hope died. He was alone. The piano was hope for him. It reminded him too much of me. And before.”

You blink, “What’s the piano for you?”

Home. It’s home.

It reminds him of his mother and what should have been.

He doesn’t answer you.

But you nod anyway and stroke a careful hand across his shoulders, drawing him in closer. You’re warm against him, pliant and relaxed against his chest.

You smell like peace, like warmth and that signature lavender.

Marc decides to accept the moment for what it is, whether he should or not, gripping you back tight. He slides one hand up your spine until he can cup his palm against the back of your neck, the other winds around your waist.

For a moment, he thinks your breath stutters, before it rushes out of you in a sigh and you soften against him.

It’s a show of trust he didn’t know he needed.

You hold him just as tightly, adjusting your grip around his ribs.

“Ask.” It’s Steven this time. “You’re clearly flirting with each other. Go on, Marc, ask about the date.”

He closes his eyes to Steven’s reflection and shakes his head as subtly as he can.

Marc doesn’t let go of you.

He doesn’t ask you either.

Tales Untold, Chicago 11:24 PM

Marc does the dishes, just like he’d promised to.

Like always, he refuses your help but lets you watch.

You stand close to him, just so you can feel the heat rolling off his skin. And although you want to touch him again, you don’t.

He’s much quieter than usual, and for someone like Marc that means he’s practically nonverbal.

He doesn’t seem upset, merely introspective.

But it doesn’t stop anxiety from swimming in your belly, worried you’d overstepped yourself downstairs.

Your situation with your mother was very different to his, that much you know even if you don’t know the details.

When he’s done with the dishes and the water is draining away you decide to give him a bit of space. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” A knot of unease rests uncomfortably in your throat that you aren’t sure how to swallow down. You aren’t quite sure what it means.

Despite the worry rooting down in your veins, you manage to smile at him, showing him where the remote to your TV is. “If you’re still hungry, the leftovers are in the fridge and there are snacks pretty much in any cabinet you open. Okay?”

“Okay.” He only answers you when the door to the bathroom is nearly closed behind you.

You suck in a breath and try to put Marc out of your mind and how much you’d said.

Too much probably, considering what you had been talking about. Marc is already so closed up, you should have just left it. He didn’t need your shit weighing on him too.

A laugh escapes you and you press a hand over your mouth, stifling the laughter when you remember accusing Marc of being closed off.

Maybe you were the same, and overthinking it too.

You can’t find it in yourself to regret touching him though. The memory of the warmth of him against you fills you both with an odd peace and a giddy nervousness. You’d never wanted to move.

You stare at the crescents in the tile under your feet, remembering the heat of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the scent of him something heady and uniquely Marc, the way his palm felt both possessive and protective on the back of your neck.

You shake your head as you step in the shower, trying to clear away the wings of thought that closeness carried.

Marc trusts you with the pieces of himself as he works through something you only half understand. You can’t break that, you won’t.

The warmth of the water serves to wash away some of the tension lining your spine, ease the anxiety still bubbling inside you.

You don’t want to admit it, but you’re eager to be back with Marc.

You roll your eyes at yourself and flip off the water, annoyed.

It feels like a crush. It makes you feel stupid, like you’re a kid again, how much you like him.

It takes you a moment to hear it, over the sound of the bathroom fan and the still dripping water from the showerhead while you towel off.

Piano notes.

A song is being played slowly and deliberately, a little clumsily as though the person hasn’t played in a very long time.

You find yourself smiling as you listen. Still dripping water onto the floor, you wrap the towel around your body and step out of the shower to push your ear against the door.

Marc seems to pick up confidence the longer he plays, the notes faster and more sure, though he does make quite a few mistakes.

He plays beautifully, if a little inelegantly, the same song you usually play for him. You close your eyes and listen, not sure what it means that Marc is finally playing the piano. You pull away from the door and go through your after shower routine as quickly as you can before dressing, not able to wipe the smile off your face, worries forgotten.

You half expect the music to stop as soon as you have the door open, but it doesn’t.

Marc doesn’t even glance up as you creep closer and perch on the edge of the bench, like he isn’t entirely aware that you’re there.

You don’t touch him, just listen quietly for as long as he plays, itching to play alongside him but not daring to interrupt.

When the song eventually tapers off, Marc doesn’t turn to you, like he’s afraid to look at you.

You scoot closer to him on the bench then, until your shoulder bumps his.

His breath hitches when you pillow your head against his shoulder. “Beautiful,” you murmur. “Really.”

Marc carefully lies his cheek against the crown of your head. “Thanks. Little rusty.”

“Not too bad,” you hum. “I’m definitely the better player though.”

You think you feel his lips ghost against your temple, but you can’t be sure.

The feeling is so brief, you’re sure you imagined it. But you definitely feel the little huff of a laugh against your forehead. “Yeah, you are.”

He lifts his head away from yours, but his hand finds yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours.

You don’t try to hide your smile when you stand and attempt to tug him up from the bench. “C’mon. That’s enough emotional turmoil for one day.”

Marc manages a laugh but doesn’t follow the pull of your touch. “What?” you ask when he just looks at you.

For a moment, you think maybe you’re looking at Steven and you just hadn’t noticed the switch, before you realize Marc just has his guard down. His gaze is wide and gentle. The ease of trust makes him look younger, looser.

“What?” you repeat. “What’s wrong, honey?”

That word on your tongue seems to pull him out of his thoughts, whatever doubt was making him hesitate.

“C’mere,” he says, his eyes going soft and shaded. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

You tilt your head and watch curiously as Marc releases your hand and stands. He pushes the piano bench out of the way, and then folds himself to lie beneath the piano.

Intrigued, you bend at the waist and meet his eyes. “Is this your way of telling me you wanna sleep there?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just c’mere. I’m trying to show you something,” he grumbles.

You straighten and pluck a pillow off the sofa before returning to him.

It’s shadowed beneath the piano, the air cooler than the rest of the apartment. You tap Marc’s forehead so he lifts his head and you can fit the pillow beneath his head before you settle next to him.

He’s warm, his skin molten where it presses against yours, and that odd little flutter returns to your chest.

You don’t even consider looking up, tilting your chin in his direction instead. His lashes look impossibly long against the arch of his cheekbone, his skin golden brown in the soft lighting. The dusk of the little cocoon you’ve created in the shade of the piano feels strangely safe and peaceful.

You wonder how much of that is Marc’s presence, and how much is the piano’s energy.

Marc’s normally stormy expression breaks and he smiles at you suddenly, letting you watch him before he reaches out and taps two fingers under your chin. “I know I’m pretty, but you can stare at me some other time.”

You scoff, despite the prickle of embarrassment that itches under your skin. “Sure, flatter yourself, Marc.”

Marc just guides your head up, until you’re staring at the underside of the piano.

Etched into the wood are two sets of initials.

M.S. R.S.

“Oh,” you say, reaching up to trace the outline of letters clearly made by a child’s clumsy fingers. “M S, Marc Spector,” you whisper and trace the letters slowly. “Who’s R?”

Marc doesn’t immediately answer. When you hear him swallow loudly, you turn your head to look at him, hand settling atop your stomach when you lower it. “Marc?”

“My brother. Randall.”

“Randall,” you repeat. “Right. Your dad mentioned that when he dropped it off. Said you and your brother played it together.”

Marc nods, just the slightest dip of his chin. “Yep. We did.” He reaches up and traces the letters now, and you watch his face carefully. He’s nervous, but otherwise fine. “That was before he died.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Marc.”

He turns to you, eyes flicking over your face. “Look, I don’t wanna - we don’t gotta talk about it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” When he just stares at you, you tilt your face toward his. You turn on your side and tuck your knees up against the side of his. Something warm roots down in you when he presses his hand over your waist and helps you wriggle closer to him. “It’s not about me, honey.”

His brows furrow. “Why do you call me that?”

“‘Cause you’re sweet,” you tease and smirk when he rolls his eyes. He leaves his hand where it rests against your waist, his wrist draped casually on your hip. His fingers flex on the edge of your t-shirt, fiddling with the edge of it, when he turns fully toward you on his side.

“I don’t know how,” he admits, fingers tightening on you, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

You tilt forward carefully, until your forehead rests against his. Marc keeps his eyes open and on yours. His eyes are like amber, threads of coffee and umber darkening his irises. Pretty, expressive eyes dig into yours, rounded with something you can’t identify. “No one really does. It’s not easy.”

“Was it easy for you? Talking about your mom?” His nose touches yours, his breath warm where it fans over your lips and chin.

It’s a little hard to breathe, even harder to focus.

Really, you think, no person should be allowed to be so beautiful.

“No,” you manage to laugh. You hadn’t talked about your mother since she died, since her funeral. “I went in the bathroom and panicked about how much I said,” you admit, and Marc frowns at you, starts to open his mouth when you continue. “It took a lot of…of y’know, internal work, to make peace with it. Only really started to get past the grief and confusion when you showed up.”

You fold one of your hands into his chest, trying not to feel nervous about the closeness, the vulnerability. It would be so easy to roll into him, to press yourself into his chest and absorb the heat of him. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Reminded me that this place can still change, and so can I. I’ve been like a bug trapped in honey. Everyday was the same. Long shifts and terrible dates. And then you showed up.”

Marc blinks, like he’s confused, like he never considered that he might be impacting your life. At least not in a positive way.

It’s quiet for a long time, and you shift to tuck your head under his chin, so you were both more comfortable and the position was slightly less awkward.

Marc does tuck his arm fully around you then, dragging you closer.

You can feel his eyes on the underside of the piano, on his brother’s initials.

“He died when we were kids,” Marc swallows and the sound of it is like grief and mourning. “That’s when she changed. He wasn’t there and she was different. My dad didn’t know what to do. And I was…alone.”

You try to piece together what exactly Marc is trying to say. He has a way of speaking cryptically, saying one thing that was coded for something else. He always treads lightly, like he’s trying to lighten the load of whatever he’s passing on, making the smallest mark possible.

You think of the way he’d told you about what happened the night you met Steven. How he’d said he was stretched thin, a mild turn of phrase for what had clearly been mind numbing fear. The strength of his grief had been enough evidence, the tears and stress and those tiny broken blood vessels beneath his eyes.

“So,” you hazard a guess, “you only have nice memories of both of them with the piano?”

He relaxes against your hand when you press it up the length of his spine. “Yeah.”

“That’s why it’s so important.”

“Yes. And I don’t think -,” he struggles with the words for a long moment, clutching you tighter. “I don’t think I got to mourn. Either of them. I wasn’t allowed.”

You rub his back quietly and wait to see if he’ll say more.

You already knew, you could tell, that Marc just sits with pain, buries it, ignores it. But to hear him admit it shocks you a little.

When he stays quiet, hands drifting over your back and along your sides as though grounding himself in you and the fabric of your shirt, you say, “You have time now. I’m glad you came to get it. It’s okay. To have good memories, of both of them. It’s okay to want the chance to mourn.”

Marc’s arms tighten around you, and you burrow down into him, resting your face against his chest.

You consider asking him if he’d like to move somewhere more comfortable, but you’re already comfortable with him and sleep pulls you under too quickly.

When you wake, Marc’s arms are tight around you, your head pillowed on his chest where he’d turned onto his back.

The sun has long ago risen, and Marc is still asleep.

Halsted Street, Chicago 4:56 PM

Marc watches the hardware guy flirt with you again from the rearview mirror. This is your fifth trip to the store since the first one.

You had decided to layer neon lettering over the new sign Marc was making for you, smiling at him apologetically when he’d groaned. “Now we gotta go back to the hardware store.”

“Sorry,” you’d said. “I know you hate having to go out with me.”

His stomach had done a weird little somersault at your words. “That’s not - that isn’t why -,”

“Marc?”

“What?”

“I’m joking,” you’d winked at him. “I know you hate my hardware store friend.”

He’d just grumbled, “We should go to another fucking hardware store.”

But you are attached to this one now, the one Marc had dragged you to in the first place. It’s something he’s slowly come to realize about you, that you easily get attached to things and routines and people.

He hopes you’re a little more attached to him than that fucking sales associate with a crush.

At the end of the day, though, he’s just some guy with a crush too.

“Crush, eh?” Steven is watching you from the side mirror of the truck. “Me too, I think.”

Marc watches Steven for a moment, his eyes flicking back to where you laugh with the sales guy, still chatting about something in the afternoon sun. It’s hot, summer falling on the city with a vengeance. Your shoulders are partially bare to the sun, and you have one hand lifted to shield your eyes despite having sunglasses clutched in your other hand.

Steven is watching you too, his eyes round and big, like cartoon hearts are about to start floating around his head at any moment.

He’s put off telling Steven about the piano, and he’s been more than patient, even if he’s begun harassing Marc daily about the Cubs game that may or may not be an actual date.

It had only gotten worse since he slept with you in his arms, under the piano no less. He’d tried to stay awake that night, so he could have the memory of holding you that way, apparently completely at ease, relaxed enough with him to fall asleep.

The teasing from Jake had been brutal, while Steven had been delighted. “Nice innit?” he’d asked none too casually.

He told you about Randall and his mom. He asked his dad about the fucking piano.

Steven deserves to know, too.

He can do one more hard conversation, he’s done it twice already.

Besides, Steven always knew better than him anyways, was better at seeing up from down.

“Steven,” he says, catching his alter’s attention from where he’s staring at you with lovestruck eyes. “I wanna tell ya about the piano.”

“Bloody hell, Marc, right now?” He blinks away from you to Marc.

When Marc just stares, he nods. “Alright then. Go on,” he encourages quietly. “I’m all ears.”

Marc swallows, leans his head against the frame of the door. “Mom and me used to play the piano all the time.” He swallows, “All my - everything I remember is good.”

The image of the living room bathed in gold swirls back to the front of his memory. The dust motes, the laughter, the quiet of a Saturday morning.

For a moment, he can’t continue, his throat swelling closed with unshed tears. “That’s - that’s a good thing, innit?” Steven asks gently.

Marc swipes at his face even though no tears have escaped. “Yeah. I guess so. But it feels fucked up to - to miss her.” Steven sucks in a breath but Marc barrels on. “I can’t be angry at something that was good. When Randall - when he died, we stopped playing it. We never touched it again.” He presses his head back into the headrest and closes his eyes to Steven. “How am I supposed to hate her when I remember loving her so much?”

“Oh,” Steven whispers, his breath a rush, like he finally understands. “You can do both, I think. I do.”

“You do?”

Steven sounds meek when he answers, “Well, yes. It was hard. Knowing all the love I remembered, well, that it came from you. And knowing-knowing what she did to us. It was hard. It is hard.” Marc opens his eyes to meet Steven’s gaze. “She loved us. We’re allowed to love that part of her. No matter what came later.”

A tear does track down his cheek then, and Marc hastily swipes it away. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Well, that’s why the piano is so hard.” Steven nods, encouraging. “It’s not just about mom though, it's about Roro too.”

“Randall played the piano too?”

“I was just - I had just started teaching him. He wasn't good at it. It came naturally to me. One morning, we - instead of practicing, we scratched our initials into the bottom of it.” Marc stops and checks the rearview mirror, to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re still there but not approaching the truck yet.

You’re smiling, one hand still lifted to shade your eyes.

“Anyways,” Marc says, glancing back at Steven. “I don’t like having good feelings about any of it. It feels wrong. Like I’m forgiving her.”

The image comes unbidden again. The warmth of the living room, Wendy’s hands over his, the sound of prayer and breakfast being cooked, the dust motes hanging suspended in the air; Randall begging Marc to show him how to play, even though his hands were much too small.

He hates that he remembers laughter and love when his mom bent down to ask them what they were doing under the piano. She hadn’t even gotten mad when she discovered what they’d done, just smiled and held out a hand, beckoning them out.

“You can have both,” Steven says. “It’s alright, Marc. It doesn’t have to be all bad.”

It’s the same thing you’d said to him.

But it had been easier when it was all bad, simpler.

“I know,” he says. “I think I do.”

Steven starts to respond when the passenger side door opens suddenly and you climb into the cab. “Marc,” you say his name, huffing out a wild breath as you adjust yourself in the seat and yank your seatbelt into place. “We gotta go get some ice cream. It’s so fucking hot,” you swipe a hand over your sweaty brow. “It’s full of tourists, but do you wanna try Navy Pier?”

If it were all bad, he thinks suddenly, maybe he wouldn’t have met you. If it were all bad, he wouldn’t have found out that his father missed him, he wouldn’t have had a reason to hunt for the piano and visit Tales Untold.

Marc reaches over and takes your hand, folds your fingers between his. He says your name and when you meet his eyes, your smile disappears, replaced with a fretful expression. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he shakes his head.

You reach up with your other hand and touch his cheek, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards again. “Alright, go ahead and be cryptic and weird.”

“Hey,” he catches at your hand when you start to pull away. You look beautiful, your skin is glowing. Marc tries not to stare and fails. “We gotta get tickets. If you still wanna go to a Cubs game.”

You blink at him; long, slow blinks where your lashes kiss the space beneath your eyes. “Yeah? I thought you were getting them.” You tilt your head, “And then - pizza after? Isn’t that what we said?”

You’re close to him, your eyes wide as you lean closer to him over the center console. You smell like sunshine, like sun on skin, and beneath that like your usual lavender.

Marc presses your hand harder against his cheek, tipping his head towards yours. Your breath shakes when you inhale and your mouth parts gently when you glance down at his lips.

He wants to kiss you so bad there’s an ache in his chest. But he keeps his eyes on yours, your breath fanning across his lips, the scent of you like sweet mint.

When you meet his eyes, you look mildly confused, and Marc wonders for just a split second if you’re as unsure as he is.

Your eyes flick down again, and Marc watches your face curiously. There are no walls between you. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from you. You’d already caught him at his very worst.

So, he should do this right - shouldn’t he?

He should wait. Do it properly. He’s never gotten the chance before, not really.

He clears his throat and inches back from you, pulling your hand away from his cheek as he goes, patting your fingers gently. The last thing he wants to do is let go of you, and so he doesn’t, folding your fingers between his instead. “Yeah, I can get us tickets. Just wanted to make sure you still wanted to go.”

You smile and then narrow your eyes. “Did you forget about it or something?”

Marc scoffs, feels the beat of the pulse in your wrist against his. Like he could fucking forget about it. “Of course not.”

“Not,” you repeat with the same inflection, a tease in your voice. “Listen to that accent.”

You glance over him, a strange fondness lodging in your eyes. “You alright? Looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.” You reach up when he doesn’t answer to push a lock of hair behind his ear, like you’ve done a million times before.

But this time you say, “You should let your curls out more.”

Your fingers brush along his temple, the pads of your fingers soft. Marc basks in the warmth of your attention, the feeling of your hand against his skin.

“You like the curls, huh?”

You huff out a laugh and ruffle his hair until it falls in loose rings around his forehead.

He glares at you, and you throw your head back and laugh. The sound is unbelievable in its joy and he’s surprised he managed to draw it out of you.

Marc’s breath catches somewhere in his lungs, and he finds it hard to swallow down the feelings welling up.

Should he wait? Should he do anything at all?

This can’t last, this happiness in you. It never does, not when he’s around.

He hates the uncertainty that snaps a steel trap around his heart. But it's true, it’s always been true that people are better off without him.

You smile and twist a curl around your finger. “Look how pretty,” you coo at him.

Marc finds himself leaning into your hand when you cup his jaw. He wants to close his eyes and melt into it because he can’t be sure how long it will last. Your fingertips are just brushing his cheek when -

“Stop it. We are not doing this again, Marc. Stop thinking like that, asshole,” Jake says from the rearview mirror so suddenly that Marc flinches away from your touch.

You suck in a hard breath, and unlike the other times, it’s not a pleasant sound. “Sorry,” you pull back from him, looking horrified as you drop your hand.

“No,” he reaches for you again. “No, it’s -,”

You lift a brow, move your hand out of his reach, “It’s what?”

“Not you,” he shakes his head. “It’s not you.” He glances at Jake, who has the gall to lift a brow at him though he does look guilty for startling him, and then back at you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

Your face is closed off now, your smile a little strained, and he can’t tell what you’re thinking. “Okay.” You swallow, “I wanna go. With you. Just to be clear.”

Marc isn’t really sure what to say as you tuck yourself back into the seat, practically against the door, readjusting the seat belt before you fiddle with the radio, not looking at him, like you’re trying to give him space he doesn’t want.

He sighs, glares at the rearview where only his own face stares back at him now. He should know by now to take the chances offered to him, because nothing ever goes right otherwise.

He wonders again, why he even tries.

And this time, Jake isn’t there to interrupt him.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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lauras-collection · 2 years

Text

don’t blame me ✮ nathan drake smut

nathan drake x fem reader enemies to lovers

|| Masterlist ||

Summary:Ever since Nate broke your trust years ago the two of you have been rivals. This was supposed to be just another treasure hunt. But little did you know it’s gonna change everything.

Words: 8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ [fingering, good girl, dom!nate, unprotected sex], mentions of someone wanting to kill reader, gunshots + gunshot wound, blood

A/N: Here it is, finally!!! As some of you know I wanted to post this the day uncharted was released. I didn’t quite manage that. But also this turned from an estimated 1-2k pwp into an 8k fic with a mediocre plot lmfao. I hope you enjoy!!! big thanks to @heyhihellowhatsup0 for helping with this fic and (lovingly) pressuring me into finishing it :D

Feedback is always appreciated ❤️

You’ve got to be kidding me. You think to yourself as your eyes land on none other than Nathan Drake. You’d hoped this would be a job without crossing his path. But you’re just not getting a break from him.

You can’t stand Nate.

That hadn’t always been the case, though. You used to be best friends and went treasure hunting together. You and Nate had been a team until he went behind your back. You never expected to be betrayed like that.

You live, and you learn.

“Look who it is,” Nate smirks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“What are you doing here? You on vacation?” You ask, even though you know he’s here for the same reason as you: He wants the treasure.

“Unfortunately, no. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I thought you’d given up on treasure hunting after the last one slipped right through your fingers. Again.” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I’m not doing it for the money, sweetheart.” You hate it when he calls you sweetheart, and he knows it. You try not to show how much it annoys you as you take a sip from your drink. You wanted to unwind at a bar before leaving for the jungle tomorrow morning. But now Nate’s here, and it’s stressing you out.

You put the glass back down on the bar and rest your elbow against the wooden surface. “Oh, really? Does your bartending gig really pay that well?”

“Someone’s been keeping an eye on me, huh?” As a matter of fact, you have. You’re not proud of it, but Nate has been a thorn in your side for years, and as much as you’d like to forget about him, you need to keep tabs on him to stay ahead of him.

“Of course, I need to make sure you’re staying away from me.”

“You sure that’s the reason?” He raises one eyebrow, and you’ve already had enough of him. It’s not even been five minutes.

“I’m sure.”

He leans in so close you can smell him. You hate to admit it, but he smells divine.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve been keeping an eye on you as well.” A shiver runs down your spine, but you try to ignore it. Nate doesn’t deserve these reactions from you. But your body doesn’t seem to care.

“When are you leaving?” You ask, and finally, he puts more distance between you.

“This bar? Why? You wanna come to my hotel room with me?” He smirks, and you ball your fists in anger.

“You know what I mean.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Bummer. We could have a lot of fun, Y/N.” He knocks on the bar, turns around and then he’s gone. Without telling you when he’s leaving.

You mutter a few curses under your breath. It would be best to leave as soon as possible, but you have to wait for your boss to give you the final clue to find the treasure before you can head to the jungle.

***

So far, it’s going smoothly. Almost too smoothly.

You’ve got the notebook containing the clues to solve the final riddle to get to the treasure, and, so far, you haven’t had any hold-ups on your journey.

Well, except for running into Nate, of course.

You’re only surrounded by the sounds of the jungle as you make your way towards the lost ruins.

Ever since what happened with Nate, you’ve been on your own. Yes, you’ve got your boss’s support, and he helps you with a lot of things, but when it gets down to actually finding the treasures, that’s all you. Sometimes you’re accompanied by other treasure hunters that work for Moncada, but that’s been the exception these last few missions. You like being on your own. Minimises the chance of being betrayed by your partner.

After fighting your way through thick foliage, you think you hear an unusual noise. You’re on high alert now. It could be your boss’s people scouting the area. But he would’ve told you about that.

Could it be?

A grunt. “Dammit.” The sound of something crashing onto the ground.

You take a careful step forward, pushing the leaves to the side, and then you see Nathan fucking Drake standing up and dusting off his hands on his cargo pants.

You gotta be kidding me. Again. Out of all the possible routes through this huge jungle, you two ended up on the same one.

You consider sneaking past him to get ahead, but there’s no way he won’t see you.

“Getting old?” You call out to him, making him jump and turn to where you’re standing.

“Y/N. What a pleasure to see you.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Ditto.” You roll your eyes. “Get out of my way, old man. I have a treasure to find.” You wave your hand like he’s an annoying fly you’re trying to get rid of. He kind of is.

“Oh, yeah? I thought you’d just gone out for a stroll.”

“Funny.”

“Also, I’m not old.”

“Mhm.” You don’t pay much attention to him as you start climbing up the overhang. With a practised eye and a firm grip, you manage to climb up without any problems.

You rest your hands on your hips and look down to where Nate is still standing.

“I wish I could see your face when you get to the treasure, and it’s already gone because I took it.” You smile smugly. You’d like to think you’re the better treasure hunter, but truth be told, both of you are great at what you do and have probably found an equal amount of treasures. You’re not going to admit that to him, though. Plus, there’s the fact that every time he does find a treasure, he ends up losing it one way or another.

“What makes you so sure you’re going to get there before me? Just because you’re ahead of me now? There are still riddles to be solved, sweetheart. Don’t get too excited just yet.”

You suppress a groan at the nickname and school your features. “Well, I’ve got an advantage on you though.”

“And what’s that?” He raises one of his brows.

You reach behind you and pull the notebook from your back pocket. “This.” You watch as Nate’s jaw drops, but you don’t allow yourself to bask in it too long. You need to get a move on.

Revealing that you have the notebook was probably not a good idea, but you couldn’t help it. Nate knows how to push your buttons. And you allow it every time.

“Y/N! Wait!” He calls after you, and you can hear him start to climb again.

Of course, you’re not waiting for him. You start jogging to get some distance between you and him, but the ground is not made for that, and you have to be careful not to stumble and fall.

Suddenly, you hear shots being fired, and it causes you to freeze. You hear Nate’s loud footsteps behind you and hold up a hand to make him stop. Thankfully, he does.

“What’s going on?” He whispers as he comes to a halt behind you.

“Didn’t you hear the shots?” You ask, carefully walking forwards.

“I did. But I thought that’s just your people doing what they do best.”

“And what would that be?”

“Being useless?” He says it as if it’s obvious. You don’t think they’re useless, though. They’ve helped you keep many people off your back. Sometimes you think of them as your bodyguards.

You don’t regard him with an answer; just continue to walk forward until you can see where the shots are coming from. When you can finally see a group of people, you don’t recognise any of them.

“I’ve never seen these people before.” You murmur. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself. It’s dangerous.

A treasure worth millions of dollars is somewhere around here, and people don’t shy away from killing to get to it. You have to be careful.

“It’s probably best if we stick together.” Nate muses, and you turn to him with a raised eyebrow. This might be the first time he suggests something like that. Seems like he really needs that notebook.

“I’m just saying. Neither of us know who these people are. And there’s safety in numbers, right?”

He does have a point. Even though it would be just the two of you against a group. And you don’t know how many more people might be around. You don’t see a downside of going with Nathan for a bit. Besides him being annoying, of course. But you’ll get over that.

“Fine.” You give in. “But keep the talking to a minimum.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

Of course, Nate doesn’t keep the talking to a minimum. He comments on every little thing. But you ignore it as best as you can.

You’re close to the spot where you suspect the treasure to be. Only a little bit further.

“So I was thinking…” Nate says as he follows you down the stairs of one of the ruins.

“Oh no. Does your head hurt now?” You ask with mock concern.

“Funny.” You can practically hear him roll his eyes. “When we find the treasure, I’ll let you have 25%,” This makes you stop in your tracks, causing him to run into you. You turn around swiftly.

“You’re letting me have 25%? You’ve got to be kidding me. You wouldn’t even be here without me. You’re lucky if I’ll let you have even 5% of it.” You place your hands on your hips and glare at him.

He looks at you for a few seconds, then you see the corner of his mouth quirk up. And then he’s full out laughing.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so much fun to rile you up.”

“I hate you.” With that, you turn around and continue walking.

“Thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot.” Nate’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Feeling’s mutual by the way.”

You turn around to him again. “You know, I don’t think this is working out. We should go our separate ways.”

Nate laughs, “Nice try. We’re so close to finding the treasure, I’m not leaving your side.”

“Because you wouldn’t find it without me.”

“You’ve got the notebook. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to find it without you.”

***

You continue to put up with Nate until you reach the chamber the treasure is in. You get that familiar giddy feeling you always get when you’re about to reach a treasure.

With Nate’s help, you push the huge stone that’s covering the opening away. You’re the first inside the room. The ceilings are high, but the only light source is coming from your flashlights. You’re surprised how intact this building still is.

You look around the room, but nothing really stands out until your flashlight reveals a stone chest in the corner of the room.

“It must be in there.” You mutter, even though you expected there to be more gold than just a chest of it.

Nate follows you there, you open the chest and…

Nothing.

Except for a note and a curious-looking dagger.

It’s no use, the treasure was definitely not here, and you had to basically start over. You can’t make sense of the note and the dagger just yet, so you and Nate decide to go back into town and try to figure this out.

You aren’t sure why you’re still entertaining him. You should have told him to fuck off ages ago. But even though he’s annoying, it’s nice to have some company for a change.

Once back in town you inform your boss of the new development. He’s not happy but knows there’s nothing you can do about it.

A couple hours later, someone knocks on your door, and when you open it, Nate’s standing there, a bottle of wine in his hand.

“Ready to figure this out?”

You’re surprised to see him, but then again not. You have to keep in mind that he was only after the treasure; he doesn’t want to spend time with you. And you don’t want to spend time with him.

You could just tell him to leave, but what harm could a glass of wine do?

Famous last words.

Two hours and two bottles of wine later, you at least know where to go next. But you’re also a little drunk.

“Have I ever told you how much I admire you?” Nate says, his cheek resting in his palm as he looks at you. His words are just a little slurred, and the way he smiles at you is almost adorable.

“Uh, no, I don’t recall you ever saying something positive about me.” You tilt your head to the side, unsure of where this is going.

“That can’t be true.” He rests his other hand on your knee. The heat of his skin takes you aback, goosebumps rising on your arms at the contact. “We had some good times together in the past, gorgeous.”

The pet name tenfolds the reaction you just had, and you tighten your fists, afraid he’d see your hands shaking.

“Don’t call me that.” You bite at him. He used to call you gorgeous back when you were still friends. It would make your cheeks heat up every time, and you’d tell him it’s annoying, but secretly you loved it. You loved the idea of him thinking you’re gorgeous.

But not anymore. Now it just brings back bad memories. Memories of his betrayal. How can you ever believe he meant anything he said when he went behind your back in the worst way.

“Why not?” He raises one eyebrow. His hand is still on your knee, and he gives it a little squeeze.

“It’s annoying.” You should make him take his hand off your leg, but you can’t bring yourself to it. It’s been way too long since you’ve had some human contact, and your body is soaking up his warmth like it needs it to live.

Nate tilts his head. “You sure about that?” Nate’s hand slowly travels higher on your leg, and the urge to squeeze your thighs together is worrying.

You look at him and catch yourself wondering what his lips would feel like against yours. If his hair is as soft as it looks. His cheeks are tinted red, from the alcohol, you assume. His eyes twinkle in the light of your hotel room. It’s annoying how handsome he is. And it’s even more annoying how much power he still has over your body.

Without realising, you’ve leaned in closer to him.

“Nate.” You want to tell him that this is a bad idea. That you and him together is wrong on so many levels. You want to tell yourself that, too. But these past couple of hours have almost felt like it had back in the day, with you and Nate working as a team. You felt like you were about to get whiplash from all these conflicting emotions.

“Y/N.” Nate cups your face with one hand, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “Just let it happen, gorgeous.”

That’s all it takes. You feel your resolve crumble as he leans in. The tip of his nose brushes against yours before he captures your lips.

You shift even closer to him and slide one hand into his soft hair as you reciprocate his kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft as he kisses your top lip, then your bottom lip, before moving his hand to the back of your neck. You open your lips ever so slightly and flick your tongue over his bottom lip.

You can feel him smile, and then his tongue is meeting yours, and you tighten your grip on his hair. You don’t remember ever being kissed like this.

Your surroundings seem to blur as you push all your thoughts to the back of your head and allow yourself to just feel.

You don’t know how much time passes with you and Nate kissing, but when your name falls from his lips like a prayer, it’s like someone burst a bubble in your head.

You need to get some distance from him, so you pull away. For a moment, Nate follows your movement, his lips chasing yours, but you move your head to the side.

This is still Nate, the Nate you can’t trust. A couple of hours of teamwork don’t change that. If you don’t stop this now, you don’t know how far you’ll let things go. Probably too far.

“I think you should leave.” You whisper, unable to look into his eyes.

Nate pauses for a moment, then he nods and clears his throat, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

As soon as you hear the door click shut, you let yourself fall back onto the couch and groan. How could you have let this happen? Yes, you’re a little tipsy, but that’s no excuse for just letting him kiss you!

But that kiss.

You don’t think you’ve ever had a better kiss in your life. The realisation makes you groan again. Nate doesn’t have the right to be such a good kisser!

Still grumpy, you get ready for bed. You’ll deal with your feelings in the morning.

***

You wake up before your alarm, and suddenly you have an uneasy feeling. As you look at the coffee table, you see two empty wine bottles along with glasses and lots of scrap notebook paper. It’s a mess.

Just like your head because you’re still thinking about Nate’s lips on yours. (That’s nothing against last night’s dreams, though)

Still slightly frazzled, you get ready as quickly as you can. You need to get to the treasure quickly before someone else can.

When you’re almost ready to go, you decide to clean up the room a little bit. You don’t want housekeeping to see the remnants of last night.

You throw away all the notes that led to nothing last night, and as you look at the clear coffee table in front of you, it suddenly dawns on you why you had such an uneasy feeling all morning.

The dagger is gone.

You turn over every pillow on the sofa and even look underneath it. Nothing.

There’s only one explanation. Nate took it.

You let him seduce you, and he stole from you. Taking a deep breath, you keep from screaming in frustration.

You knew you shouldn’t have worked with him. It seems to always end with him betraying you.

But hey, you were supposed to meet this morning. Maybe he didn’t actually go behind your back and will be waiting for you in the lobby?

Of course, he isn’t waiting for you in the lobby. As a matter of fact, you find out he has already checked out.

You give the receptionist a strained smile before heading out yourself. Maybe you can still catch up with him. At least you know where to look for him.

While you’re making your way through the jungle, you’re mad at yourself for letting him trick you so easily. You know what he’s like.

This is exactly what happened the last time you worked together. You woke up one morning, and he was gone with the diary that held all the information. Luckily the guy you two had been working with at the time had caught him before he was gone too far. That way, you were still able to obtain the treasure.

But it made you realise the kind of person Nate was. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. You thought you were best friends, but he betrayed you without blinking an eye. And now he’s done the same thing because you let your hormones control you for one evening.

Pathetic.

Suddenly, the sound of gunshots rings through the quiet jungle, and you can’t help but be worried. What if something happened to Nate?

You shouldn’t care, that’s what!

The gunshots didn’t seem to be too far from where you were, so you pick up your pace, trying to find whoever it is. Maybe not the best idea, but you’re curious.

As you break through the foliage, you notice Nate on the ground behind a rock, clutching his arm, blood seeping through his shirt. He’s been hit.

Suits him right, a small voice in your head says. You don’t want him to be seriously injured, but he deserves a little payback.

You crouch down next to him, making sure you’re not seen by the people still scouting the area.

“Y/N?” Nate seems surprised to see you.

“Shut up. I’m not in the mood to talk to you.” You hiss as you peek over the rock to see what’s going on. Just like last time, you don’t recognise most of the people, but one face is very familiar to you.

“Rafe? What is he doing here?” Rafe’s one of your closest associates. If you do work with someone on a treasure hunt, it’s with him. So why is he here but not working with you?

“He might be looking for the treasure, sweetheart.” Nate presses out as he tries to sit up.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” You don’t even look at him, your eyes still trained on Rafe as you try to make out what he’s saying.

“Moncada wants the treasure ASAP.” Rafe bellows, and the name of your boss makes you freeze. If he’s working for your boss, why don’t you know about it? Did Moncada send him as support? “Y/N should be around here somewhere.” You’re about to stand up, but Nate wraps his hand around your forearm and slowly shakes his head. You look at him questioningly, but then Rafe continues, “If you find her, shoot her.”

What?

You suck in a breath. Why would Rafe want that? You’ve worked quite well as a team in the past. Why does he want you dead all of a sudden?

“Moncada promised us a good bonus if we kill her, so keep your eyes open!” Rafe claps his hands, and his men start moving, but you’re frozen in place. Nate squeezing your arm pulls you out of your stupor.

“We need to find a hiding spot,” Nate urges while trying to get up. “I managed to trick them into thinking I ran into a different direction but if we stay here they’ll find us.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. Moncada wants you dead. Your boss and, in some way, your father figure wants you to die. A billion different explanations as to why he would want that flit through your brain but none of them make sense to you.

“Y/N!” Nate hisses, and even though you maybe shouldn’t, you follow him without thinking twice about it.

You end up in a small cave hidden away by vines and other foliage. Nate lets himself fall against one of the rocks, still clutching his arm. And finally, you can get enough of a grip to ask him what happened.

“Rafe and his men suddenly showed up. At first I thought he was on his own but as you might have noticed he’s working for Moncada.”

“Why does he want me dead?” You furrow your eyebrows and see Nate shrug his shoulders with a wince.

You’re pacing back and forth in front of him, too anxious to stand still. The moment one of Rafe’s men sees you, you’re dead. It doesn’t make sense. Rafe has been one of the men protecting you on your past adventures. How is he okay with just killing you all of a sudden? You thought you could trust him. Sounds familiar.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your crisis but a little help would be nice.” You stop your pacing and turn to look at Nate.

Shirtless.

“Why is your shirt off?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, your eyes glued to his chest. You have to admit, he’s got some muscles. Nice muscles. You watch them move under his tan skin, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you start salivating in the next three seconds.

But it doesn’t come to that because Nate starts talking, and your eyes snap up to look at his face again. “Originally to get better access to the wound, but this is a nice side effect.” He winks, causing your face to heat up. You feel like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing.

Maybe because ogling Nate is a bad idea.

“Shut up.”

Nate just smirks. “Will you help me now or are you going to let me bleed out?”

“I should, with how you stole from me.” You say but walk towards him anyway. He won’t bleed out if you don’t help him, he’s exaggerating, and both of you know that. Opening your backpack, you pull out your first aid kit. It’s come in handy many times.

Both of you are quite as you prepare to take care of the wound.

“I’m sorry.” Nate finally says with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have stolen the dagger from you.”

“Somehow I don’t really buy you being sorry.” You mumble before cleaning the wound with some water. Then you apply some gel, being rougher than you need to be.

“Ouch! Be careful!” Nate complains, but you have no intention of being soft with him. “I really am sorry!” Nate insists, then he lets out a groan of pain, and maybe you are just a little bit softer with him.

You reach for a bandage, and Nate visibly tenses when you get closer to him.

“I’ll be gentle.” You reassure him. “If you explain.”

“Why I did it?” He raises one eyebrow.

“That much is obvious. Why you’re sorry all of a sudden. You didn’t bat an eye at stealing from me in the past.”

“I’ve realised some stuff.” Nate lets out a breath while you gently wrap the bandage over his arm. You can’t help but notice how well defined his biceps are. Focus!

“And what did you realise?”

Nate takes his time before he answers. You’re tying up the bandage when he finally speaks up.

“That being angry with you all my life won’t do me any favours.” He clears his throat. “Yeah you broke my trust when you just left me for dead on our last mission together but–”

“I didn’t!” You can’t believe what he’s saying. “You were about to take off alone with the diary. You stole from me just like you did last night! You’re a thief Nate. And I thought you would at least have some respect for your friends, or even just your best friend at the time.” You point at yourself. “But you didn’t. You stole from me like I was some random person you couldn’t give two shits about.”

Nate looks to the side with a sneer. “So fucking stupid.”

“Excuse me? Did you just call me stupid?”

“And what if I did? What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m so sick of your fucking games, Nate. When this is over I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

“And I’m sick of your higher than thou attitude! As if you’re better than me! You’re just some lonely girl finding treasures to get the praise she so desperately needs. I bet you run back to Moncada every time you find a treasure, wagging your tail, presenting it to him like a good little puppy!”

“Shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“You shut up, or I’ll make you shut up.” His voice is menacing, but you’re not scared. The air between you both is charged, and as much as you know you should take a step back, you don’t. You’re standing so close that the fabric of your shirt is brushing against his skin, and you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Nate doesn’t answer, not verbally. But in the next moment, one of his hands is on the back of your neck and his lips on yours. You let out a surprised whimper. You weren’t expecting him to kiss you. Not again. And not when he had nothing to take from you.

You don’t think as you fist your hands in his hair and pull him closer. You don’t think as you open your mouth and deepen the kiss. And you definitely don’t think as you let him lead you backwards until your back makes contact with the wall.

You wrap one of your legs around his hip, his hand immediately there to steady you. You’re still feverishly kissing as you feel his hips rut into yours, causing you to moan.

“You’re so fucking aggravating.” You manage to say between kisses, and you think you hear Nate growl. You can’t ignore the tingling in your lower belly any longer, even though you’re almost ashamed that, of all people, Nate is the one to draw this kind of reaction from you. Almost.

“Try being in your company for a day, you’ll know who’s the aggravation one then.”

“I hate you.”

“You sure about that? Doesn’t seem like you hate me right now. The way you’re rubbing yourself on me.”

Now you’re the one growling.

“I bet if I’d put my hand in your panties you’d be dripping for me.”

You pull a face at his words. It’s not that he’s wrong, but it’s annoying that he knows what he’s doing to you.

You decide to challenge him, though.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You say, leaning your head back against the stone wall so you can look at him. His eyes are hooded, his lips slightly swollen from your kisses.

“Wanna bet?” He raises one eyebrow, and you mirror his expression. You know you shouldn’t underestimate Nate, but you wanna know how far you can push him. “Let’s see then.” He says before starting to unbutton your pants.

He’s really doing it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to jump out of your throat it’s beating that fast. Your breathing quickens in anticipation.

And then he’s running his fingers through your folds.

“You’re so fucking wet for me Y/N. Try to deny it all you want, you’re dying to have me cock inside you.”

You moan at the sensation of being touched by him, but you don’t want to have him get the upper hand. “So are you going to do anything about it, or are you one of those guys who’re all talk and can’t even find the–“You can’t even finish the sentence before his thumb is on your clit, drawing tight circles.

“What was that about being one of those guys?”

You wanna curse at him, but now he’s pushed two fingers into your cunt, and you’re unable to form proper words.

“What was that?” He’s smirking. He knows your putty in his hands now, the way you’re holding on to him. The way you’re pushing your hips into his hand, craving more.

You start to repeat what you were going to say, but then his fingertips brush against a particularly sensitive spot inside you, and all you can do is moan.

“That’s what I thought. He chuckles softly. “Had I known this is how I get you to shut up, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

You pull on his hair with a moan, but he just laughs. “Just like that, gorgeous. Let me hear you.” He tightens his grip on your thigh and picks up his pace. You’re a moaning mess, but at this point, you don’t care.

You don’t care that you’re supposed to hate him.

You don’t care that he’s the last person you should be attracted to.

You don’t care that he seems to be enjoying the way you’re unable to talk back.

Because he’s making you feel so fucking good.

“I know you want my cock, baby, but you’re not getting it.” You pull on his hair again in protest. “Not until we find the treasure.”

“Fuck you.” You manage to say, but Nate just chuckles. You don’t know what could possibly be funny about this.

He hums as he leans in to place soft kisses on your neck. “This isn’t easy for me.” He whispers in your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Your pussy tightens around his fingers, and you’re certain you can feel him smile. “I’m so fucking hard you have no idea. It’s taken a lot of control to not just bend you over and fuck you stupid. Until you’re so fucked out you can barely walk. But we’ve got a treasure to find, gorgeous.”

And then he leans back and just looks into your eyes as he keeps fingering you, his thumb playing with your clit. You’re unable to look away as his pace slows down and something seems to shift in the air. You’re drowning in his eyes. You’ve always loved his eyes. Cherished every moment you got to see them up close. But you’ve never been this close.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N.” Nate almost pants. He nudges the tip of his nose against yours before he plants a kiss on your lips. Just one simple peck. One might even say an innocent kiss if it wasn’t for his fingers that were still moving in and out of your dripping cunt. “Bet you’re even prettier when you cum. You gonna show me?” He asks with another kiss and picks up his pace. Just a little, but it’s exactly what you need.

“Yes, fuck, right there.”

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” His words are barely above a whisper, but that’s all it takes to push you over the edge.

Your mouth falls open as your orgasm washes over you, and if possible, you pull yourself even closer to Nate.

“That’s it.” He hums, his eyes moving over your face. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Nate keeps praising you as you come down from your high, his forehead resting against yours. When your breathing is almost back to normal, he starts neatly putting your panties back in place.

“You’re wrong.” He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours as he pulls up your pants. Normally, you’d feel belittled if a guy was doing this. Or at least you’d feel used as if he’d want to get you dressed as quickly as possible so you could leave. But with Nate… It feels like an intimate moment, and you have no clue why.

“What are you talking about?” Your hands are still in his hair; you can’t seem to let go of him. You should push him away, tell him you can dress yourself, thank you very much. But you don’t.

“I would’ve never stolen from you.” He zips and buttons your pants before looking at you. You don’t know how he can just pick the conversation back up after what just happened. But oh well, if he wants to keep arguing, so be it.

You tilt your head to the side. He has to realise how ridiculous that sounds just hours after he did, in fact, steal from you.

“Back then.” He clarifies. “I trusted you with my life.” He looks at you intently, his hands now on your hips. “I cared so much about you.” He pauses and closes his eyes for a few seconds. “I still do. Despite everything that happened between us, I care so fucking much about you. Rafe knew that, and he used it against me. He kept telling me how he’s gonna make sure you’ll be okay. You’ll be taken care of. ‘Don’t worry, Nate. I’m gonna make sure you and your girl get a decent chunk of the money.’ He said. But Rafe had spent months planting doubts in your head. I didn’t realise it back then, but in the final months of us working together, you started becoming more and more distant. You would go to him with new clues first.

“At first I didn’t think anything of it. I thought you did it because he’s the more experienced treasure hunter. But then you started keeping things from me. I felt like you were going behind my back, that you didn’t want to work with me anymore. And then one day Rafe sent me to scout the area and when I came back both of you were gone.”

It’s hard to wrap your head around everything Nate is telling you. And maybe you should be a little more careful because you can’t be a hundred per cent sure that Nate is telling the truth. But your gut is telling you that he is. At some point during the past 24 hours, you realised that Nate isn’t the egoistic asshole that you thought he was.

Yeah, okay, he stole the dagger from you, but wouldn’t you have done the same in his position? Probably.

You watch him for a moment. He’s got no reason to lie to you. He’s the one with the dagger. He could’ve just run off with it. He doesn’t need your help. But yet he asked for it. And even more importantly, he saved your life earlier. If it wasn’t for him, you would’ve run straight to Rafe when you saw him. And you’d be dead.

If he had told you all of this last night, you wouldn’t have believed him. But now? You believe him.

It makes sense. Now that you’ve seen Rafe’s true self, you can see him manipulating you. Doing everything to get you and Nate to split up. Nate hadn’t been the biggest fan of Rafe. Or even Moncada. He didn’t like the idea of just finding the treasure for someone else. But Rafe told you time and time again that Moncada would reimburse you more than enough. And ever since you started working for him, he kept his word. But back then, you and Nate had argued more than once if working for him and with Rafe was a good idea. But Nate always agreed because you trusted Rafe. And Rafe got you to trust him more than your best friend. The realisation feels like a punch in the gut.

“So you’re saying that you didn’t try to steal from us? That Rafe made that up?” You feel stupid because it all makes sense. Why didn’t you realise it sooner? Why did you let yourself be manipulated by Rafe?

“He played us.” Nate nods. “For whatever reason he wanted to get rid of me and turn us against each other.”

“So all these years… I hated you for no reason?” You feel guilty as you say this. Thinking back to all the things you said to him. All the length you went to beat him, to be the better treasure hunter when you could’ve worked as a team this whole time.

“Hey, don’t feel bad. I hated you, too.” Nate smiles at you, but you can see that he, too, feels the guilt.

“Can I…” You start, and his eyes focus on yours. “Can I give you a hug or something?” You ask, not sure how to deal with all of this. Asking for a hug is probably the weirdest thing, considering his fingers had been inside you not too long ago, and your hands were still resting at the nape of his neck.

Nate lets out a laugh but wraps his arms around your waist. “You’re so weird.”

You tug on a strand of his hair which makes him laugh even more, but then he’s holding you tightly, and you can feel his warm skin everywhere.

“I’m sorry.” You say after a while. “I shouldn’t have allowed Rafe to turn me against you. I don’t even know how he managed to do that. You’re the person I trusted the most.”

“Don’t worry about it Y/N. He’s a conniving, manipulative son of a bitch. And you were impressionable. We both were.” He shrugs his shoulders. “He wanted me gone. And he knew how much I cared about you and used that against me. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Actually, there is.”

***

Your plan is to simply find the treasure and be gone before Rafe gets there. Now that you’re working with Nate again, you know you can do it. There was a reason Rafe wanted to split the two of you apart. You were too good together.

And now that the air between you has sort of been cleared, Nate isn’t even that annoying anymore. Sure, he’s still a little shit. But instead of it slowly driving you up the wall, you almost find it charming.

“So now that we’re on good terms again, does that mean we’re going to split the treasure accordingly? 75% for me and 25% for you?” Nate asks as he follows you along one of the tunnels that will hopefully lead you to the treasure. You know he’s got a smirk on his face without having to turn around.

As a reply, you just flip him off.

Finally, you reach a heavy stone door that, according to all the clues you have, should be the only thing between you and the treasure right now.

You turn around to Nate and motion for him to step forward. “Go ahead,” The dagger needs to be inserted into the keyhole in the centre of the door.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t attempted to steal it back from me.” Nate muses as he steps closer to the door while rummaging through his backpack.

You can’t help but smirk.

“Funny you say that.” With that, you pull the dagger from your own backpack and wave it in front of his face. You took it from him back in the cave while tending to his wound.

“Are you serious?” He gapes at you, making you laugh.

“Just because we had a little heart to heart doesn’t mean I completely trust you again.” You shrug your shoulders before walking to the door and inserting the key.

“That’s fair,” Nate mumbles while you turn the key. It isn’t easy, but you manage to do it, and with a loud clacking noise, the ancient mechanism starts working. Dust and dirt fall to the ground as the door slowly moves out of the way.

You take a tentative step forward. This could very well be just another trap. But you’ve done this for long enough to know that it’s not. This is the real deal. You open the chest closest to you, and there it is. The treasure. And there’s not just one chest. There’s dozens of them.

You turn around to Nate with the biggest smile. “We did it!”

Nate mirrors your smile. “I guess we did.”

And there’s still no sight of Rafe and his men. You’re over the moon. All the tension leaves your body, and all you can feel is pure joy.

Giddy, you throw your arms around Nate’s neck. He stumbles back a bit, not expecting your outburst, but then he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer.

You don’t remember the last time you got to celebrate finding a treasure with someone else. And because this feels like a special sort of victory, you’re even more excited. And before you know what you’re doing, you’re pulling Nate close to plant a kiss on his lips. You can feel him smile against you, his hands moving to cup your ass and all the excitement you’re feeling suddenly turns into lust. The kiss turns heated as you open your lips.

“I think there’s something you wanted to give me when we find the treasure.” You raise an eyebrow at him before moving one of your hands to where his cock is already straining against his pants.

“If you’re not careful I’ll bend you over right here and now.” He grumbles, his eyes dark.

“I dare you.” You smile at him wickedly. “But make it quick, we don’t have much time before Rafe shows up.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. With one quick movement, he whirls you around and bends you over one of the large treasure chests. Wetness pools between your legs. You never thought you’d be fucking on a treasure, but it’s exciting as fuck.

Nate’s impatient, trying to pull down your pants without even opening them. It’s not working, so you quickly fumble with the button. Before you can get to the zipper, it opens itself as Nate finally pulls down your pants.

“Been thinking about this all fucking day.” He says as he struggles with his own pants. “Look at you. So fucking gorgeous bent over for me.” You look back at him just as he pulls out his cock, and you can’t help but moan. He’s hard, precum already dripping from the tip.

“Hold on tight, baby.” He says and steps closer to you. You try and find something to hold on to, finally reaching for the edge of the treasure chest, digging your fingers into the sturdy material. You push your ass in the air, impatiently waiting for the moment he’ll finally fill you up.

Nate places one of his hands on your hip, and you’re tingling with anticipation. “You wore these just for me? You expected to get laid in the jungle?” He asks as he slips one of his fingers under the edge of your underwear. It’s one of the prettier pairs you own, not the functional ones you’d usually wear on a trip like this. But you wanted to feel sexy and confident, who can blame you?

“I’m wearing these for me,” you say with a certain edge to your voice. You want him to stop talking.

“Sure you are, sweetheart.” Then you feel your panties digging into your skin for a second before a cracking sound fills the air, and the pressure is gone.

“Better.” You hear Nate murmur, and your mouth falls open in shock.

“Did you just rip my underwear?”

“Oops.”

“You son of a–“

You don’t get to finish your sentence because the next thing you know, he gently kicks the inside of your foot, causing you to spread your legs further before pushing into you, stretching you out, and you can’t do anything but tilt your hips to give him better access.

“Looks like someone loses the ability to speak once their cunt is filled.” Nate leans over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You reach back with one of your hands, grabbing a fistful of his hair like you’ve down before, not tugging on it, but just holding onto him, keeping him close.

“You feel so fucking good, gorgeous.” He starts thrusting, and now you are tugging on his hair. “I love it when you pull my hair.” He says, then places a kiss right under your ear. One of his hands is holding onto your hip tightly, the other resting on the treasure chest next to you.

His thrusts are slow and deliberate, and as much as you love this, you don’t have all day.

“Faster, Nate. Give it to me.”

Nate grunts at your words, but then he picks up the pace, fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow, and somehow he manages to brush against your g-spot every time. Your whole body is wound uptight, your hips slamming against the treasure chest with every forceful thrust, and you know you’re gonna have bruises tomorrow, but you don’t give a fuck.

“I’m so fucking close.” Nate presses out, his thrusts growing more erratic.

“Cum for me.” You tug on his hair. “Fill me up, Nate.”

“Fuck!” He rights himself, both his hands now on your hips, and if possible, he fucks even deeper into you, and suddenly, without warning, you’re coming undone.

Your walls tighten around him as a guttural moan leaves your lips, and then you feel him cum inside you.

He keeps thrusting lethargically until he’s completely spent, then he slowly pulls out.

You feel your combined juices dripping out of you, and even though your mind is still clouded from that intense orgasm, you reach between your legs to not ruin your pants. He’s already destroyed your panties, and as hot as that was, you still have to make your way back to the city.

“Can you hand me a tissue or something?” You ask, your breathing still heavy.

“Ah, shit, wait. Take this for now.” He hands you something, and you can’t fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Are these my panties?”

You hear Nate chuckle before his hand covers yours, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into a standing position, holding you against his chest.

“I’m sorry I ripped them.”

“Are you really?” You lean to the side and look back at him with a raised brow, the smirk on his face is all you need to know. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you clean up before calling Sully to organise the relocation of the treasure.

When you’re finally back in the city, knowing you beat Rafe to the treasure, you feel like you’re on top of the world.

You know he still wants you dead, that you have to be careful. But you’ve got Nate and Sully (who was sceptical at first but agreed to give you a chance) protecting you. Perhaps you should take a break from treasure hunting for a while. It would be the smart thing to do, get off of Rafe and Moncada’s radar. But you know when the next opportunity to find a treasure comes along, you won’t hesitate to go after it.

You don’t know where you and Nate are headed, what the things that happened between you mean. But you know you’ll figure it out.

A/N: There it is!!! i hope you liked it! I’d love to read your reactions <3

besties tag: @spidermanlondon ☆ @duskholland ☆ @heyhihellowhatsup0 ☆ @annathesillyfriend ☆ @hazofmyheart ☆ @emilykjh ☆ @sinisterspidey ☆ @lovebittenbyevans ☆ @miraclesoflove ☆ @seasidetom ☆ @selfcarecap ☆ @missevrythingg ☆ @userholland ☆ @softholand ☆ @hotforharrison ☆ @osterfield-holland-andcompany ☆ @thecodyexpress ☆ @worldoftom

Don’t blame me tag: @enjoy-the-destruction // @namoreno // @t-hollanderr // @julster

#nathan drake x reader #nathan drake smut #nathan drake angst #nathan drake fluff #nathan drake fic #nathan drake fanfic #nate drake #uncharted #uncharted movie #tom holland

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okskz · 8 months

Text

Catching Feelings.

mia + stray kids ft. hongjoong

hongjoong meets up with mia at kcon and tells her how he really feels about her.

hi guys! hope you enjoy. please feel free to leave feedback because it is always appreciated!

“I cannot believe the two of you decided to curse in our performance.” chan said as he walked behind his group. they had just finished kcon and were walking back to their dressing room.

both mia and jisung turned their attention to chan, knowing he was talking about them. mia and jisung let out a small laugh. “in my defense, it was mia’s idea to do it.”

“and you were dumb enough to listen to her.” hyunjin laughed.

mia’s mouth dropped. “hyunjin!”

chan shook his head at his members, not phased by them since this was how they always were with each other. “I mean, it does sound like we say shit in super bowl. even the fans think so too.” mia chuckled. “might as well have done it.” jisung and mia gave each other a high five. “all this shit so bussin’”

“you two!” chan exclaimed while everyone else laughed. “just go get ready to go back to the hotel.”

mia followed behind, she was always quick to change out of her performance clothes, eager to go leave any place quickly.

and as she was finishing up, she checked her phone to see the message she had received from hongjoong.

meet me outside your dressing room :)

mia looked up and scanned the room. everyone was so busy talking that she managed to sneak out without anyone noticing. she walked a few steps down the hallway until she was met with hongjoong. he was already smiling at her and mia also instantly smiled when seeing him.

“what are you doing here?” she questioned. “you guys performed yesterday.”

“I know. but we also had meet & greet today.” he answered. “and well we had a little extra time so I decided to come and watch the show. felt as if I had to come support a special someone.”

“aw, really? who?” mia asked, sarcastically.

hongjoong chuckled. “ah, mia.” he said, patting the girl’s head. “you did great as always. also bold of what you and jisung did.”

mia couldn’t help but laugh. “oh, yeah. it was my idea.”

“how’s your schedule looking like?”

mia sighed. “busy isn’t even the right word to say how tight our schedule is. we won’t even be home for that long until a new schedule comes up.”

for the most part of the year, mia had been hanging out with hongjoong a lot. it went from once every two weeks to almost every chance they got. the two had definitely gotten closer rather quickly. the text messages and calls increasing as well. he had become a really great friend to mia.

“what about you?”

hongjoong shrugged, “about the same.” he answered. “but I’ve been trying to make time to put you in my schedule.”

mia slightly blushed and hongjoong noticed. “well even when we’re miles apart or in a schedule, you can always message or call me.”

“yeah, I know that. but it’s just not the same getting to see your pretty face.” now mia was blushing even harder. “can I be honest with you, mia?”

the girl looked up at hongjoong, humming in response as she stared at him to continue. hongjoong slightly but his lip, taking in a second before finally getting the guts to tell mia how he felt about her. “I really really like you.” he said, which made mia’s stomach churn. “I think more than I did before. I think you’re absolutely great and amazing.”

mia had already knew how hongjoong felt about her, but hearing him confess it now and that he was catching more feelings towards her made mia’s stomach churn even more.

“and it would be an honor to finally take you out on a date.” he held onto mia’s hand which made her slightly shiver. she was at lost for words at the moment not know what to say to him.

“of course that’s when our schedules die down, do you don’t have to tell me just yet if you want to or not. I’ll give you some time.” he smiled. “I also know how you feel about dating right now, but I needed to let you know how I felt.”

hongjoong knew about what happened between her and changbin dating and how it ended. along the way of getting closer mia had mentioned it to him to let him know the reason she didn’t want to date.

but now it was a little more complicated because she didn’t know if she still had feelings for changbin since they started to basically date again. although she didn’t know what to really call what they were doing. no relationship though.

mia let out a small sigh while also smiling at hongjoong. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready. I just need…”

from the corner of her eye she saw hyunjin and changbin walking towards. “figure some things out.”

“of course, no worries. I’ll wait for you.” hongjoong smiled. “I better get going before my members start calling me.”

mia let out a laugh. “you do that, and tell mingi that I miss him and said hello.”

“I’ll let him know.” hongjoong smiled at the girl one last time before leaving. he greeted hyunjin and changbin and then was gone.

hyunjin smirked at mia as she gave him a small glare.

“what’s hongjoong doing here?” changbin questioned after he left.

“oh, he was just watching the performances for tonight.” mia answered, chewing the inside of her lip.

“just him alone?”

“mhm.” mia hummed. “are we all set to go?”

“yes, we are.” chan said from behind. he had the girl’s backpack handing it to mia.

riding back to the hotel, mia and changbin sat at the very end of the van. changbin was resting on her shoulder while playing with her fingers.

all while mia was lost in her thoughts. she was confused.

did she want to continue being with changbin, not knowing where things were headed between the two. or was she ready to

move on.

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cockslutpadalecki · 2 years

Note

What about mean Stepbrother!Steve who hates it when you start dating his best friend and will do just about anything to fuck it up for you. Including taking photos of you in the shower and sending them to his basketball team mates from 'your' tinder account.

You'd find out, of course. And then he'd have to show you exactly where your place is under his roof. On your fucking knees with your panties shoved inside your pussy and his dick up your ass.

Anyway, ignore this if you want 😂

Love you 💗

Cry, Little Sister

Pairing: Mean!Stepbrother!Steve x Stepsister!Reader, Bucky x Reader (established).

Words: 1.8K.

Warnings: non-con, high school AU, mean!Steve is mean but it’s me… you should all know this by now, reader and Steve are both of age, a frustrating lack of communication which could’ve easily prevented this whole scenario from happening but oh well, catfishing, non-consent of sharing explicit images, non-consent of taking explicit images, explicit sexual content, humiliation, unprotected sex, anal sex, creampie, implied rough oral sex (male receiving), implied forced multiple orgasms, items being placed inside vagina (underwear), 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Trust you to come up with such a debauched idea… and trust me to write it. You know I could never in a million years ignore this LOL Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

The minute you step inside the gymnasium, a quiet descends as if they were all just talking about you. You can feel a thousand pairs of eyes on you.

“Nice tits!” Someone yells. Half of the crowd erupts into laughs and catcalls while the other half discreetly giggle behind their palms, careful to not let you see them joining in too.

You hurry to your spot on the bleachers, hushed whispers echoing long after you sit down. Even Katie, who’s ‘dating’ your stepbrother Steve— if you can even call being fuck buddies a relationship— avoids eye contact with you when you try to talk to her. You don’t know what you could’ve done to upset her because she was fine with you at lunch, even partnered up with you last period, but you attempt to shrug it off as you pull your phone from the bag at your feet.

There are dozens of texts and missed calls from your boyfriend Bucky, but you don’t get the opportunity to check anything when the door leading to the locker room opens with a loud crash and the room falls silent. You look up, perplexed as Bucky storms over, face red and filled with ire.

“Buck, baby, what’s w-” You stand up hurriedly as he approaches you, but he slaps your hand away when you reach out to touch his arm.

“Don’t baby me. I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to show up here after what you’ve done,” he spits at you, lips curled up into a snarl. “How could you?”

“How could I wh-what?” you stutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’s going to do this here, in front of the entire school?

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief, puffing out a frustrated breath. “Just quit lying alright, I’ve seen the pictures.” He eyes the crowd behind you. “Everyone has seen the pictures.” He actually looks hurt.

“Pictures? I don’t understand, what pi-”

He’s quick to cut you off. “We’re over.”

Oh. He is. He did.

Embarrassment and shame creeps up your neck like a rash, and tears sting hot in your eyes as you stare down your now ex-boyfriend, confused beyond belief.

You look away, trying to seek out some clarity and a friendly face from Katie, but she quickly averts her gaze. The crowd is eerily quiet now— so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Tears flow freely as you reach behind you and grab your bag, giving Bucky one last look in the hopes he’ll soften at the sight of your distress. He doesn’t.

Don’t let them see you cry. Don’t let them see you cry, you chant to yourself as you run out.

Sobs wrack your body as you hear the door slam shut behind you, practically running across the parking lot to your car. Tears blind your vision and a million thoughts fog your mind so much that you don’t catch sight of your stepbrother until you’re almost on top of him.

Steve is literally the last person on earth you want to see right now. You hurry to school your features, not wanting him to see you so visibly upset, knowing it’ll only give him ammunition to mock you.

“What do you want? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the game?” you ask with a little sniff.

Steve shrugs, ignoring your question. He looks pissed, but then again, he always looks pissed when you’re around. “I always knew you were a little whore, but I never expected you’d go this far for some dick.”

You’re just as baffled by his comment as you were by Bucky’s, but you’re not in any mood to entertain it. You just want to go home and hide.

Stepping up to the car door, you attempt to reach for the handle but Steve moves to prevent you from doing so. “Please, just move out of my way.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what, Steve?” you huff, voice thick.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, taps the screen a few times and finally turns it to face you.

Your blood runs cold at the image of you in the shower— breasts visibly on show as is the small thatch of curls above your pussy. Soap and bubbles coat your skin as your head is tipped back, washing shampoo from your hair.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but to find out my slut of a stepsister has been trying it on with my teammates too?”

A lump in your throat forms as your stomach starts to tie itself in nauseating knots. “I mean… I don’t… understand.”

None of this makes any sense to you.

“What’s there to understand? You made a Tinder profile and started sexting my buddies. You even asked Chris and Tony for a threesome!”

Screwing up your nose, you try to hide your disgust at the thought of his friends naked. Yuck.

“No!” you protest, shaking your head furiously. “I didn’t! I don’t even have Tinder!”

Steve brings up the profile in question and it’s unmistakably you. Your age, location, picture and a questionable bio that makes your heart drop.

Young enough to be flexible, old enough to be experienced ;) HMU xoxo

You drive home in a rage. Who would want to make a fake profile for you? Why would they want to? To split you and Bucky up? You know of a handful of girls who didn’t take the news of you dating Bucky well, and you wouldn’t put it past them to do such a thing. High school girls are lethal but this seems like a step too far. Besides, how would they be able to get hold of such an intimate photo? Especially one you haven’t even taken yourself. Questions fire around in your brain one hundred per second as you try to figure out who’s behind all this.

Who hates you? Who has access? Who’s cruel enough?

That’s when it hits you. The only person who would ever have this kind of access and would take a finite amount of pleasure in your social destruction, is the one you happen to live in the same house as.

Steve.

His bedroom is already a mess when you start ransacking it, desperate to find any evidence to prove that your crazy theories aren’t unfounded. Could it really be Steve who set this whole profile up to sabotage your relationship? Is he really that twisted?

It worries you more than it doesn’t surprise you. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to get between you and Bucky so it certainly makes sense. He’s never liked the idea of you dating his best friend. Come to think of it, you haven’t been on good terms since your parents got married.

You’re about to open his nightstand when a rough, familiar voice booms from behind you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It makes you jump, but you manage to steady yourself just enough to bite back with, “Where is it, Steve?”

“Where’s what?”

“The secret camera you use to take pictures of me.”

He laughs. Like full on belly laughs. Amused that you’ve clearly had a psychotic break. “Are you fuckin’ high?”

“I’m serious you asshole!” you storm over to him. “Is this what gets you off? Ruining my relationship because your best friend would rather spend time with your sister than you? What kind of sick pervert are you?”

“Step sister,” he spits like venom as his eyes narrow to slits. “And watch your fuckin’ tone with me,” he warns.

“If you think I’m going to talk to you respectfully when you’ve been catfishing me to the entire county then you’re more unhinged than I thought,” you hiss and out of pure fury, you push him.

Steve’s cobalt eyes glare at you before he lunges forward, grabbing you by the throat and shoves you harshly against the wall. “And if you think I won’t have you thrown out of this house and sent back to that piece of shit you call a father, you’re more naive than I thought.”

“Just wait ‘til I tell my mom what you’ve been doing.” You try to sound intimidating, but your voice comes out as a pathetic squeak.

He shrugs, seemingly unbothered by your threat. “Then I’ll just show her the messages you’ve sent me.”

What?!

Steve shakes his head with a little tut. “Whatever will she think when she finds out her perfect little angel has been pleading with her big brother to spit on her pussy while he fucks her in the ass?”

You stare back at him, horrified. “You’re disgusting.”

His lips curl up into a cruel smirk. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Face down in a pile of Steve’s dirty clothes, the faint smell of his shower gel and the aftershave you hate clings to the material and in turn, sticks to you like syrup. He’s everywhere around you all at once— in the back of your throat as you inhale his scent and deep inside your ass as his balls slap wetly against your cheeks. There’s no escaping his presence, even when you try to disassociate and the sensory overload is enough to push you to the verge of tears yet again.

You can barely see over the laundry, but the view you do have of the mirror to your left is enough to make you wish you were struck blind.

Steve’s behind you, hands pushing down on your shoulder blades to keep your ass high while he fucks it. The pain has long since fizzled away into a warped buzz of pleasure, and when he gently tugs on your ruined pink panties hanging from your drenched cunt, the lewd combination sends flames of heat right into the depths of your pelvis.

The angle isn’t outright obscene, but you can see enough to anticipate his thrusts before they jolt your entire body. Tears wet your cheeks as he continues to fuck you, breathlessly shifting between berating and praising you.

“Fuck, think this might be my new favorite hole,” Steve grits out, voice husky and thick.

He’s already come inside your pussy, plugging it shut with your underwear to keep his sticky-hot load from dripping out.

“Don’t want any to go to waste,” he had sneered in your ear.

The wetness from your salty tears make the corners of your lips smart, and you blanch as you lick them away, the briny taste of Steve’s dick and your own juices still heavy on your tongue.

You don’t bother to protest— crying has gotten you nowhere so far, but the whimpers that escape you are purely a product of the force in which he drives himself back inside you. It’s clear he thinks you’re trying to beg him to stop, and in frustration he growls, ripping the panties from your cunt with a sharp tug. The sensation sends ripples through your core and you come unexpectedly with a muffled cry. Your body is exhausted from overstimulation, but you still find yourself shaking uncontrollably beneath him as your asshole tightens around his cock like a vice.

“Holy shit,” Steve grunts, laughter thick in his tone as he shoves the soaked cotton of your underwear past your lips. “Remember this moment next time you mouth off at me, little sis. I fuckin’ own you and this pretty little ass.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @kellhems @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @dandywinchesterbras @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @roxyfan14-blog @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#sweeterthanthis #answered #request #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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itzynabi · 5 months

Text

2023 mama

word count: 3.0k

warnings: mention of being sick and food and i think that’s it

an: idk why but i suddenly just wanted to write a scenario for eve at mama. words in bold are english and words in italics are japanese. feedback and reblogs are much appreciated 💐

eve’s masterlist

Eve walked onto the red carpet with a smile on her face. She posed for the cameras, satisfying the journalists’ requests before walking to the interview zone.

“Hello,” she greeted the three MC’s, bowing her head as well.

“Hello,” RalRal greeted. “You’re so pretty.”

Eve smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“Are your members not here with you?” Hyesul asked, noticing that Eve was by herself.

“Yes. Today, I’m representing ITZY,” she said. “We’re busy with comeback preparations, but the company said I should come to MAMA and see MIDZY’s.”

Hanhae exclaimed. “That was very wise of the company. I’m sure the fans were excited when they heard you were coming.”

“Looking at your dress, I can see why you’re called Princess Nabi,” Hyesul commented, waving her arm in Eve’s direction.

“Thank you, I chose it myself,” Eve said.

“It’s so pretty.”

“Eve-ssi, there were many songs that came out this year,” RalRal mentioned. “Which song do you think was the best?”

“L.O.V.E by Hur Youngji sunbaenim,” she answered without missing a beat, causing the MC’s to laugh.

“Most people would say themselves or they would beat around the bush and not give us an answer,” Hanhae told her, “but you immediately answered without missing a beat.”

“I was expecting you to say antifragile,” Hyesul admitted.

“Compared to L.OV.E, antifragile is not up there. It’s not close,” Eve said.

They continued to talk a little bit more before their interview time was over and Eve walked off camera.

“This time you will meet the best performance queen,” Park Gyuyoung announced after SEVENTEEN accepted their award,” who has captured fans with brilliant performances.”

The nominees were shown on the screen with snippets of the choreography, Eve being one of them.

“I will announce the winner. The 2023 MAMA Awards Best Dance Performance Female Solo. The winner is… Eve.”

Eve stood up as the crowd erupted in cheers, making her way to the stage. She accepted the trophy from Gyuyoung with a bow before turning to face the crowd.

“Thank you so much for this award. The choreographers worked really hard on it and so did the dancers and so did I. I’m very thankful to fans for liking my performances and supporting me, it really means a lot. I’ll continue to work harder to give you great performances that you can be proud of. Thank you, once more. I love you!” She made a cheek heart to the camera and walked backstage with Gyuyoung.

Once she reached backstage, she immediately bolted to her greenroom. “I won!” She exclaimed excitedly, raising the trophy above her head as she stood in the doorway. The staff and dancers in the room cheered for her.

“Congratulations!” Taehee shouted. “Now, sit down.”

Eve nodded as she made her way to the nearest chair, putting the trophy on the table in the centre of the room. Eunjung, one of the dancers, handed her two granola bars to help with her energy levels. “Well done on your hard work, everyone!” She congratulated, unwrapping the first bar. “We’ve done so well.”

Haena, one of the other dancers, snorted. “We haven’t performed yet.”

“I meant all of our other performances,” Eve clarified. “That’s why we won this award.”

“We’ve used all of our energy for the performances,” another dancer, Jinhee, agreed.

“Let’s hope they film the choreography nicely,” Eve commented. She looked up at the screen on the wall that was airing the show to the staff. “We can only have so much.”

Ari walked over to Eve. “Even if the filming isn’t good, the company is going to record your performance and there will be fancams.” She put her hand on Eve’s forehead, checking the girl’s temperature. “You’re good.”

Since it was winter, Eve had been running a fever so her team had been checking her temperature as often as possible. The fact that she was working every day for more than the recommended amount of time probably wasn’t helping. And the fact that most of her work was dance practices for award shows with exhausting choreography definitely wasn’t helping.

“Let me get back out there,” Eve said after eating her second granola bar. She stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll be back, everyone.” She left the room, walking down the wide hallway in the building. As she was walking, she heard someone call her name.

Yoonseo made her way to Eve, giving the older girl a hug when she reached her. “Congratulations, unnie!”

“Thank you, unnie,” Eve joked. Yoonseo’s character in the movie they were in together was older than Eve’s character, so Eve developed a habit of randomly calling Yoonseo ‘unnie.’

“How aren’t you cold?” Yoonseo asked when they had stopped hugging. Since her dress was long-sleeved, she didn’t feel the effects of the cold as badly.

Eve shrugged. “I think it’s because of adrenaline. But I also have a heater near where I’m sitting.”

“Ah, that makes sense. When are you performing?”

“At the end, just before (G)I-dle sunbaenim,” Eve answered.

Yoonseo nodded. “Have fun.”

“Thanks. I’ll try,” Eve said, pretending to sniffle.

Yoonseo laughed. “Unnie, go.”

“Okay, bye.”

“The next award is a very special one,” Sooyoung began after ATEEZ had already walked backstage, “it’s one many artists dream of winning. Let’s meet the nominees.”

The nominees were shown on screen with snippets of their songs playing, Eve being one of them.

“The 2023 MAMA Awards Best Female Artist. The winner is… Wow,” she exclaimed softly when she opened the flip phone, “I’m very honoured to present this award to this artist. Eve!”

Eve stood up, shocked that her name had been the one that was called. She made her way to the main stage as the crowd and artists cheered for her. Once she reached the stage, she hugged Sooyoung before accepting the award.

“Um, thank you for the award of Best Female Artist. It’s a very big honour and the fact that Sooyoung unnie — who used to give me advice for monthly evaluations — is awarding it to me makes it more meaningful.” She paused as the crowd cheered louder. “It’s thanks to MIDZY that I’m able to do what I love and I will continue to work hard to make you proud to be my fan. I also want to thank my members for always supporting me amongst my many schedules and giving me energy when I was tired. Thank you!”

She bowed before walking backstage with Sooyoung. Once they made it to the backstage area, Sooyoung engulfed Eve in a tight hug.

“Ah, congratulations, Nabi!” She squealed out before ending the hug. “How are you already winning Best Female Artist? Didn’t you only start training two weeks ago?” She asked.

“Ahjumma, I’m also shocked,” Eve agreed. “I debuted yesterday, didn’t I? I was just singing Dalla Dalla, wasn’t I?”

Whenever Eve reached a new milestone in her career, she was always in shock at how far she had come. She sometimes forgot when she debuted and had to remind herself that she wasn’t a rookie artist anymore, but instead an idol with four years of experience.

“You had those horrid pigtails just last week,” Sooyoung exaggerated as the two women moved out of the way of the staff. She led them to her greenroom, where Kyungho also was.

Eve frowned as she spoke, “Calling them a ‘horrid’ is a bit of a stretch, I liked them. They were very cute at the time and they’d still be cute now. But I know what you mean,” she finished with a smile before noticing Kyungho sitting on the vanity. “Oh, hi!” She waved at him.

“Oh! It’s the Best Female Artist!” He exclaimed, making Eve blush.

“That’s me.” She looked around the room. “What am I doing here? And why’s your room empty?”

“We were still talking!” Sooyoung whined, sitting on the couch. “How could you forget?”

“I thought we had said everything. What else do we have to say?”

“Yah, do you not know how a conversation works?”

“Why is it my fault?” Eve muttered, her expression to be one of offence.

Sooyoung suddenly pointed at Eve. “We should film an antifragile challenge.”

Eve stared intently at Sooyoung for a few beats. “But–”

“Yeah.”

“–if we film it–”

“Yeah.”

“–won’t… things come out?” She asked, gesturing at Sooyoung’s decolletage.

Sooyoung hung her head as both her and Kyungho burst into laughter. “Obviously, I mean later! On a different day when we’re wearing different clothes.”

Eve shook her head. “Nothing was obvious about that. Anyway, my manager is probably about to go mad because I haven’t magically appeared in my greenroom and I need to change, so I’ll be leaving now. Bye!” She waved to the couple as she left the room.

Eve power walked as best as she could to her greenroom. “Hi, everyone. I’m back!”

“Where were you?” Ari asked when Eve entered the room.

“Sooyoung unnie’s room. She kidnapped me.”

“Okay.” Ari nodded, accepting that answer. She knew that Eve meant that Sooyoung took her somewhere.

“Where is everyone?” Eve asked, noticing how the dancers weren’t there.

“They went to stretch,” Ari said. “Also, Yeji was trying to FaceTime you,” she mentioned as Eve sat down and put her trophy next to her other one.

Eve picked up her phone from the table, unlocking it and going to hear missed calls. She pressed on Yeji’s profile and waited as the phone rang.

“Unnie!” Yeji squealed when she picked up. “You won two awards!”

“I did, I did!” Eve leaned forward to show her trophies. “How’s practice?”

“Boring and tiring,” Yeji answered. “We’re on a break and the other members went to a cafe.”

Eve groaned. “I’m suddenly craving coffee from that cafe by the dorm.”

“Right, right. How is it being there by yourself?”

Eve sighed. “Lonely. I’ve been sitting next to Le Sserafim most of the time, but I still miss the members. It’s more fun when we’re all here.”

“I see,” Yeji said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten Eve’s mood, which she succeeded in. “When is your performance?”

“Soon, actually. So, I need to change and stretch and do my makeup again.”

“Okay. We’re going to watch your performance so we’ll be rooting for you.” She made a fist with her hand, showing it to the camera. “Fighting!”

“Fighting!”

Eve went on stage for her performance. It consisted of two introduction tracks she produced just for this award show and antifragile. She made sure to use a good amount of energy to deliver a good performance for the fans to watch. The cheers from the audience gave her a lot of energy and helped her keep going until the end, despite how sore her body was from the dance.

Eve sat in her seat next to Chaewon. As (G)I-dle’s performance came to an end, the girls began to talk amongst themselves. Since Eve was a bit tired, she was laughing at everything they said. They quieted down when Seungryong walked onto stage.

“I was shown a lot of love when I was in Moving, portraying a character with superpower abilities,” Seungryong said. “Looking at the K-Pop stars here today, I also think they have superpowers. Let’s meet the nominees for this award.”

The nominees were shown on screen with snippets of their songs playing, Eve being one of them.

“The 2023 MAMA Awards Best Female Artist. The winner is…”

“Wouldn’t it be so funny if he called my name and then was, like ‘Sike?’” She asked, pointing at herself as she and Sakura laughed.

“...Eve!”

Due to Eve still laughing with Sakura, she didn’t hear her name being called. Chaewon, however, pushed her up. Eve stood, taking note of how the audience was applauding, and joined in, not realising they were applauding for her. The rest of the Le Sserafim members figured out that Eve was applauding for a different artist, so they ushered her to walk down the stairs and make her way on stage. Eve obliged easily, a confused expression on her face as she walked, before it dawned on her what was happening, her expression changing to one of disbelief. As she approached Seungryong, she pointed at herself to make sure that she was the one that was called and he nodded in response, giving her her award. She bowed to him before approaching the mic stand.

She cleared her throat a few times, trying to think of something to say. “Um… I wasn’t expecting to win,” she admitted. “I… This is crazy!” She shook her head to clear her head. “Thank you to all of the songwriters and producers and composers that I worked with for eudaimonia. I learnt a lot from all of you and I’m very thankful for the knowledge I gained. Uh, thank you to my stylist, makeup artist and hairstylist for making me look pretty on stage and in the music videos. Thank you to my managers for organising my schedule as nicely as possible. Thank you to the various teams that had a part in eudaimonia. Thank you to my members for helping me with songwriting and coming up with music video concepts and choreography ideas– Oh, thank you to my choreographer and dancers! Because of you, I’m able to give really good performances. Thank you to Hyoyeon unnie and Momo unnie for agreeing to feature on the album. It means a lot, a lot. And of course, thank you to MIDZY’s everywhere that listened to the album and streamed it and bought it. Very cool and very fun of you. Because of all of the people I mentioned, I was able to win Artist of the Year and I’m very thankful to each and every one of you. I’ll make sure to… I forgot what I was going to say, but I’m sure it was going to be so incredibly smart. I’ve never won Artist of the Year before, so I don’t really know what to say, so I’ll just stop here. I love you!”

She bowed to the crowd once more before walking off stage with Seungryong. Once they reached backstage, she walked quietly to her greenroom. “Something strange just happened.”

“You won Artist of the Year!” Haena exclaimed excitedly.

Eve pointed at Haena. “That’s the strange thing I’m talking about.”

For the next five minutes, Eve’s greenroom was loud with cheers of excitement as she stood there with her arms crossed.

“This is crazy,” she commented when everyone had calmed down.

Eunjung, who was scrolling on her phone, exclaimed, “You’re the first female artist to win Artist of the Year since 2011 — which was Girls’ Generation sunbaenim — and you’re the first solo female artist in the history of MAMA to win Artist of the Year!”

“This is crazy!”

Ari handed Eve’s phone to the younger woman. “You have a lot of texts.”

Eve opened her phone, still standing up, and opened her KaKaoTalk, seeing an influx of messages from practically everyone on her contact list. She read through as many as she could and responded to them, trying her hardest not to blush when she got to San’s. Thinking of her boyfriend, she sighed. Even though they were both at the same award show, they barely spoke to each other. The only time they had interacted the whole night was when they were sitting near each other and waved.

She responded to his message with three pink sparkly hearts and a face savouring food — her favourite emojis. She looked up from her phone, noticing that SEVENTEEN was beginning to walk off stage after accepting their award.

Just then, a staff member poked his head in the room. “It’s almost time for the ending stage.”

“Ah, yes.” Eve put her phone and trophy down, following the staff member out of the room.

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.”

Eve was led to a different stage entrance, where she saw Yunjin’s bright red hair. “Hi, hi,” she said when she was behind Yunjin.

Yunjin turned around with a gasp, hugging Eve. “Unnie, congratulations!”

“Thank you, thank you. Congratulations to you guys too.”

They continued to congratulate each other before making their way onto the stage so they could see fans one last time before leaving. The stage was full with artists, all waving to fans or talking to each other. Eve made her way around the stage, eventually losing Yunjin somewhere. She smiled at Wooyoung when she noticed him.

“Congratulations on your awards,” she told him.

“You too. Your performance was great!” He complimented, throwing her a thumbs up. “San was watching you like this–” he imitated the fond smile his member had when Eve was performing.

Eve giggled. “I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. But where is he?”

Wooyoung looked over his left shoulder before feeling an arm go around his right. “There he is.” He pointed at the member hanging off of his side.

“Hi,” Eve said, smiling at San.

“Hi,” San replied, smiling at Eve. “Your performance was wow!”

“Thank you! So was yours! And if you could refrain from taking your shirt off in public, there are so many people who would appreciate it.”

San shrugged. “It was for the performance. Just to drive the point home.”

“Yeah, yeah. The new song sounds good!” She complimented. “Very catchy.”

San blushed. “Thanks, we try.”

“Yeah, well, duh!”

Wooyoung cleared his throat, not liking how his friends seemed to forget that he was there.

“I should probably get going before people start to get suspicious,” Eve said before giving them a small wave, not noticing how San whipped his head around to watch her walk away.

The rest of the show was a blur: she spoke to so many people, nearly bumped into half a dozen and immediately threw herself onto the couch in her greenroom.”

“I can’t wait to go to bed,” she said.

Ari and Taehee shared a look before the former woman tapped Eve’s leg. “Don’t forget, you have the after-party.”

“Ugh!”

eve’s red carpet look

eve’s performance outfit

tagging: @seolboba // @ateezivy // @ateezjuliet // @cafemilk-tea // @smh-anon // @alixnsuperstxr // @cosmicwintr // @girlzwfun // @txt-yaomi // @moongrlz

an: for her performance, the lyrics obvi don’t say the “im a mess in distress” part but instead lyrics from naughty just as a littlw fyi

©️ kim nabi

#ficnetfairy #itzy oc #itzy 6th member #itzy sixth member #itzy addition #itzy extra member #itzy added member #itzy member au #itzy imagines #kpop oc #kpop addition #kpop added member #kpop extra member #kpop au #kpop imagines #kim nabi

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