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starsinmylatte · 4 months

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Malum in se

Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! There's only fluff here :)

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: A lovely anon originally requested this of @pseudowho, but she's asked me to fill it (for those of you not following the saga of Lyria's snow week™️.... I've been completely snowed in and WIPs have kept me sane).

Join my taglist here! (18+ only, this blog is mostly pure filth)

Higuruma Hiromi knew he was truly in love when you successfully convinced him to watch horrifically cheesy reruns of Law and Order while he was the one stuck at home sick. He groaned dramatically at every exaggeration or incorrect legal quote, but he enjoyed how you snuggled into his side too much to actually complain about the situation. After all, you were kind enough to take care of him, and his mild illness had not deterred your affection in the slightest.

He had almost fallen asleep on the couch when you cocked your head at the antics on the television, murmuring under your breath, “Wouldn’t that qualify as Malum in se, though?”

Hiromi blinked once, twice, and then a third time before speaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

You turned to face your boyfriend, tone slightly teasing, “Yeah, Malum in se, right? Things like assault, murder… or wearing white after Labor Day.”

Hiromi arched an eyebrow at you and treated you to the lopsided grin you adored so much. “You’re going to have to tell me how you know what that is.”

He snaked his arms around you, pulling you even closer against his warm chest. Before you could answer, he took the chance to nuzzle his nose against the column of your neck, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Well, pretty girl?” He teased gently, and you dropped your head back against his shoulder, humming contentedly.

“Do you remember when I mentioned I used to do community theatre a few years ago?” You questioned, and you could feel Higuruma's grin grow wider.

“Indeed, I do.”

“Well…. There was one time when I played a character who happened to be a law student.” You pursed your lips, trying to keep laughter from bubbling up.

Hiromi broke into a barking laugh that became a short coughing fit. “You played a law student? What kind of musical involves lawyers?” he wheezed.

“It’s called Legally Blonde, and it’s not just a musical… It’s a masterpiece.” You insisted. “I loved the movie when I was a young girl, and getting to play Elle- the main character- was an absolute dream come true.”

Your eyes lit up as an idea sparked into your brain with the strength of a thunderbolt, “Omigod, you’ve never seen the movie, have you? We absolutely have to watch it.”

Hiromi chuckled weakly, running his hand through your hair, “I’ve got a better idea… There have to be clips of your performance somewhere, right?”

“Oh….” you paused for a moment, “It was a few years ago, and I’m sure it wasn’t my best work, but-”

“There’s nothing I’d rather see than you enjoying yourself and doing what you love,” Hiromi interrupted gently, stroking your hair again.

His lopsided grin turned wolfish, “Besides… I am sick; I think this is exactly what I need to heal.”

“If you insist.” You smacked him gently with a pillow to punctuate your words as you left the couch to rummage through the DVDs on the shelf. You even took the time to make another mug of tea for your boyfriend, but eventually, you were back and snuggled up against Hiromi, who gratefully accepted the mug you offered him.

His nose wrinkled unintentionally as he took a sip, “Thank you… but what is in this stuff?”

“It’s helping your throat, isn’t it? You poked his stomach playfully, and he groaned in response.

“Yes, but at what cost?” Hiromi huffed, but the slight twinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t being serious.

“It’s throat coat tea, yet another remnant from my musical days,” you giggled. “I never liked the taste either, but it certainly gets the job done.”

With another flourish of the remote, you pulled up the recording of the show, and you swear you could feel Hiromi smiling behind you as he nursed the warm mug. As soon as the video started, he broke out into another laughter-induced coughing fit.

“Dear god, I’ve never seen so much pink in my entire life.”

“Oh, just you wait.” You threatened teasingly, “You haven’t even seen my character yet.”

Hiromi grasped his mug in one hand and used his other arm to pull you back against his chest, wrapping a blanket snugly around your body. You leaned fully against him, partially because you enjoyed the intimacy and partly because you wanted to see his reactions out of the corner of your eye.

His reactions did not disappoint, even though the video was grainy and clearly meant to be viewed through the rose-colored lenses of someone who was in the show. Hiromi grinned widely when you appeared on stage, murmuring almost too quietly for you to hear, “Cute…”

You blushed happily, and the show continued. He had many comments on how the Delta Nus seemed to share a hive mind and how much of a prick Warner was. He also very nearly choked on his tea when your character’s father proudly declared, “Law school is for boring, ugly, serious people!”

Hiromi glanced down at you after that line with a slight pout, and you took the opportunity to cup his cheek and pull him in for a soft kiss, tasting the tea and honey on his lips. “Mmm, don’t worry… You’re not boring, and you’re certainly not ugly. You can be rather serious… but I like that about you.”

Hiromi kissed the top of your head with a low, contented hum, absolutely convinced his heart was full enough to burst. He fell more in love with you with each passing day, and these past few days had only further sealed his fate. Even now, he was watching you sing and dance your heart out, and you were shining in the roll. The sassy, playfully cute, but deceptively intelligent lawyer was such a perfect role for you, and he quickly became frustrated with Warner. Seeing you so upset over such a stupid man hurt his heart, even though he knew you were acting…. and then Emmett was introduced.

“Now, I like that guy. He’s got the right idea, actually treating Elle decently.” Hiromi mused, playfully twirling a strand of your hair.

“Oh, really?” You grinned slyly. “He reminds me of you, you know.”

“It seems we share the same excellent taste in women.”

–

The movie was over a short while later, but Hiromi insisted on letting it play through curtain call so he could properly applaud your work. You rolled over to lay against his chest, peering inquisitively into his dark, beautiful eyes, “So you really liked it?”

“I loved it,” He assured you, pulling you in for another tea-flavored kiss. Suddenly, you could feel him grinning against your lips, “And I may buy you another one of those pink tweed skirt sets… it was cute on you.”

His deep chuckle only grew louder as you smacked him with another pillow.

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @khaleesihavilliard @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @pseudowho

#higuruma hiromi #hiromi jjk #hiromi higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

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absolutelynotmate-archive · 1 year

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you gotta move, or move on- c.leclerc

love is so short, forgetting is so long pairing: charles leclerc x female reader word count: 5.5k warnings: angsty slay I'VE MOVED BLOGS! if you enjoy this and are looking for more, follow me @formulaforza

You were seventeen when your parents picked up your entire life and moved to the tiniest, most congested country they could have possibly chosen. You’d vacationed there, spent your summers there for years, and you’re the first to admit it’s beautiful. Paris is beautiful, too. Home is beautiful in a way Monte Carlo will never be because home belongs to you.

You’re a transplant in Monaco; a foreign organism who doesn't know the streets, the places, the people. You weren’t done with school, you had a whole year left. Why couldn’t your parents hold off for twelve months? Wait until you were in University and could stay where you belonged, let you choose your own path? You had to get familiar with a new city and a new school, new friends, new teachers.

That’s where you met him, sort of. Through school, not at school. He was friends with your friends, but you’d never seen him at school before. A driver, Formula 3, they told you. It meant nothing to you considering you’d never followed racing, and weren’t going to start now. He’s really good, you didn’t care, not really. You were with your new friends, and he was there, rarely, occasionally, always a big deal when he showed up.

Then, he was doing something else, somewhere else, and winning all of the time. He’s going to get promoted, everyone was always saying, always watching his races on their phones and on their laptops and on their televisions. You were riding along with your friends–his friends–to all of these European races. You’lldo anything for a vacation when you’re a teenager. You picked up on the obvious things pretty quickly, learned more about the intricate details in the grandstands; while you wouldn’t call yourself invested, you weren’t comatose while watching the races, either.

You think that’s what he liked about you, what sparked the interest in the first place. Half of the girls your age at home were throwing themselves at him, trying to land him before he made it big. That’s what they always tell you about athletes, you have to get in before they really make it or else you won’t ever mean anything to them, they want you to prove your loyalty to them. You think he saw you, all passive and unbothered by race results–good or bad–and it intrigued him. It’s the only plausible explanation in your head, because he had his pick of the litter and you’ve never considered yourself the smartest, the prettiest, the best at anything, really. He could have had the best, but he chose you.

It started off with these weird glances, ones where you’d catch each other’s eyes all of the fucking time. It was always so awkward, like you’d caught each other doing something wrong. Your eyes would dart away to another friend, to the sky, to your shoelaces, and your stomach would get all tangled in itself. You always felt like apologizing, like when two people are trying to move out of each other’s way and they both step to the same side; an awkward smile and a muted apology and then you think about it for the rest of the day because the whole thing was so mortifying.

Then it was conversations, ones you’d never had before and always about nothing important. The two of you were friend-adjacent, at best, but now you were always lingering at the back of the group. Ending up sitting in the restaurant booth for a beat longer than everyone else, waiting for the other to fill their plate before finding a place to sit. You’d talk about school, about your plans for the future, about missing Paris and he’d talk about racing, about his dreams, about missing Monaco. You live here, you’d always say to him.

Barely, he’d always reply, the better I get the less time I have.

At some point the group meetings became one-on-one. A restaurant you’d never heard of, one he swore had the best food in the entire world. A coffee shop you wanted to try, one he knew nothing about because he didn’t drink coffee. He didn’t tell you that until you were ordering and you felt foolish, but then he ordered a hot tea and you sat at a little table and talked some more about nothing. You took him to Paris once during Fashion Week, because you had a family friend who had a show. You showed him around and even though he’d been a million times, he let you because he liked the way you talked. Alwayssaid there was something sweet about your voice. Like candy, he said, after you pointed out the bus stop you sat at every day before school as a child, after you asked him why he was smiling like an idiot. That’s when you realized you had a crush on him– in Paris by the old bus stop.

“We’re not dating,” the two of you told friends for two months, even though the only thing that made the statement true was the lack of a label. You were doing everything people who date do. Suddenly, they were asking, and you were smiling and blushing and gushing all the details of just how he’d asked you to make it official.

You got into a fight in May, because he heard from one of your friends you were going to University in Monaco. It hurt that he heard it from someone that wasn’t you but it hurt more that you were staying. You haven’t shut up about going back to Paris since I met you, he said, over the phone because he was away at a race. Why aren’t you going to Paris? You felt like a Gilmore girl, a Jess and Rory original.

“You live here”, you said, like always.

“Barely,” he replied, like always.

That was precisely it, though. If he could barely make it back to his home, how could you ever expect him to have time to come see you in yours?

You ended up going back to Paris, reluctant that he’d be able to fulfill his promises to come see you. When you packed your boxes of things into the trunk of your car, part of you knew it was just the beginning of the end. The rest of you pretended it wasn’t, carried on with red eyes to Monaco and weekend studying done on trains following him around for two trips around the sun.

You’ve always prided yourself on being realistic, it’s what you thought helped draw him to you in the first place. But, you were coming to learn he needed optimism, the undying and unrelenting kind that you were never going to be capable of providing. You weren’t the kind of person that could watch him drive for shit and pretend he didn’t. You drove for shit, you would tell him, only if it was true and then he’d get all passive aggressive and close doors with more force than necessary and sigh dramatically every five minutes. You weren’t a villain about it, you were still his biggest cheerleader, next race you’ve got it, I know you’re better than this, but you were honest. You’d always be honest, and it was dragging him down.

He’d be better off, you thought, if he could have his choice again and find someone who was coded in a way that built him up instead of tearing him down. If you were smarter, prettier, better at all of it, you think you could be what he needs, that you’d be able to adapt and change the way you thought for him. You weren’t those things, though, you were just you.

So calls became short, time zones felt greater, and he never did come see you in Paris. You lost touch with your friends in Monaco, a year, unsurprisingly, does little to form life-long friendships. He kept in touch with them, was always so much better at relationships than you were. Charles would talk about them all of the time, about how much they were helping him, how good they could make him feel. It always made you sad, knowing you were never going to be enough.

I feel like I barely know you anymore, you said once, on the phone, in the middle of the night because it was the only time you got calls from him anymore. He’s in America, racing with Sauber now and you haven’t been to a single race outside of Monaco.

I can’t wait for your wedding, one of his friends, an old, once upon a time friend of yours said sometime that weekend. I bet he proposes, soon. You knew he wouldn’t, knew you were treading dangerously close to the extinction line. Your relationship was teetering on a cliff and waiting for a gust of wind, a breath of fresh air, a cold–hearted shove to push you over the edge and into a fiery explosion of doom, death, all other bad things. You dragged out the end of the call, worried the earlier admission would make it your last for a while. I wish you were here, you said and he didn’t reiterate the sentiment.

You never remembered Paris as being so cloudy, so chilled, so rainy. All of the colors felt gray and muted and you just wanted to be with him, wherever he was. The U.S, China, Monaco. He was everywhere but with you, and you were furious and depressed and bratty and selfish about it. Home is a person, as cheesy as it is true, you’d come to learn.

If you knew this is how it would have gone, you never would have conceded, you would have gone to school in Monaco and everything would be perfect. If you knew, you would have learned everything there was to know about Formula 3 all those years ago. You would have studied it like your life depended on it and would’ve become a fan girl and he never would have found you relevant or interesting and all of this could have been avoided. You didn’t do any of those things, though because you never could have known you were going to fall in love. Allgrandiose and emotional and comfortable. You never could have predicted you’d be counting sheep to spend time with him. You never could have known, never could have prepared.

You tried to fix it, you did. Some things just aren’t repairable. You called more often, you tried to get more time off work and blew all your money traveling. When you were together, it was so good. It was never hard to share space with him, to occupy the same air. That was the easiest part. That was why it was worth trying to fix, all the conversations about nothing and everything, about your dreams and his dreams, about the future neither of you fully believed you’d share. It was lovely in the chaos and it was pure in the silence.

We have to be at rock bottom, you told him, teary eyed on the sofa of a hotel suite on a Monday morning. You were packing your bags, you back to France, him to the next race. You just started crying, out of nowhere, while you were folding your underwear. He laughed at first, but you didn’t stop crying. The thought of going back to being apart was one you couldn’t grapple with, refused to come to terms with because it was so bad when you were away. A shredded heart apart, a mended wound together. The pain of it was becoming unbearable.

You moved back to Monaco. It felt like the only thing left to do, a last resort. All those times he told you he was barely there, he wasn’t lying. He was away from Monaco the same as he was away from Paris. “You love me,” you teased him over Facetime, cooking dinner, making horrible jokes, trying with all your might to make it all better.

“I love you,” he said, rehearsed and bored and unamused. Reminded, maybe, by your words that he was supposed to love you. Every word for the rest of the night feels like checking the expiration date on a bottle of something you don’t remember buying and can’t identify.

Winter break, he was back home for the holidays, to see his family, to see you. You didn’t want to do it then, but it felt like the only option. “I’ve had enough,” you said to him, among a million other things.

“I understand,” he told you, and you knew it was really over because he didn’t try to fight for you, to convince you otherwise. If he had tried, you would have let him, would have caved, you know it.

“We can still be friends,” you offered, a concession prize because being with him really was that great. It was all the complicated long-distance relationship dynamics that killed what you had, what you still have.

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You cried, he cried, and when you went to his apartment three days later to pack up the things you had there, you found a little velvet box on the top shelf of the closet. Curiosity killed the cat, and you opened it, instantly regretted it, memorized the diamond ring inside, closed it and returned it to it’s original spot and never told another person. You should have said no, but you would’ve said yes.

There won’t be too many drunk calls, you hoped, from either of you. A clean breakup. You figured it wouldn’t be long before he moved on, before you saw on social media that he was walking the paddock with a girl who could give him everything he needed, everything you couldn’t. You thought it would make you happy, to see him happy and fulfilled and with a partner that was better suited to him.

She looks just like you. Your sister texted you at the beginning of the next season. He was a hot shot now, the promised prince who would be bringing Ferrari to glory again. He was also walking through the paddock with another girl.

Il Predestinato, the predestined. You wondered if it held any truth. Wondering if the universe had it all planned out, if every single thing that has ever happened to him, including you, was all a part of some master plan. If it is, the universe is sick, you think.

He looks happy, good for him. You replied, cried for four hours, soaked shirt and sheets and pillowcase. You could have kept going if you had any tears left to give, but you used them all up scrolling through social media, doom spiraling until you found out who she was, found her twitter, found her Instagram, scrolled to the bottom of her tagged photos, learned the name of her sister and what color dress she’d worn in Italy with her teenage boyfriend. You needed to know all of it, because he was your teenage boyfriend before long before he ever belonged to her.

You never thought of Monaco as a small town, but, now that you’re expecting to find a ghost around every corner, to spot his car on every street, the fucking country has never felt smaller. You’re claustrophobic here, everything reminds you of him, his picture is everywhere. Formula One is everywhere. Your friends, the ones you’d reconnected with since moving back, they were his friends first.

They act like nothing’s changed, like they’ve chosen your side when they clearly haven’t. You wonder how long they all knew about his new girl, how long they’ve been together, how long it took him to move on. You expected it to be quick, but God, it’s barely been a few months and he’s already comfortable enough subjecting her to the media circus.

You try to go out, to drown your sorrows with the girls who aren’t really your friends. The nightlife is always bustling here, but every club feels empty without him there. Everyshot needs a partner and every fruity drink needs him stealing sips and refusing to admit he likes it. Your friends try to cheer you up, and guys try to hit on you, but you feel like a shell of a person. Justfloating around without purpose. Floating, waiting, hoping it’s all a nightmare.

You don’t run into him, thank God. You run into Pascale and Arthur, though, which is arguably so, so much worse. It’s just on the street, they’re heading to the grocery store, one of them tells you. You’re walking to nowhere, from nowhere. Pascale hugs you and you think you might burst into tears. We miss you, she says, and it fuels the jealous ball of guilt in your soul for another day.

I miss you guys, too, you said, and meant it. You wondered if any of them knew about the ring. Charles was never one to keep a secret, he was historically terrible at it, it was endearing. Arthur was almost hard to look at, the same eyes, the same voice. Identical laughs, all nervous and short, the same face, practically. “How’s Lorenzo?” You asked, because you couldn’t ask about Charles.

You walked home, passed his building and wished you were dead so any trace of your relationship could be buried with you. You tried to pretend you didn’t know the cracks on the sidewalk, that you didn’t have each and every one memorized from walking the same steps so many times.

Home is just as haunting as the streets are. He’d helped you pick out the apartment, went to look at this one with you and said he’d never forgive you if you didn’t lock it in. You ate pizza on the living room floor, before you had any furniture at all, before you even had an internet connection. Sauce dripped from your slice onto the floor and he hurriedly grabbed a napkin to wipe it off the wood floors. You can’t afford to lose your deposit, idiot, he told you, smiled like a goofball and wiped the sauce on your face.

The whole place sings of him, the walls have heard his favorite songs played over, and over, and over again. He picked that paint color, helped you put it on the wall and raced to see who could finish their side first. You deleted his playlist from your phone, along with all the pictures and the videos, but the memories still linger, stunt your healing and stick into your life like a stubborn splinter.

You buy out your lease the next week, move back to Paris and stay with a friend until you can get a place of your own. It’s good for you, the best, being away from a place that was never really yours. It allows you to pick up the pieces and move forward, to not spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been, what might have fixed things.

Paris gives you clarity, makes it impossible to be angry at him because it wasn’t anyone’s fault. There’s nothing anyone could have done, the universe itself never would have been able to intervene. It was just young love, all poetic and film-inspiring and heartbreak song-inducing. Innocent and infuriating and codependent and convoluted. Your first heartbreak, the first real, gut-wrenching experience with losing a love, it’s always like this. The movies and the songs proved that. You just didn’t experience that loss until you were in your early twenties. Distance allows you to recognize that. Having the same aching pain settled so deep in your chest would have been unbearable if you were any younger. You were lucky, as sick and twisted as it felt.

He swears to God he saw you during the podium in Monza. A flash of your hair, your eyes, he blinks and it’s gone, you’re gone. A figment of his imagination, he tries to convince himself he’s seeing things in the chaos of winning Ferrari’s home race, but, he can’t shake it, the feeling that you’re here.

You’d come to a race at Monza, a million years ago, 2016. It was a sprint race and he retired. It’s okay, all of his friends told him. All of them except you. You didn’t say anything, just smiled and gave him the same awkward hug you always did. “What did you think about the race?” He asked you.

“It was whatever.” You’d shrugged. “Shit for you, I suppose.” It was right there. That’s the moment he pinpointed, the exact second he decided he wanted to know you better, that he needed to prove himself to you, show you just how interesting his life could be. He always figured he would tell your kids the story one day, that he’d mention it in his wedding vows and get a spattering of laughs from the guests.

That was the last time you were in Monza together. That’s why he was seeing you in the crowd, he was projecting, surely. He asks his brother, his mother, if they saw you. They give him strange looks and ask him if he’s okay because, why would you be here?

You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t be here, he keeps telling himself. He half expects to find you in his drivers room, or lingering by the coffee machine in hospitality. You’ve never even been inside the Ferrari motorhomes, but, he thinks you’d look so familiar in there, like he wouldn’t bat an eye seeing you.

His mind races, and he feels like a teenager again. Like no time at all has passed and you and he are painfully in love and it’s stupid and young and lovely. “What’s going on in your head?” His girlfriend asks him, playing with his hair like you used to.

“Nobody.” He says, slips up unconsciously, because he doesn’t want to start an argument.

“Nobody?” She says, that incessant whine in her voice that drives him up a wall. He sighs, because she’s gearing up for a fight. He wonders if it’s too late to crash his car into the barrier, pull a few dozen G’s and have an excuse for perfectly teeing her up.

He runs into you at a Christmas party that winter. It’s the anniversary of the end of you two and he wonders if you remember as vividly as he does. One year without each other, a date he never thought he’d remember. A date he never thought would come.

You’ve got a guy with you, who just told the worst joke he’s heard in a while. You laugh, because you’re sweet, but he knows you don’t think it’s funny–knows your laugh too well, worked hard to hear it for too many years.

He watches the two of you, studies you, wonders if he looks as foolish with his new girlfriend as you look with your new boyfriend. It’s painfully obvious, he thinks, how unhappy you are, how ungenuine you appear. That’s not your smile, not your drink, not your favorite pair of heels.

“Hi,” he says when he finds you in the kitchen of the house party, alone. “It’s good to see you,” A lie. He’d almost turned around and walked right back out the door when he saw you. You, with someone who wasn’t him.

“Yeah, you too,” you said, also a lie. He knows you, whether you like it or not.

“So, new guy, huh?” Awkward. So fucking awkward. You nod. “Nice.” He sips his drink.

“Are you seeing anyone?” You asked, and he thought there was no way you didn’t know. No way you’d gone unalerted to your doppelganger walking the grid. Surely, someone told you. Your sister, likely, maybe a friend.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck because his hands don’t feel like they belong to him. He doesn’t know where to put them. “Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah.” She’s nothing like you, he wants to say. Wonders if it would do more harm or good, if you’d read his words as an admission that you are irreplaceable or if you’d see them as an insult.

“Great.” You say, smile, and it might be genuine. He’s startled that he can’t read it precisely, forced to confront the notion that he doesn’t know you like he once did. Beat after beat of silence, tense and awkward and strange. He was more comfortable when you were breaking up with him than he is right now. “Do you hate me?” You finally spoke, and his heart broke a little. It broke a lot, but, your heart isn’t his to break anymore. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

It hurts to say your name, the air rips its way out of his lungs and through his vocal cords and gets caught in the back of his throat, again on the tip of his tongue. “I could never hate you.” He wishes he could. He’s tried, time and time again to hate you, to loathe you for existing. You tore him into a million tiny pieces and sprinkled them in every corner of the earth, hid them in the deepest nooks and the tightest crannies. Destroyed some, just for the hell of it. Then, you sent him on his way, handed him a bottle of glue, a good luck in the form of we can still be friends and expected him to be fine.

He knew–was able to recognize now–that he was far from perfect. Far, far from it. He was distant and pushed you away and was a complete ass, but fuck, he loved you more than he knew. You hurt him more than anyone would ever know.

There are few things as sobering as returning an engagement ring to the jeweler. It’s a sympathetic look he’ll never forget, and even then he knew he couldn’t blame you, that the blame lied solely on him for fucking it all up. His mom cried when he told her, called him an idiot in three languages, told him he needed to fix it, that you were worth it. I know, Mama, he told her, I know, but I can’t fix this.

He broke up with your twin a few weeks later because no matter how hard he tried, there was no replicating you. He wondered how long it would be before word got to you, if you’d even care when it did.

He hated being home, now. Monaco was a nightmare, you were all over his place, all over the most important years of his life. Your smell could be erased from the sheets with a few washes, but the grease stain you left on the corner of the couch? The one you cried about and apolgized for everytime you saw it? There’s no getting rid of it.

He cleaned out his closet a couple weeks ago, after all these years. Your name was written in pink marker on the wall, behind a bunch of shoe boxes. You were here, 2017, it read, and he spent thirty minutes going over it with a Magic Eraser only for it to be just as vibrant as before.

There was one time, before he broke up with his girlfriend, where he caught himself just before saying your name into her shoulder. The first syllable slipped and he had to pretend it was a nonsensical shuddered breath. He’s fallen into more of a monthly rotation since then, keeps them around until it becomes glaringly apparent they’ll never fill the shoes you left behind. Flavors of the month. It works well enough, distracts him well enough.

The more removed he becomes from you, the cloudier the memories become. Clarity, people tell him he needs it, but, the haze distracts him just the same. He can forget you for a while, live his life without looking for you in everyone who tries to buy him a drink. Distractions come in the form of driving, of friends, of family. In the form of a girl who looks nothing like you, who speaks nothing like you, who acts nothing like you. It won’t last, he knows it won’t but he can’t find you anywhere in her and it’s refreshing.

This is so weird, I totally get if you say no, she texted him late one night. But, do you want to go to a wedding with me in a couple weeks? He should say no, he thinks. Committing to a wedding in a couple weeks is committing to being interested in a couple weeks and he can’t guarantee that. It’s commitment he can’t make and that’s if you disregard all the implications of going with someone to a wedding. It’s like the first rule of dating, you don’t go to a wedding together if you don’t see things lasting.

It’s too romantic, there’s too much love flying around. He’ll be catching side eyes all night from her, longing glances that make everything weird. The bouquet toss will be taken just a little too seriously for two people who are casually dating.

It’s too weird, right? She says after a few long minutes of radio silence.

No, not weird. He replies. Sounds like a good time.

That’s how he ends up there, believe it or not. The sickest fucking coincidence in the world, he thinks, standing in front of this intricate sign. It bore your name, your fiance’s name, written in delicate script.

There’s no way, he thinks. There is no fucking way. “How do you know them, again?” He asks the girl on his arm.

“My mom is friends with the Groom’s mom. We grew up together.” She says, smiley and lovely and perfectly dressed. There is no fucking way this is his reality. He has to be dreaming, stuck in a nightmare, surely. Even the universe isn’t this fucked up.

This isn’t the wedding you always talked about wanting, the one you daydreamed about when you were feeling particularly in love. It’s not the one he planned on giving you. There’s so many people here, it’s not like you. I want something intimate, you told him once. I want to love everyone there. You never would have had a family friend’s plus-one in attendance.

“Hey,” She says, flashes him a flask in her purse. “You wanna do a shot?”

God, you have no idea. “Yeah.”

You’ll cry when you see me, you told him. If you don’t, I’ll turn around and do it again. He thinks about that when you’re standing with your dad at the top of the aisle, beaming, glowing. Your dress is the most you thing he’s ever seen–fits you right in every spot, classy and spunky and traditional and fun all at the same time. He looks to the end of the long aisle, to your groom. He’s smiling, has his hands crossed behind his back and laughs, no tears.

He tries not to stare, because he doesn’t want to catch your eye, to catch your father’s eye, but it’s so hard when you look like that. “She looks so beautiful,” His date leans into him and whispers, doesn’t look at him. A good thing she doesn’t, too, because his eyes are bloodshot.

“Yeah,” He says, blinks away a tear.

You’re giddy at the reception. The bar serves two cocktails–his and hers mixed drinks. His date drinks yours, and he steals a sip and it’s fruity and sweet. “Can I have another shot?” He asks, and she subtly slides her flask to him under the table.

His eyes can’t stop finding you, watching you all dopey and smiley while you hug everyone and talk with grand expressions. You’re making the rounds, and he slips away before you and your new husband make it to his table.

Your sister catches him by the bathrooms. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He says, chuckles at his shit luck because there’s nothing else he can do.

“No, Charles.” She says it firmer this time, like he’s in trouble, which–understandable. “Why are you, here?”

“My, uh.” He twists the ring on his pinky. “The girl I’m seeing, I’m her plus-one.”

She looks nervous, your sister, like she’s fraternizing with the enemy and at any given moment someone is going to catch her and take her head. “Has she seen you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can’t be here.” She’s practically whispering, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind a corner.

“You’re telling me.” He laughs, because he’s about to cry at the wedding of the girl he thought he was going to marry. He’s going to cry at your wedding, just like you always said he would.

“I mean it. You need to leave.”

He cocks his head, she’s not serious. She’s just being a good sister. “Come on, don’t you–”

“Charles.” She says it soft, cracked and sad. There is so much unsaid. “Leave.”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain this one away, but, he has the walk from the bathrooms to the reception hall to figure it out. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

And he does–go. He goes, and wonders for the rest of his life what would’ve happened if he stayed.

#f1 #f1 angst #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #f1 2022 #f1 fanfiction #f1 2023 #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 x reader #ferrari

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underoospeterparker · 3 months

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Omg you write finnick so perfectly!! I was wondering if you could write something about finnick dating somone with POTS syndrome and how he reacts to it? 🫶🫶

thank you that is the best compliment! and thanks for requesting!! i think this is one of the best things I've written tbh

fyi: POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome) is a medical condition that can lead to an increased heart rate when standing up. it can cause lightheadedness, dizziness or fainting.

finnick odair x reader with POTS, set during catching fire (reader volunteered for annie instead of mags), 0.6k words

You were sitting on the sofa, curled up in Finnick's arms while the two of you rewatched Ceasar's interviews with the tributes for the 75th Hunger Games. Finnick played with loose strands from your ponytail while you fixated on the television, despite your oncoming headache and lightheadedness.

"You okay, lovely?" Finnick asked, concerned. He had always been sweet to you, a fact that hadn't changed when you'd told him you'd been diagnosed with POTS a couple years ago, and still didn't change when you had volunteered for Annie in the place of Mags. In fact, he'd grown even more protective over you.

You nodded, but the movement made your vision blurry. Pausing, you tried to turn around to Finnick. "I don't know," you whispered, a slightly panicked tone in your voice.

He frowned, and he shifted under from you, trying not to rock you too much. "That's okay. Can you just stay here for me, just for a second, honey? I'll go grab you some water."

When you gave him a thumbs up, he got up quickly, resting a hand on your shoulder for a second before heading into the kitchen. It took him a while to return, or at least, it seemed that way to you.

You grew worried, anxiety building up in your throat even though logically, you knew nothing would have happened to him. "Finnick?" you called, a croak in your voice. When he didn't respond, or you didn't hear it, you got up and immediately regretted your decision.

He rushed into the living room just in time to set down the glass of water and catch you as you fell, almost hitting your head on the edge of the coffee table. "Shit," he murmured, the expletive hot under his breath.

Finnick placed you gently back onto the sofa, a pillow under your head to keep it elevated. "Honey, c'mon," he said, his hands desperately cupping your cheeks. "Wake up for me, yeah?"

You blinked your eyes open, straining against the bright lights and he took notice of that, quickly shutting them off and returning back to your side. "Hi," he whispered, clearly worried about you.

"Hi," you whispered back, attempting to sit up. Finnick pushed you down with a firm hand to your chest. "No," he said sternly, a tone in his voice that dared you to defy him. You did not.

He reached to the table where he'd set down the glass and lifted it up to your mouth, watching intently as you gulped down a couple of sips. "That's it," he said, moving the cup when you finished.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. Finnick looked distraught. You felt the strangest urge to comfort him.

You gave him the biggest smile you could muster, and since you were exhausted, it wasn't big at all. He looked almost constipated as he reciprocated the smile. "I'm okay," you muttered, a small reassurance in Finnick's eyes.

He let a breath of air he'd been holding release, and he climbed onto the sofa next to you, pulling you into his chest. You gladly went inside, feeling the remnants of your dizziness dissolve as you pressed yourself deeper into his body.

Finnick reached his hands up to your hair, kneading gently at your scalp. His movements were soothing and they helped calm down your aching headache. When you sighed in pleasure, he let out a surprised laugh, muffled by your hair.

Soon, you fell asleep, accompanied by the sound of his deep breathing and his soft scratching of your hair. You dreamed of the sea, the ocean, and Finnick, and you clung onto the dream for as long as you could, because you knew that when you would wake up, everything would be different.

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deramin2 · 24 days

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(Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 1)

I don't have any expectations for wherever FCG will stay dead or come back somehow because I've spent 9 years watching Sam Riegel totally subvert my expectations in a narratively compelling way.

But I will say that "FCG shouldn't come back because it would lessen the impact of a narratively perfect death" is EXACTLY what people were saying about Percy's first death after C1 E68. (The first televised character death.) If he had to have an end, it was a fitting end that, while tragic, neatly tied up the thesis of the story. Would Taliesin even want him to come back? With Whitestone saved and Ripply killed, was there even much left to explore?

They found Percy's death letter telling them he loved them all but please bury him in a ditch with all his designs so he could be forgotten by history. He was so sorry for all he'd done and he could never make it up.

But they tried anyway, having to wrest Percy's soul away from Orthax. The players knew what they said in the resurrection ritual was meaningful along with their rolls. But they did not know they were also having to convince Taliesin. If they'd tried to appeal to Percy's soul in the wrong way, dice be damned, Percy was going to refuse. What we got was really meaningful and powerful roleplay (especially from Marisha and Laura) that did convince Percy along with successful rolls.

Being brought back did not at all weaken Percy's own sacrifice or the impact of his death. It forced him to confront everything he'd been running from. It forced him to see that there were people who loved him and would not let him throw himself away for them. They didn't want a martyr, they wanted their friend. It utterly changed the trajectory of his character.

There's only four ways I can think of on the table to bring FCG back:

True Resurrection — Incredibly expensive high level spell. They would have to find the materials as well as someone who both can and is willing to cast the spell in the middle of a war to stop a second Calamity. None of this would be easy. The ritual could still fail. FCG could decline to come back and the other players would not know that until they went to all the effort. The Raven Queen views True Resurrection as heresy which is why they didn't try it on Vax. How would a second chance change them?

Reincarnate — Lower level and cheaper spell. FCG would come back as a fleshy being instead of an Aeormaton. Would the experience live up to FCG's fantasies about it? How would it change them to realize they are truely alive, and always were, but are now also mortal? Reverse Veth story? Wild ass Pinocchio retelling? What does it mean to get a second chance but everything about you is different?

Wish — I think this would count as duplicating True Resurrection. High component cost and requires a high level magic user. (If it's duplicating a spiral there's no risk of no longer being able to cast Wish.)

Hag Deal — They do know a fatestitcher Hag who likes them and limes making deals even more. Orym may be able to just extend his existing deal. What are the consequences for the deal marker as well as FCG? Would the robit feel responsible for that person's fate? How would that affect how they feel about coming back and the meaning they need to make from it.

I don't think there's a right or best option because whatever we speculate on, the actual result will be full of meaning and very poignant. I can't imagine that Bell's Hells won't try to bring him back. They've lost so much already. They couldn't bring back Eshteross or Bertrand or Will & Derrig. They couldn't live with not even trying. Maybe their method works, maybe it doesn't. But at least they tried.

And if FCG does come back, they have to live with knowing that even though they saved their friends and put an end to Otohan, they also hurt their friends by treating themselves as disposable. They forced their friends to confront that each of them might have done the same and that's deeply unhealthy. It will change the character development tremendously.

My favorite film and play genre is where the protagonist dies (or nearly dies) (usually self-inflicted) at the beginning and has to journey through purgatory to find themselves again before they can return to the living. Films like Wristcutters: A Love Story (2006) or Castaway on the Moon (김씨 표류기 2009). Death matters because it reminds you to live. The journey is finding meaning in both life and death and coming back utterly changed.

#critical role #Critical Role Spoilers #critical role meta #critical role campaign 1 #critical role campaign 3 #vox machina #Bell's Hells #Percival de Rolo #Fresh Cut Grass #wristcutters a love story #Castaway on the Moon

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wen-kexing-apologist · 5 months

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Random BL Superlatives: 2023

Well @lurkingshan did it, so I must do it. So here are some random, WKA themed superlatives for the 2023 BL selection.

Best Hands: Mhok and Day, Last Twilight

gif by @singularities

Listen. I know. I KNOW. There are so many incredible options, and I have written at length about a number of them. I mean come on, La Pluie is right there, I Feel You Linger in the Air is right there, Sing My Crush, Moonlight Chicken etc. etc. etc. But

But, Last Twilight came in with the steel chair right at the end of the year here with that FUCKING HANDSING SCENE. Can you blame me? The handsing scene is shrimply too powerful.

Best Lighting: Playboyy

You know, it's funny cause I don't usually end up writing about lighting in shows, despite the fact that lighting design is absolutely one of my favorite things in film, stage, and television. Chains of Heart has really interesting lighting too, but Playboyy is an objectively better show, and it is doing some absolutely gorgeous lighting design.

Best Sex Scene: Olive Oil, I Feel You Linger in the Air

gif by @pharawee

THE OLIVE OIL SCENE, WHY ARE THERE NO GIFSETS OF THE OLIVE OIL SCENE? WHY IS TUMBLR SUCH A FUCKING HATER???? They didn't even fuck in that scene, but holy mother of GOD it was the best thing I've seen all year. I Feel You Linger in the Air has some of the most inventive and beautiful intimate moments, and spreading the olive oil as a stand in for arousal and masturbation was absolutely goddamn brilliant.

Best Faen (Non)Fatale: Porjai, Last Twilight

gif from @khaopybara

I know Last Twilight hasn't finished yet and will take us in to 2024, but Porjai and Mohk's relationship is absolutely my favorite lovers to friends dynamic I have seen this year. I was showering praise upon them all for this in the tags of a reblog today, so I have to give it to them. Massive shout out and extremely close call to Nara from La Pluie.

Best Emotional Roller Coaster: What Did You Eat Yesterday? Season 2

Ok there were quite a lot of shows that I think would have applied here, but man oh man this entire season has just run me through the wringer with how much Shiro has grown over the course of the last two seasons. Episode 11 had me laughing my ass off, and then absolutely sobbing by the end. So it's going to Kinou Nani Tabeta?

The Shirt I Want to Steal Most from Wardrobe: Blue and White Button Up, The Sign

gif from @ohshinytrinketsmine

I know this will be contentious when the Fart Proudly shirt is right there, but I really loved the blue and white button up shirt that Phaya wore I do not know what is in the water at IdolFactory, but they have hands down some of the best shirts I have ever seen. When I watched Secret Crush on You I wanted the entirety of Sky's wardrobe, now I am having shirt envy for this sexy little blue-with-white-lines-that-are-vaguely-rabbit-shaped (wka do not write a post about rabbits, do not write a post about rabbits-) button up.

The Character Who Most Changed my Opinion of Them: Phupa, OS2 x BBS x ATOTS

gif by @alexshenry (double PhupaPat whammy for @waitmyturtles)

Okay, so to tell you the truth, I made new superlatives cause if I took the superlatives from @lurkingshan's post it would have been at least half the same if not more (because as always, Shan is right about everything). But, I will put an overlap here because I absolutely could not let this year go by without applauding Aof, Earth, and Phupa for really putting in the work to help me understand this man better.

The Show That Most Surprised Me: Wedding Plan by MAME

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Okay not only was this show that I absolutely was not planning to watch or initially interested in actually one of the best of the year, but it was also a MAME show. And a lot of us have our critiques of MAME's writing, but this was so outside of her typical MO that I am shocked it came from the same writer. Love Sailom, love a Lavender Wedding, love Nuea, love it all.

The Trope This Year That Most Accounted for the Fact These Are Gay MEN: Boxing! Sing My Crush, Wedding Plan, The Sign

Sing My Crush did this the absolute best, but I really genuinely loved that multiple shows this year let men fight in controlled settings to get out some of their frustration and to process their feelings. Han Ba Ram crying in the gym? One of my favorite scenes of the entire year.

And yeah sure, Phaya and Tharn are fighting for the intricate rituals that allow men to touch the skin of men, we get the horny vibes, but fundamentally this fight does occur because Tharn is angsty and ignoring Phaya and that cannot stand. I like seeing Phaya sparring with the punching bag at the end of the most recent episode as well because he's fucking furious about Tharn telling the doctor about his dreams. I love it, I love it so much.

#bl superlatives #last twilight the series #playboyy the series #i feel you linger in the air #what did you eat yesterday?#kinou nani tabeta?#the sign the series #our skyy 2 x bbs x atots #a tale of a thousand stars #sing my crush the series

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adriswrld · 6 months

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His Dangerous Wife » LA Knight

plot: la knight's wife comes to even the odds against the judgement day

pairings: wrestler! reader x la knight

warnings: none tbh just fluff

a/n: there isn't enough la knight stuff on here and that makes me sad :(( wrestling last name is kingley bc i love it

It was quite chaotic backstage, making it almost impossible for Y/N to locate her husband. But she found him after a few minutes of searching. He stood with John Cena who was also his tag partner for Fastlane. Y/N didn't have a match, seeing as she was literally returning from an ankle injury that happened at SummerSlam when she lost her championship to Iyo Sky. Y/N Kingley was a crowd favorite, as was her husband LA Knight, but not many people knew they were married, or even together. They lived a very private life so it made sense.

Tonight, she was set to return to help her husband even the odds against the Judgement Day which sparked a future fued between herself and Rhea Ripley. Though LA Knight didn't know of this. "Darling, do you know where Izzy is? I can't find her." Y/N asks, grabbing his attention. Izzy was her best friend, the woman also known as Azalea Evans, the younger sister of Chris Evans and one of the best women's wrestlers. She was also engaged to Rhea Ripley. He furrowed his brows, shaking his head, "Nah, but she should be somewhere around here. Probably with Rhea."

"I think I seen her talking to Cody in catering earlier," John adds. Y/N smiled gratefully, "Thank you. I will see you two later, alright? Good luck with the match darling." She pressed a quick peck on his cheek before quickly making her way towards catering, finding Azalea indeed with Cody. Y/N took a seat at their table, "one thing I do not miss about being back is getting lost backstage all the time." Azalea chuckles at her complaint, "honestly, I'm pretty much used to it."

"You would think because I've been wrestling for 20 years that I would be used to this, but I am definitely not." Y/N mumbled, picking up a brownie from Izzy's plate. Izzy chuckled before glancing at the television where LA Knight's match with Jimmy Uso was coming up. Cody cleared his throat, "so, how do we feel about Jade signing with WWE?" Izzy and Y/N were former AEW wrestlers so they knew Jade quite well. Though they had actually never faced Jade yet. They knew how she felt with all the top tier treatment because that's how they were treated when signing with AEW having been originally WWE stars.

"I'm really excited about it actually. I'm super happy for her. I can't wait to face her." Y/N said, she was always happy for any of the wrestlers who got signed to other companies. Izzy nods in agreement, "Me too. She actually called me after she signed so I'm really excited for her. We're supposed to train together soon." Cody nods with a smile, "I feel the same way. I'm excited to see what she can do here."

"His match is starting so we should head to the gorilla." Izzy stood up, the three of them left towards the gorilla where the Judgement Day and Jey Uso were at. Izzy was quick to greet Rhea whilst Y/N was watching the monitors. LA Knight obviously wins, but then Judgement Day comes out, standing on the ring apron, leaving Knight and Cena outnumbered. Jey Uso was the first to come out, sliding in the ring though they were still very outnumbered. Cody's music hit, he was quick to come out.

Rhea jumps on the apron next to her boys, signaling that they weren't gonna back down. That's when Y/N's music hit. The crowd went crazy, obviously not expecting her to show up at all, let alone for a situation such as this. "It's Y/N Kingley! She's back! What a surprise!" Michael Cole' expressed. Y/N strutted out, Rhea's face dropped at the sight of her. Meanwhile, her husband was in disbelief, a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Rhea is in disbelief! Y/N has expressed her frustration with the Judgement Days attempts to recruit her best friend Azalea Evans!" Corey Graves explains.

"That and the fact that the Judgement Day is targeting her husband LA Knight," Cole points out. "Her husband?! She's married?!" Cody Rhodes and John Cena sat on the middle rope for Y/N to step through, the Judgement Day seemingly conflicted now. She walks past her shocked husband to come face to face with Rhea, a grin on her lips. "Still wanna fight?"

The boys behind her grin as Rhea makes the guys stand down, claiming it wasn't worth it. Paul Heyman takes Solo's hand, signaling him to fall back. Unfortunately for them, Y/N wasn't a patient person. She threw the first hand, knocking Rhea off the apron, the boys are quick to join in the brawl. She grinned, leaning against the rope as Cody and Jey Uso both do separate dives out the ring, knocking down the Judgement Day and Jimmy.

Rhea drags Y/N out of the ring, going back in forth with her as Solo stepped in the ring with John. Y/N was quick to fight off Rhea, throwing her into Dom as LA Knight took care of Solo. LA hits JD with a BFT, then Jey hits him with a super kick before Cena performs a five knuckle shuffle. Y/N slides in the ring as Cena continues to perform an AA on JD. Cody whips off his belt throwing it into the crowd before hitting JD with a crossrhodes.

The boys turn to her, basically offering up JD if she wanted a go at him. She laughs, shaking her head but they insisted. "Come on! It can't hurt! Well not for you at least." Cody says. Y/N chuckled, giving in the crowd cheers. LA Knight offers his hand, she takes it, using it to jump off the rope and perform a clean moonsault onto JD. "And a perfectly done moonsault from Kingley!"

"Yeahh!" LA Knight cheered, taking her hand and pulling his wife up. "That was fun!" She cheered wistfully, high fiving Jey, Cody, and Cena as LA Knight kept a hand on her waist. The crowd cheered as Cody raised Y/N's hand proudly, "Our wonderful savior!"

LA pulled her closer so she could hear better, "You didn't tell me you were coming out." Y/N chuckled, "cause it was a surprise darling. Did it surprise you love?" He laughs lightly, nodding like it was obvious, and it was. "Surprised me so much I could kiss you right about now." He jokes, also being partially serious because he really wished he could kiss her.

She shrugged lightly, "you can kiss me, I don't mi-" she was cut off by his lips pressed against hers and very loud cheering from the fans. He didn't waste a second kissing her, not caring about the thousands of fans watching. She chuckles softly pulling away, quick to remind him that they were still in public. "Come on, let's close up." Y/N climbs the top rope, doing her normal taunt as LA Knight, Jey Uso, Cody, and Cena all followed behind her.

Shaun was quick to drag her into the locker room the second the show was over. Not even giving her a chance to talk as he showered her with kisses. "Shouldn't we go to the hotel first?" She chuckles, pulling away. "What? Scared of a little locker room sex, doll?" He teased, rubbing her sides as he held back to urge to tear her clothes off.

Y/N sucked in a breath, "fuck, you know what that name does to me." He smirked, pressing a kiss to her neck as she pushed him towards the showers. "I should save your ass more often if this is the reward I get in return."

"Yeah."

#la knight x reader #la knight #la knight imagine #wwe one shot #wwe imagine #wwe fanfic

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randomfoggytiger · 3 months

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I started watching X-Files a couple of months ago and finally finished the whole show, plus the movies and revival. Jesus. I started looking at fanfic but am totally intimidated by HOW MUCH OF IT there is. Like. 30 years worth of it? Where do I even start? Do I read old stuff or new stuff? Are there any authors that have been writing since the 90’s? Who’s stuff should I be reading? What should I be reading? There are so many different kinds! (Okay, but not fluff, because The Ick.) (and only the shippy stuff because I am not a monster.) Where does one even start in this fandom?

Thanks for coming here, Anon-- I'll do my best~. ;)))

TLDR: If you want to read the classics-- the multi-chapter beasts hailed across The X-Files fandom-- I'd go to @lilydalexf's page and sort through her pinned Masterpost of recs; if you want my personal favorites, I've got my own complied Masterlist pinned, as well. If you want author suggestions, I listed a few below (but not all-- even of my personal favorites.) Older fics have a more "walled-off" approach to Scully and an edgier, distant approach to Mulder; newer fics have a more open approach to their exchange and dynamic. I prefer the latter, but that's likely because I was able to watch the show as a whole rather than episode by episode with a lot of guesswork in-between.

It's hard to pinpoint where to recommend you since I don't know your preferences; but here's a very loose attempt to do so:

I'm more of a short fic reader, but I'd recommend @melforbes, @slippinmickeys, @cecilysass, and @wexleresque for long chapters; @teethnbone, @leiascully, @aloysiavirgata, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @dreamingofscully, and @sarie-fairy for "atmospheric" writing; @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @television-overload, @invidiosa, @swinging-stars-from-satellites, @thescullyphile, @msrafterdark, and @edierone for well-balanced fluff/angst/humor/comfort fic/etc.; @o6666666, @ghostbustermelanieking, @mappingthexfiles/Apostrophic, and Lapsed_Scholar for their wonderful shorts (but especially Lapsed's Requiem AU compilations); @settle-down-frohike, @suitablyaggrieved, @amplifyme, @wtfmulder, @freckleslikestars, @lyndsaybones, @numinousmysteries, and Jenna Tooms/misslucyjane for their focus on Mulder and Scully as a "mature"-- for lack of a better word-- couple (no matter when their fics are set); @xxsksxxx and @writingwell write long-chaptered casefiles (my writingwell fic recs here might help?-- sorry for the codes, I was rushing out those notes); and if you want the authors everyone recommends, then @mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra (Masterlist) and prufrock’s love/plenilune (@lilydalexf links/descriptions here) are two of the many that fit the bill.

Other fic recs you might be interested in: @cecilysass's write more of these and Milagro recs, @enigmaticxbee mytharc and Scully family recs, @pennyserenade's reading recs, @two-microscopes shorter fic rec list, @nachosncheezies's slightly psychic Scully recs (describes three of the big x-files fics), etc. You want beautifully short poeticesque ficlets written and recced by @leiascully? Boom. You want Deadalive fic reccs? Kachow. You want opinions from the OGs? The aforementioned aloysiavirgata, amplifyme, baronessblixen, leiascully, suitablyaggrieved, cecilysass, settle-down-frohike, dreamingofscully, msrafterdark, as well as @iconicscullyoutfits and @myassbrokethefall (who write amazing meta, btw.)

Are you interested in AUs that write in Gillian Anderson's pregnancy? That have a storyline sans baby all together? That stick to canon all the way through the Revival? That stick to canon mostly, except for a bit of branching off here and there? Multiple Monday fics? Post Pine Bluff Variant processing? Mulder or Scully PTSD or panic attacks or hurt comfort? The many different flavors of Mulder's abduction or return? Casefiles (admittedly I stink at those)? My own fics (also in my pinned masterpost)? An author whose style you're interested in but would like a description of their work before making a long-term commitment? Lemme know~! :DDDD

Gotta run! Hope you like! (And sorry for any spelling errors~.)

#asks #anon #fandom #touched you came here-- thank you~!#though I don't know how helpful or clarifying this was for you XDDD #xf fanfic #txf #fic #rec

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allthelovehes · 21 days

Text

Italian Tub*

Summary: Harry takes Y/N on a surprise trip to Italy for their 5th wedding anniversary. Everything goes smoothly until they find themselves alone in the hot tub in the backyard of their Airbnb.

Pairing: Husband!Harry x Wife!Y/N

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Unprotected sex, p in v, public sex, female masturbation, light spanking.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 @cherrylovers-world @harrys-littlefreak Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

Support my work by joining my Patreon!

Now that Harry is on a break from touring the world, he is able to spend all his time with his wife. After being married for a few years, they are still as in love as ever, if not more so. Harry loves being a husband to Y/N, and Y/N loves being a wife to Harry. They enjoy every minute of their free time together and cherish the alone time they have.

With their anniversary coming up, Harry knows he needs to get his wife something extra special this year. It was their fifth anniversary, after all. As Harry and Y/N lay together in bed, the anniversary still two weeks away, Harry began to ponder about what to get his girl.

Harry wants something special and intimate. Something that his wife can't just buy for herself. A trip perhaps? As Harry was lying on his side, looking at his beautiful wife sleeping soundly beside him, an idea popped into his head. It was perfect, and she would never expect it.

The next day, after Y/N goes out to go shopping, Harry sits down with his laptop and searches for the perfect getaway. Y/N always wanted to go to Apulia, Italy. So this was the perfect opportunity.

Once Harry opened the Airbnb website and filled in the needed information, he started scrolling through all the homes that were available for rent. As he was scrolling, one particular house caught his eye. It was gorgeous, and Harry knew Y/N would love it. It's a lovely house in the countryside, not too far from the beach. It's also secluded and private, and the best part is there the large pool and hot tub with a view of the village down the hill.

Harry books the Airbnb with no hesitation. He is thrilled to surprise his wife, and he is even more thrilled to see the look on her face when she realises where they are going. Harry knows his girl has been dying to go to Italy. So it's a win-win.

As the weeks go by, Y/N notices Harry is acting differently. It is almost as if he is hiding something from her. But she can't think of what it could be. She decides not to push the issue, but she still keeps an eye on him, hoping that he will soon tell her what is going on.

A few days before their anniversary, Harry decides to break the news to his wife. They are both at home watching television, cuddling up to each other on the couch. As Y/N looks over at her husband, she can't help but feel like something is going on.

“Is everything alright?” Y/N asks curiously.

“Yes, love, why do you ask?” Harry replies.

“It's just... I feel like you've been hiding something from me these last few weeks. Is there something going on?” Y/N questions.

“Yes, actually there is.” Harry begins. “I've been planning a surprise for you.”

Y/N sits up and looks at Harry with an excited expression on her face. “Oh, a surprise? What is it?” She asks with enthusiasm.

“That's for me to know, and for you to find out. But we're going to be leaving the day after tomorrow.” Harry states.

“What? Are you serious?” Y/N practically yells. “We're going on a trip? Where are we going? Tell me, please!”

“Patience, love. You will find out everything once we're at the airport.” Harry chuckles causing Y/N to pout and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Awe, don't be like that.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me, Harry.” Y/N huffs.

“It's our fifth anniversary, and I wanted to do something special.” Harry explains. “And besides, you'll love your surprise. You have no idea.”

“What do I need to be packing? Summer clothes? Sweaters? What should I bring?” Y/N asks, suddenly excited.

“Pack light. It's not really cold where we're going. So pack some shorts and tank tops, along with some dresses and nice shoes. Oh, and your bikini, of course.” Harry answers.

“Wait, are we going to the beach? Tell me, please!” Y/N pleads.

“I already said too much, so I'm not saying anything else.” Harry states.

“Harry! Come on!” Y/N groans.

“You'll know everything once we arrive.” Harry smiles. “Now, come here and cuddle with me.”

Y/N smiles as she lays back down next to her husband and wraps her arm around his torso. They turn their attention back to the television and finish watching their show together.

***

Two days later, it is finally time for Harry and Y/N to leave. As the two of them stand outside of their house waiting for their car to pick them up, Y/N is practically jumping with excitement. She has no idea where they are going, but she can't wait.

“Are you excited, love?” Harry asks, looking over at his wife.

“Hell yes! I can't wait! This is going to be amazing, I know it!” Y/N smiles.

As soon as the car pulls up in front of the house, Harry takes their suitcases and puts them into the trunk. Then he and Y/N climb into the car. As the driver takes off towards the airport, Harry and Y/N sit together holding hands. They can't stop smiling at each other.

When the car arrives at the airport, Harry helps his wife out of the car. Once the driver brings their luggage to them on a trolley, they walk hand in hand towards the terminal with Harry pushing the cart forward. When they get to the check-in counter, Harry checks in their luggage and they proceed towards the security line.

Somehow Harry manages to get all of that done without spoiling their destination to Y/N. He doesn't even slip up and tell her the airline or the gate number. He is a man on a mission, and he won't be letting anything distract him.

After a quick walk through security, Harry and Y/N make their way over to their gate. When they arrive, Y/N's eyes grow wide and her mouth falls open. “What? Wait, are we going to...”

“Apulia, Italy.” Harry states, a smirk on his lips.

“Oh my god, Harry, this is amazing!” Y/N practically screams. “Thank you, baby, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She then wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a long passionate kiss.

“Mmm, you're welcome, love.” Harry smiles.

As Harry and Y/N wait for their flight to begin boarding, they chat away about what they're going to do once they land. Harry already has a few things planned, but he isn't going to spoil anything. He wants his wife to be completely surprised.

When it is time for the couple to board, they are seated in first class. Y/N loves first class, it's the only way Harry can travel somewhat privately, without people noticing him. Plus, it's a lot more comfortable, and he and his wife are able to relax.

As soon as the plane takes off, the couple snuggle together and enjoy the ride. After only a few hours of flying, they are finally in Italy. They land at Bari Karalis International Airport. When the couple exit the plane and make their way through the terminal, Y/N is in awe of the surroundings. She has always dreamed of coming here, and now she is here.

The warm Italian air is a welcomed sensation, and the sun is shining brightly. The sky is a beautiful shade of blue, with a few wispy clouds here and there. Y/N is over the moon, and Harry is loving every minute of it.

Once the couple has picked up their luggage and left the airport, they are greeted by their driver. They put their luggage into the boot of the car and then climb into the back seat. The driver turns and asks the couple. “Where would you like to go?”

“I have the address right here.” Harry says as he hands the driver a piece of paper.

“Very well, sir. Let's go.” The driver states, the Italian accent thick.

As the driver pulls away from the airport and starts driving down the road, Harry looks over at his wife and says. “I have a little surprise for you.”

“Oh? And what's that?” Y/N questions.

“We're staying at a beautiful little house in the countryside, not far from the beach. It has a hot tub, a pool, a beautiful garden, and a great view.” Harry states.

“Seriously?” Y/N questions. “Oh, Harry, this is the best!” She then leans over and plants a kiss on his cheek.

As the drive continues, Harry and Y/N enjoy the scenery as they pass by quaint towns, picturesque fields, and beautiful villas. After about an hour of driving, the couple are taken aback by the beauty of the countryside. They can see the house in the distance, and it looks amazing.

When the driver pulls up to the front of the house, Harry and Y/N are awestruck by its beauty. As the couple step out of the car and start taking in their surroundings, they are immediately overwhelmed by how beautiful the house is.

“Harry, this is breathtaking.” Y/N states, as she turns to face her husband.

“Isn't it?” Harry smiles.

The couple walks over to the front door of the house and Harry unlocks the door with the key that's hidden in a savebox near the entry. Harry was sent a code earlier in the day so they could have a contactless check-in. As they walk inside, they are greeted by a small hallway with stairs to their right. As they continue walking forward, they come to a living room area with a couch, two chairs, and a large flat-screen television above a fireplace.

“Wow, this is really beautiful.” Y/N remarks, looking around.

“I know, right?” Harry replies. “Come, let's check out the kitchen.”

As the couple makes their way into the kitchen, they notice a large island in the middle with an extended dining table. To the left is a large glass door that leads to a backyard patio with a grill and a large dining area.

“This is perfect.” Y/N smiles, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck.

“I knew you'd like it.” Harry smiles, planting a kiss on her forehead. He turns around to slide open the glass door and walk out onto the patio.

“Wow, this is so lovely. Look at the view.” Y/N sighs, admiring the view. “Oh, and a pool! That's awesome.”

“Yes, and look at the hot tub over there. I think we're going to be spending a lot of time in that.” Harry smirks.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N giggles.

“Definitely.” Harry winks.

The backyard is big but private and located on the top of a hill with a view of the town down below. The street on which the Airbnb is located has a lot of big houses, but they are spread out with enough privacy in between. The garden is nicely landscaped and has flowers everywhere.

As Harry and Y/N make their way back into the house, they head upstairs. The master bedroom is at the top of the stairs, and it is just as beautiful as the rest of the house. There's a large king-sized bed, a TV mounted to the wall, and a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance.

“Harry, this is stunning.” Y/N gasps, as she walks around the room.

“I know, I'm glad you like it, babe.” Harry smiles, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

“Like it? I love it. This is a dream.” Y/N states.

“Well, we're going to have a lot of fun while we're here.” Harry whispers, planting a kiss on the crook of her neck.

“Oh, really?” Y/N giggles.

“Oh, yes.” Harry chuckles, nipping at her neck.

“Harry, behave.” Y/N laughs, swatting him away playfully.

“I don't want to.” Harry pouts as he begins nibbling on her earlobe. His strong arms hold her tightly against him, not letting her go.

“Baby, come on.” Y/N tries, but her husband is relentless.

“Come on, let's break in the bed.” Harry growls, letting one of his hands slide up her torso and grab her breast, kneading the flesh.

“Harry!” Y/N cries, focussing on keeping a moan from slipping out.

“What?” Harry asks, feigning innocence. “Don't act like you don't want me.”

“I can't deny that I want you, but we're not breaking in the bed right now. I'm hungry, I need food.” Y/N states, pulling his hand off her chest.

“I could eat you.” Harry winks, earning a smack on the chest from his wife. “Hey, I was only kidding.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, sure.” Y/N rolls her eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

“Fine.” Harry sighs.

The couple makes their way downstairs, Harry close behind his wife, his arms around her waist. Ever since stepping foot on the Italian soil, he is feeling like a horny teenager, dying to get the girl in bed.

They decide to go into town and find a restaurant to eat at. The couple walks hand in hand through the streets, admiring the architecture and the quaintness of the town. As they stroll down the main street, they spot a small restaurant and decide to have dinner there.

After having a wonderful meal, the couple takes a stroll back to the house. When they arrive, the sun is beginning to set, bathing the world around them in a beautiful golden glow. As they step into the house, Y/N looks at Harry and says. “This is the perfect night.”

“Yes, it is.” Harry smiles. “And it's only just beginning.”

“Is that so?” Y/N smirks, her hand coming up to cup her husband's face.

“You have no idea.” Harry whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. “Go get your bikini, let's go for a swim.”

Y/N heads upstairs to the bedroom and opens her suitcase. She digs through her clothes until she finds her green string bikini. She strips down and puts it on, checking her reflection in the mirror. As she heads back downstairs, she notices her husband waiting for her by the back door, already dressed in his black swim trunks.

“God, you look good.” Harry growls, eyeing her up and down.

“Stop it, you're making me blush.” Y/N laughs, her cheeks flushing pink.

“No, seriously, you look incredible. Come here.” Harry states, reaching out for his wife.

Y/N steps into his embrace and kisses him deeply. As she pulls away, she notices the hungry look in his eyes. She knows exactly what he wants, but she's not giving in that easily.

“Come on, let's go.” Y/N states, slipping from her husband's embrace.

“Alright, fine.” Harry sighs, letting her go.

As the couple steps outside, the warm evening air hits their skin. They make their way over to the pool, and Harry steps in first. He slowly lowers himself down, the water coming up to his chest. He motions for Y/N to join him, and she does. She sits on the edge of the pool and slowly lowers herself into the water, her feet touching the bottom.

“This is nice.” Y/N smiles, looking at her husband.

“Yes, it is.” Harry nods, his eyes never leaving her.

They stay in the pool for a while, just enjoying the feeling of the water and the warmth of the night. As they swim around, Y/N's eyes wander over her husband's toned body, taking in the sight of him as he's floating on top of the water.

“Are you enjoying the view, love?” Harry asks, catching her gaze.

“Maybe.” Y/N smirks.

“Come on, let's go relax in the hot tub.” Harry states, his hand reaching out to take hers. Y/N follows him over to the hot tub and steps in. The hot water instantly relaxes her muscles, and she lets out a content sigh.

“This is heaven.” Y/N sighs, her head resting back against the edge of the tub.

“Mmm, it is.” Harry agrees, his eyes taking in the sight of her. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, her skin glistening from the moisture. The way her breasts are just peeking out of the water, he's getting hard just looking at her.

“Harry, stop staring at me like that.” Y/N states, opening one eye and peering at her husband.

“I can't help it, you're so beautiful.” Harry smiles, his eyes locked with hers.

“Charmer.” Y/N giggles, closing her eye.

As she relaxes in the hot tub, her mind starts wandering. She begins thinking about her husband, and all the things she wants to do to him. She knows he's watching her, and it's turning her on. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, and she squirms slightly.

She looks over at Harry, who is now leaning back against the hot tub, his eyes closed. She bites her bottom lip as she watches him. She has a perfect view of his body and can't help but admire him.

As the hot water surrounds her, she lets her hands slide over her body. She trails her fingers across her skin, and the sensation sends shivers through her. She slowly dips her fingers into the waistband of her bikini bottoms, and she carefully pushes them down her legs, trying not to gain any attention from Harry.

She puts her bottoms on the edge of the tub and pulls the strings of her top loose. She gently peels the fabric off her body, setting the top with her bottoms. As she slides back into the water, her nipples harden from the cool air hitting her skin.

As the warm water surrounds her again, she looks at Harry. He's still sitting there, his eyes closed. She can tell that he's enjoying the moment, and it's turning her on even more. She can feel her arousal growing, and she can't wait to touch herself.

Her hands move down her body and slip under the water as she sets her feet on the seat next to her. Her fingers brush against her clit, sending a wave of pleasure through her. She slowly rubs herself, teasing her clit and feeling her pussy get wet.

She watches Harry, wanting to see his reaction when he sees her. She continues rubbing herself, her fingers now moving down to her entrance. She pushes one finger inside her, and then two. She can feel how wet she is, and she moans softly as she fucks herself with her fingers.

She can't help but wonder if Harry can hear her, or if he can tell what she's doing. She wants him to look at her, to see her pleasuring herself. She wants him to see how turned on she is, and she wants him to touch her.

Her fingers are still inside her pussy as she's fucking herself with them. Her other hand is on her clit, rubbing herself in circles. She can feel her orgasm building, and she's not going to last much longer.

She lets out a moan as her fingers pump in and out of her, the pleasure building. Harry's eyes finally fly open, and he looks over at her, his mouth dropping open as he sees her touching herself.

“Fuck, babe.” Harry whispers, his eyes locked on her.

“Harry...” Y/N moans, her fingers still buried deep inside her.

“You're so fucking hot.” Harry groans, his cock straining against his swim trunks. He's quick to pull the fabric down his legs, his erection springing free. He wraps his hand around his cock and begins stroking himself, his eyes never leaving her.

Y/N doesn't know how to reply, but she can feel her orgasm approaching, and her moans are becoming louder. She looks at her husband, his eyes dark with lust.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Harry asks, his voice husky.

“Yes...I'm going to come.” Y/N pants, her fingers working faster.

“Then come for me.” Harry growls, his gaze locked with hers.

“Oh, fuck...” Y/N cries, her fingers pumping in and out of her faster.

“That's it, baby, come for me.” Harry coaxes, his hand stroking his cock faster.

Y/N can feel her orgasm crashing over her, and her whole body shudders as the waves of pleasure wash over her. She moans loudly, her eyes locked with her husband's. She can see how turned on he is, and it's driving her crazy.

As she comes down from her orgasm, she pulls her fingers from her pussy and brings them to her mouth. She licks her fingers clean, her eyes still locked with Harry's. He lets out a low groan, his eyes filled with desire.

“Come here.” Harry growls, his hand never leaving his cock.

Y/N moves over to him, the water splashing around her. As she gets close to him, he grabs her and pulls her onto his lap, her legs straddling him. His hard cock is pressed against her, and she can feel his need.

“Fuck me.” Y/N breathes, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“I plan to.” Harry smirks, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He guides her onto his cock, his length sliding into her wet pussy.

“Oh, god.” Y/N gasps, her eyes closing as he fills her.

“That's it, baby.” Harry groans, his hands squeezing her hips as he begins thrusting into her. Y/N can't believe how good it feels, his cock stretching her and filling her completely. She rocks her hips, matching his thrusts and letting out soft moans. She's still sensitive from her orgasm, and the sensation is driving her crazy.

Harry is in ecstasy at how amazing it feels to be inside his wife, her tight pussy gripping his cock. He can feel her juices coating him, and it's making him even harder. He leans forward, his mouth capturing hers in a heated kiss.

“You feel so fucking good.” Harry growls against her lips, his hips picking up speed. Y/N can't help but cry out, the pleasure almost too much for her to handle.

“Oh, god...Harry...” Y/N pants, her eyes squeezing shut as his cock drives into her.

“I love hearing you say my name like that.” Harry groans, one of his hands cupping her breast while the other one remains on her hips, pushing her up and down his cock.

“Please...” Y/N moans, her voice breathy and needy.

“What do you want, baby?” Harry asks, his hand moving to pinch her nipple.

“Harder...faster.” Y/N pleads, her head falling back at the feeling of his fingers on her.

“As you wish.” Harry chuckles. He pulls her off his lap, and guides her to the side of the tub, placing her with both knees on the seat, her ass in the air. “Hold on, baby.” Harry groans, standing behind her. He grabs her hips and pushes his cock inside her once more.

“Fuck, yes.” Y/N moans as his cock fills her again. Her hands grip the edge of the tub for leverage, her back arching.

Harry's fingers dig into her hips as he pounds into her, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. She can feel him hitting her G-spot, and it's driving her wild.

“That's it, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Harry growls. He slaps her ass hard, the sting making her moan. He does it again, and again, each time harder than the last until there is a visible red handprint on her skin.

“Harry, you're so fucking good for me.” Y/N whines, the pleasure building quickly.

“You like this, don't you? You like it when I fuck you like this.” Harry growls.

“Yes, yes, please.” Y/N begs, her orgasm approaching.

“I'm going to fuck you so hard.” Harry grunts, his thrusts becoming faster. “And then I'm going to spill my cum deep inside your tight little pussy.”

“Oh, god, yes!” Y/N moans, her walls contracting around him. “I'm going to come, Harry.”

“Yes, you are.” Harry says, his hands digging into her hips. “Now, come for me.”

With a loud moan, Y/N's orgasm washes over her, her pussy clenching around him.

“Fuck, that's it.” Harry groans. He pumps into her a few more times, and then his cock pulses, spurting his hot seed deep inside her just like he promised.

As her orgasm fades, Y/N falls against the edge of the tub, exhausted and satisfied. She can feel Harry's cum dripping down her thighs, and she loves it.

“You're such a minx.” Harry laughs, leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“What can I say, you bring out the worst in me.” Y/N jokes.

“Mm, well I'm glad I can be of service.” Harry smirks, his hands running up and down her sides.

The couple stays like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. It's a beautiful night, and they're glad to be here, enjoying each other's company.

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odinsblog · 4 months

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“It was December 1993, and I was sitting in my flat in Moscow, watching what must have been one of the first ever election night results shows on Russian television for a Parliamentary election.

It was an unusual spectacle, to say the least. Politicians, pundits and Russian officials were sitting around drinking champagne. And then this happened: On came an astrologer to deliver his celestial political forecast.

Looking back, it was quite appropriate really, because 30 years ago, Russians had stars in their eyes about freedom, democracy, and their country's future. That night, as well as electing a new parliament, the Duma, Russians also approved a new constitution. The constitution which, many years later, Vladimir Putin would change through a referendum to give himself the chance of twelve more years in power.

For a Russian election these days, you don't need astrologers or fortune tellers or crystal balls. I can tell you now pretty much what the result of next March's Russian presidential election will be. Vladimir Putin will win, and with a landslide.

There are several reasons for my confident prediction.

Russia's current political system is Putin's political system, his rules, his election. And although his will not be the only name on the ballot, his opponents are unlikely to include Mr. Putin's most vocal critics, arch rivals, and serious contenders. The president's most high profile opponents have either been poised, fled into exile or been put in prison. What's more, the Kremlin controls television. Vladimir Putin receives lots of airtime, and on tv, he's much praised, never criticized. Handy that, when you're seeking reelection.

And there's another reason he'll do well.

Meet Alexander. Alexander is a young tv reporter from northeastern Russia. At Vladimir Putin's end-of-year press conference recently, he stood up and declared, ‘We all support your decision to run in next year's election, because you've been in power for as long as I can remember.’ There are many Russians like Alexander who simply cannot imagine anyone else in the Kremlin, not because they idolize Vladimir Putin, they just see no alternative to him. I've often heard people here say, ‘Well, if not Putin, who then?’ The Kremlin has engineered that. It has cleared the political landscape of any potential challenges to the man who has ruled Russia as president or prime minister for nearly a quarter of a century, to make sure that those two words, that little question, ‘who then?’ is left unanswered.

Even the war in Ukraine and what are believed to be huge Russian military losses, don't appear to have sparked disillusionment in Russia's President and Commander-in-Chief.

It was Putin's decision to launch the full scale invasion, but some Russians believe that at a time of war, it is their duty to back their leader without questioning his motives or the consequences.

Crucially, the other thing you find a lot of here is indifference. Many Russians don't seem to care who's in power in the Kremlin. They just hunker down in their town or village and try to get through life as best they can. Indifference, too, benefits Vladimir Putin.

For all these reasons, his fifth election victory isn't in doubt.

But what I find much harder to predict is Russia's future. These are very dark times. Darkest, of course, for Ukraine, but for Russia, too. You can feel aggression in Russian society building. You can see repression growing, and you can see a leader who is determined, whatever the cost, to emerge from this war the winner.”

—Steve Rosenberg, BBC's Moscow correspondent, on Russia’s short lived democracy turned autocratic dictatorship

#politics #ukraine #russia #russian invasion of ukraine #vladimir putin #russia is a terrorist state #vladimir putin is a war criminal #authoritarian state #dictatorships #russian elections #russian election #dictators

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sixhours · 2 months

Text

One Day at a Time - Chapter 3 - Embryo

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Days become weeks without word from Charlie. Every time he sees her, she gives him a little nod. Nothing overt, just enough to send a message.

We’re still here.

After two weeks, he’d found an old pocket calendar from 2001 and put it by his bed, and he marks off each day that passes with a big X. He’s done the math, and there’s a date in mid-December circled in red pen.

He can’t sleep for shit under the best of circumstances, but lately it’s impossible. He’s given up trying, choosing instead to crash on the couch with a movie playing on a loop in the background until a fitful sleep takes him.

He’s parked like this on the couch one night when the knock surprises him out of a half-doze. He fumbles for the remote and pauses the movie before answering the door.

It’s Charlie.

“I’m bleeding,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

His stomach sinks.

He reaches out without thinking, hands on her shoulders; she’s shivering. He pulls her forward into the warmth of the little house, closing the door behind her.

“Midwife says it could be normal or it could be a miscarriage,” she says flatly. “No way to tell yet.”

He seethes. He remembers Maria and Tommy telling him about the Jackson midwife; she was competent, but her bedside manner was shit.

“Does it…feel like…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know, I’ve never made it this far. I’m not cramping. It’s not a lot of blood. I just…you wanted me to tell you, so I’m telling you.”

He nods, feeling stupid and helpless and hating it.

“Uh…sit,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “Want tea? It’s herbal. No caffeine.”

She nods warily. “Sure…I guess.”

He sets the water to boil, gets out two mugs, pulls the little canister of tea from the shelf, and fills the infuser with dried peppermint leaves. He can’t stand the stuff, but Ellie won’t drink coffee like a normal person, so they always have some in the house.

He glances at Charlie from over his shoulder as he waits for the water to boil. She’s on the couch, arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold back the thing she fears by force of will.

“You take milk or anythin’?”

“Just sugar, if you have it.”

He does. The kettle whistles and he pours the steaming water over the leaves.

She takes the tea with a small, hollow smile and sips at it. He takes a seat in the armchair next to her.

“Is there anything we can do?”

She shakes her head. “Midwife said to check in tomorrow morning. If it gets worse before then, I’ll go to the clinic.”

“Okay,” he says. “I can…wait with you.”

She nods, takes another sip, and sinks back into the couch. Waiting.

The silence presses in around them. It’s like torture, and Joel wracks his tired brain for something, anything to say. She saves him the trouble, blinking with interest at the television screen.

“Is this Gunz Blazin’ 2 ?”

“Uh…yeah…”

“I haven’t seen it since I was a kid,” she says, smiling a little. “My dad and I used to watch these movies all the time. They’re awful.”

He swallows hard, thinking of Sarah.

She looks at him and picks up the remote. “Mind if I…?”

“Yeah, yeah…sure.”

She hits Play and sits back, curling her legs under her and clutching the tea in her hands.

~*~

The credits roll a couple of hours later. Charlie has nestled into the couch with a blanket over her lap, empty mug resting on the coffee table.

“S’it as bad as you remember?” Joel rasps.

“Yes. Maybe worse. But in a good way,” she smiles a little. “Nostalgic, I guess.”

He nods. “How’re you, uh, feelin’?”

“Fine,” she says automatically, then laughs. “Not fine, actually. I’m exhausted and I’m sick all the time and my boobs are so fucking sore I could—“

She stops. “Shit, I’m sorry. That’s more than you needed to know. My husband used to say I was born without a filter.”

“S’alright,” he murmurs, his face burning. “You’re, uh, married?”

“Was…or what passed for marriage in the QZ, I guess. We were cordyceps orphans…grew up together after the outbreak, protected each other…kept each other out of trouble. We had 17 years together before…before our luck ran out.”

“So he, uh…you and he…wanted kids?”

“Yeah,” she snorts. “Sounds pretty stupid, right? Bringing a baby into a quarantine zone?”

He bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. He knew people still brought children into this broken world, but he’d never considered it. His interest in that life had stopped when Sarah’s heart stopped beating.

“I miscarried three times,” she murmurs. “We might have kept trying if we’d made it to Jackson together…I don’t know.”

“What happened to him?”

She shrugs. “We ran into trouble on the way here. He was bit. I…took care of it. We always said that was the deal, that we wouldn’t let each other turn. He…he didn’t even flinch when I pulled the trigger.”

She’s looking down at her stomach now, tracing her fingers over the ridges in her shirt, lost in thought.

“I wasn’t looking for this any more than you were,” she says softly. “But I want it anyway…I–I can’t help it. Is that foolish?”

Her eyes bore into his then, not sad now, almost…angry. Challenging him to deny her this.

Joel doesn’t know how to answer, but he huffs a soft, “No.”

She rubs her palm slowly across her lower belly. “This is the longest I’ve ever made it. I didn’t have morning sickness or the…other symptoms before, so I thought…maybe…maybe this time…”

“It’s not over ‘til it’s over,” he says softly.

He wants to take her hand. Instead, he gathers their mugs and takes them to the sink.

“Oh…it’s late,” she says faintly. “I should go.”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t be alone. You can stay here tonight.”

“Oh, no—”

He shakes his head, cutting off her protest. “If somethin’ goes wrong or if you get…sick…someone should be with you. I could come to your place if that’s–or call a friend if you don’t want, uh, me–”

“It’s not that, Joel, but I’ve been through this before–”

“By yourself?”

She swallows hard and ducks her head. “No.”

“Then stay,” he says. “Just for the night. I can put you up in–”

He falters, thinking of Ellie’s old room, still decorated in ugly pink stripes. Meant for a teenager but too close to a nursery.

“You can stay in my room,” he says quickly. “I’ll take the couch. Usually end up down here anyway.”

“I couldn’t–”

“It’s fine,” he waves her off. “Can’t sleep for shit no matter where I land. C’mon.”

He makes for the stairs before she can argue, and breathes a sigh of relief when she follows. He pauses outside the door to his bedroom.

“Just, uh…wait here. Gimme a minute.”

He ducks into the room, picking up clothes and tossing them into the hamper. He strips the bed and digs wrinkled but clean sheets out of the linen closet. After a pause, he picks up the calendar and the red pen from the nightstand and stuffs them into his pocket.

“Should be all good. The bathroom’s, uh, right through there,” he gestures. “All yours. There’s, uh, pain medicine if you need it.”

“Thanks…”

“I’ll be downstairs,” he says. “If you need anything, if anything, uh, happens…just come get me. Or yell.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” he says.

“I will, Joel,” she murmurs. “Thanks.”

“G’night then.”

He goes back to his usual spot on the couch and lies down, staring at the little cracks in the living room ceiling. He won’t be able to sleep now. He thinks about the raw need in her voice as her fingers traced her stomach, the hitch in her breath, maybe this time …

He throws an arm across his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. A small, grief-blackened part of him hates that he cares. Before Ellie, he could numb the pain with booze and pills and a lucrative career in smuggling. But he’s not that man anymore. It would be so much easier if he were, if he couldn’t feel the little flicker of hope in his chest.

The calendar and pen dig into his hip, and he pulls them out of his pocket. It’s well after midnight, so without thinking, he uncaps the pen and crosses off another day.

~*~

He must have fallen asleep. When he opens his eyes, the room is lighter, and Charlie is nudging his shoulder.

He’s upright before he’s fully awake. “What is it? Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I’m going to go. The midwife said she’d see me at 7:00. I need to go home and change.”

“Right, okay. Do you, uh…do you want me to come with–”

“No,” she says quickly. “I haven’t told her…or anyone…about you.”

“Right,” he blinks. “Um. Let me know…okay?”

She nods, holding her arms around her middle like she could protect herself from the worst. Without thinking, he reaches out and touches the back of her hand. She doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” he mutters, withdrawing. “I…I hope it works out,” he says lamely.

“Do you?” she asks, with an edge of bitterness in her voice. She’s immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. You’ve been kind, and that was…cruel. Missing my filter again.”

“It’s…fine.”

He wants to tell her he does have hope, despite himself, but she’s already out the door.

~*~

Charlie hasn’t been gone for five minutes when there’s a knock.

Shit.

He’s on the schedule for a construction job and he’d promised to meet Tommy early. Now he’s late.

“I’m comin’,” he mutters, wincing at the stiffness in his back. “Hold your goddamned horses.”

“Long night?” Tommy smirks on the other side of the door. “Thought I saw Charlie doin’ the walk of shame–”

“Shut it,” Joel growls, surprising himself at the bite in his voice. “Don’t say another fuckin’ word.”

Tommy’s hands coming up in mock defense. “Whoa, easy. Didn’t know it was like that.”

“It’s not,” Joel snaps.

“Alright,” he says, peering at his older brother curiously. “So…you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Lemme get my stuff.”

He’s distracted all day. The work is simple enough–framing a new barn for the sheep, to replace one that’s been infested by termites beyond repair. It should be easy, but he’s overtired and he can’t seem to make his hands behave. Tommy keeps having to repeat himself, giving Joel curious looks.

“You’re losin’ it, big brother,” he says amiably when Joel brings him a jar of the wrong-size screws for the second time in a row.

It’s mid-afternoon when he brings the hammer down on his middle finger. He watches the whole thing as though in slow motion, knowing exactly what’s going to happen well before he feels the pain, but he’s powerless to stop it.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he hisses, shaking out his injured hand. Purplish red blood is already blooming under the wide, flat nail. He resists the urge to stick the finger in his mouth to soothe the throbbing ache like a child.

“You break it?” Tommy’s looking over his shoulder.

“No,” he growls. “Just a bruise.”

“Yeah, right. Well, you’re done for today,” Tommy says. “Go home. Made good progress, anyway, we’re almost done.”

Joel shoots him a look, but it doesn’t affect his younger brother in the slightest. It never does. So he relents, packing his tools and trudging away, finger throbbing.

He sees her on the walk home.

Charlie is standing with someone just outside the caf. She looks about as tired as he feels, but then she sees him and brightens, the subtlest glimmer as she catches his eye. The look stops him in mid-stride, frozen in the middle of the street.

She gives him a little nod.

Warmth spreads through his chest, a flood of relief, and that blasted hope again.

We’re still here.

#the last of us #fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #babyfic #pregnancy

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

Note

Oh shit! Your requests are open! I’d love an enemies to lovers fic with either Omi or Taiju. Y/n eventually has one of them wrapped around her little finger.😈

Thank you🥺💕

Omi has his own Enemies to lovers SERIES, so Taiju gets this one!

Secret Hideout: Taiju Shiba x Fem!Reader

wc: 1k

tw: smut, College AU

masterlist

No one really gets the relationship between you and Taiju Shiba. No one knows when or why you two started to hate each other. There are too many instances of you harassing each other in the dorm room lobby, the library, the bars...

No one gets it except the two of you.

"Come on," Taiju drawls, holding a beer can in one hand and pointing to you with the other. "You play pool like a girl." You squint your eyes at him, imagining the pool stick in your hand flying through his head and sticking in the opposite wall.

But you don't fulfill your violent fantasy. You just lean over the table and hit the cue ball with precision, sinking two balls in one go. When you glance up to see if your rival looked any more irritated than before, you catch him leering at your backside, a thought - just one single thought - plain for all to see.

Except there's no one else at the seedy bar except five regulars - including the two of you - and a bartender who is eyeing the hockey game with interest. No one in the bar is paying attention to what's going on in your corner. (This is part of the reason you chose it in the first place, but that's beside the point.)

"You're up," you quip, smirking. Taiju brushes past you carefully, but not without allowing his fingers to grab your ass under the flimsy skirt you're wearing. "Shiba," you warn, but Taiju is already leaning over the pool table with an eye on the prize.

"Loser has to do whatever the other person tells them for a week."

"Rules haven't changed," you reply, taking Taiju's beer can and sipping it. You grimace - he always chooses the piss-tasting beer - but Taiju doesn't seem to mind. He's too focused on the ball that's rolling toward a side pocket. When it sinks into the hole, Taiju nods and bites his lower lip.

"Two points away from getting the dishes done for a week."

You scoff, roaming around the table to look at the options. You don't have many, but that doesn't stop you from aiming your best.

Except...

Well...

Your best isn't enough.

And you're standing in the frat house up your elbows in dishes. "I fucking hate you," you growl at Taiju, who is lying on the couch and scrolling through the television offerings. "Did you hear me?"

"Heard every word," Taiju mutters, uninterested.

"You could at least let me watch an interesting channel!" Taiju doesn't reply, and you scrub at a plate that seems to have held some kind of slop before it landed in the dish pile. "Gross..."

Various other members of the fraternity have either cleared out of the house or are observing from a safe distance, trying not to get caught in between you and Taju's spats. But as soon as your nose gets a whiff of spoiled milk, you take a step back and raise your sudsy hands.

"Okay, fuck this; I'm out."

"Huh?" Taiju's head pops up from the couch, and he quirks his brow, watching you back away from the kitchen sink.

"You keep a fucking pig sty in this house. How are you supposed to call yourself frat president if this entire place is a damn trash heap?"

"You're complaining about dishes?" Taiju wonders, sitting up and chuckling. "And here I thought women like doing the dishes."

"You're a fucking misogynist," you shout, pointing a wet finger at the bulky man. "Always making me do housework when I lose!"

"Don't blame me because I'm better at doling out the losing punishments."

"I can give good punishments, too!"

"Like doing your homework?" Taiju guffaws, clutching his stomach. "You forget I've already taken all of the classes you've taken since I'm a year ahead." Your rage begins to boil over, and as you sputter for a response, Taiju laughs even harder. "You should see yourself when you get mad. You look like you're about to burst a blood vessel!"

Suddenly, you launch yourself at him, clawing at his frame while you curse at him long and hard.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Taiju shouts, grabbing your wrists and pinning you underneath him on the couch. "The next move you make might be your last." You know he's not kidding because his voice is deep, and he's giving you a glare that tells you you're pushing the envelope.

Instead of relenting, you knee him in the groin, and he groans loudly and painfully. You escape his clutches and dash for the door, but somehow, your finger won't help you escape. You fumble with the lock, trying to get out of the frat house as Taiju recovers surprisingly quickly.

"Nuts of steel," you whisper to yourself, just as the door opens--

And shuts.

"God, you test my patience like no one else. You know that, babe?" Without warning. Taiju tosses you over his shoulder, and you holler out for help from someone - anyone - as he carries you up the stairs. "Rules are rules," Taiju announces as Inupi pokes his head out of his dorm. "You might want to put on some music, Inui," Taiju advises, walking toward his room with purpose. "Or go for a walk. Either one."

You're tossed onto Taiju's impossibly large bed, and while Taiju locks the door, you cross your arms over your chest and pout.

"You can't do this to me."

"Rules are rules," Taiju mutters, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. "On your stomach."

You obey, ignoring your desire to rebel for a second. Taiju flips your skirt up and reveals your perfect round ass, which he palms greedily while groaning low in his throat. When he lifts his hand, you know what's coming.

Smack.

"Count."

"One," you announce, the word muffled by the bedsheets.

Smack.

"Two."

"Louder."

Smack.

"Three."

Smack.

"Four!" Taiju rubs his hands over your reddened flesh, appreciating the view for a moment before raising his hand again. This time, you get smacked on both ass cheeks. Each one counts as a single smack, so you count, "Five. Six."

"You've been a bad girl."

Smack! Smack!

"Seven... eight."

"You'll apologize to Daddy, won't you?"

Smack!

"Nine."

"Won't you?"

Smack!

"T-ten..."

"Won't you, baby? Or will I have to fuck it out of you?”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #taiju shiba smut #taiju shiba x reader #taiju shiba

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