#but i don’t have a choice and i want to try
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Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader
this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 7.7k
Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously
Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.
A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!
It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin.
The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.
"Working late?”
The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.
You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”
Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.
“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze.
“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”
He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass.
“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”
A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”
You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.
It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable.
Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag.
“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”
You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed.
“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.
The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”
Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer.
How long?
You took another drink.
“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.
“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”
His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking.
“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”
You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.
“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly.
You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”
A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”
Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”
He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn.
“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”
That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”
He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”
Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”
“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”
Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.
It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse.
“At the moment, yes.”
“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.
”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow.
He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”
That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out.
“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”
It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.
You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up.
Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace.
It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one.
“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”
You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.
“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone.
The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.
The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.
Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in.
You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down.
Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway.
It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.
You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side.
You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably.
You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.
Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression.
Second choice, second choice, second choice.
Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled.
His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.
That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him.
It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed.
When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare.
Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.
Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser.
In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely.
“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later.
He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt.
Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat.
“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”
The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands.
How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?
He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”
His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.
“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”
Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”
He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip.
He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him.
You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave.
Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core.
”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”
Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.
He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation.
Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.
It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit.
When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?
He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back.
“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place.
He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”
His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge.
When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.
“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly.
You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair.
But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then.
You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”
His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”
You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?
“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”
You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled.
“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”
You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.
“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver.
You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh.
He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle.
His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins.
“Tell me you’ve missed me.”
Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.
”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.
He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.
“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”
He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.
You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours.
When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.
His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies.
“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”
It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.
He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder.
“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.
”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”
His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever.
Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.
You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.
When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest.
“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.
But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room.
”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”
He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying.
“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”
You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.
“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”
You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“
“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”
“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”
You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.”
His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”
You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”
His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”
You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”
He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”
Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”
The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.
Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all.
The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise.
Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?
”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”
“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.
“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”
Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.
Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind.
When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room.
“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.
“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded.
He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”
You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.
A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes.
He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne.
“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.
“Patrick—“
“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“
“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”
You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”
He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”
He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”
You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”
”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”
You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat.
“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”
Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”
You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.
You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”
Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.
You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”
Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out.
“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”
You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod.
“Show me.”
Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”
You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”
You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever.
“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly.
His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”
Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs.
His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.
“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist.
He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.
“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”
He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”
You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”
You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?”
He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance.
You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”
His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”
And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy.
Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.
The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need.
“Close,” you gasped.
He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.”
You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock.
“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“
You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth.
When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep.
Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly. A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel.
“I love you, you know that?” He asked.
You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”
You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves.
“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.
He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”
“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest.
He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.
It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”
You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.
When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him.
You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air.
When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place.
Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment.
When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.
On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls.
The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.
You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones.
Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him.
You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.
He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”
The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.
At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early.
As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word.
You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.
#patrick zweig x reader#art donaldson fanfic#patrick zweig fanfic#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig#art donaldson#challengers 2024#challengers fanfic#challengers x reader#changeover au#my writing
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help a broke latine transfem out?
i was hoping i wouldnt have to make one of these but its looking like i have no choice. i do ubereats for work, and for of a combination of a few reasons (it being summer, inflation being as bad as it is esp here in socal, etc) it’s been extremely slow. on tuesday I was out for 4 1/2 hours and made literally only $11 before I had to go home because of pain. ive tried applying at less unreliable jobs but nowhere has gotten back to me, job market is extremely bad right now and being a full time college student does not help.
I have my credit card bill ($203) and the deadline for my car’s registration ($149) both coming up in the next week or so. Currently I cannot pay for both without having to dip into my savings, which I really really do not want to do. If I don’t pay for my car’s registration I obviously can’t work at all. as I mentioned I also experience really bad chronic back and leg pain because of how much I have to sit in my car’s uncomfortable seat while working, so it’d be really nice if I would be able to at least afford a nice cushion to sit on to help alleviate this and maybe let me work for longer hours.
this isnt the most urgent thing in the world but if you have anything to spare id really appreciate it. i really do not want to dip into my savings right now bc I don’t even have very much there either. it’s been extremely stressful and I’ve been spending my summer doing nothing but working sleeping and (barely) eating without even enough time to clean my room or do laundry since i spend my days off trying to recover from the pain. any little penny makes things easier for me, and if I get any more than enough to pay for those aforementioned bills it’ll go entirely to things like food, gas, that cushion, etc.
v/nmo: @rosechxrch
c/shapp: $rosechxrch
if you need my paypal please dm me or send me an ask off anon! thank u ❤️
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I love your entire page, so I was thrilled to see that your requests are open. May I request a story with Daniel Ricciardo x Reader? Perhaps something where the reader is experiencing a moment of low self-esteem, comparing herself to his ex, and feeling down since they've recently started dating, yet the fans want his ex back. When Danny is dominant it makes me melt so perhaps a smut that is center on body worshipping yet leads to crazy back shots/missionary. He made you come multiple times and despite you trying to tap out , he’s not stopping anytime soon creating a big creamy mess 🫠
𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝟐
Summary: She’s the least favorite Formula One WAG. At first, she was optimistic, the fans would eventually get over it and maybe even start liking her—but she now knows that was a pretty naive thought. She’s constantly compared to Daniel’s ex-girlfriend—she’s not as pretty as her, she’s not as supportive as her, she’s not as popular as her, etc. Unfortunately, in a moment of low self-esteem—she breaks and thinks maybe the fans are right. Daniel, with a sixth sense of knowing when you’ve lost your mind, comes home and sees you gathering every belonging of yours that’s migrated to his apartment like you’re breaking up with him. He tries to change your mind with his words, but that doesn’t quite reassure you completely; so he has no choice but to do it with his actions, too.
Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader (her skin is described as brown)
Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. no beta we die like men. no srs it’s barely edited. angst with a happy ending. hurt/comfort. dom/sub undertones. arguing. breaking up/making up. those three little words. attempt at humor (a lil bit). implied subspace. insecure!reader. body worship. vaginal sex. oral sex (female receiving). online hate. overstimulation. protected sex. aftercare. this is dirty, i am so sorry.
Word Count: 5k words.
Author's Notes: okay it's a couple hours late, but i was hit with a little creative genius and i think you guys will really enjoy this one! and it's the longest one too! an entire five-thousand words wow. aren't you glad i added more to this masterpiece.
let me know what you think! xxxxx
prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻
You’re trending on Twitter. No—not for one of your TikToks that you hope went viral, but under the hashtag #breakupwithherdaniel. Fans have decided to start a movement to make signs to take to the next Grand Prix, with pictures of your face posted next to that hashtag. In all of the tweets, they’re commenting on how they wished Daniel and his ex were still together, or comparing you to her, and saying that you’re toxic—you! In this situation, where none of the people online personally know you and take to bashing you on the internet; you are the toxic one! And that’s the last straw. You start packing your shit up into bags and whatever boxes you can find. A large amount of your belongings have migrated to Daniel’s apartment, even if you don’t officially live with him. You’ve been dating him for just over six months, and the entire time your relationship has been public his fans have harassed you.
They prefer his ex over you, it’s that simple. It probably doesn’t help that you’re not like one of the white models everybody thinks f1 drivers should date, but enough is enough. It didn’t bother you at first, you thought with just a little time everyone would calm down but the opposite has happened. They’ve only gotten worse and things have escalated to the point where it’s affecting your career and—you can’t take it anymore. And, maybe they’re right. Daniel doesn’t deserve to date a girl who can’t take the harsh eye of the media and fans. He’d be better off without you, and he might certainly be better off with his ex. She was there in his darkest times and his brightest successes. They ended on good terms so with a little charm, Daniel wouldn’t have a problem with getting back with her, surely.
You’re throwing your bags on the living room couch, pulling a suitcase you left here from when you last traveled with him to throw your shoes into. And then, you hear the door open.
Daniel’s happy voice carries to you from the entryway, “Baby, I’m home! I stopped at the store to pick up a slice of your favorite cake, because I know you’ve been needing some cheering up—”
You hear his steps halt as he sees you in the living room, bags and boxes filled to the brim with your stuff.
“Baby?” Daniel asks, “What’s this about? This is late for it to be spring cleaning.”
You shake your head, swallowing softly as you turn to meet his eyes, “I’m leaving, Daniel.”
“What?” Daniel says confused.
“Don’t make it any more difficult than it needs to be,” you start, unable to fight back your tears any longer, “Just let me get my stuff and leave.”
Daniel rushes to you, pulling you to look at him, holding your arms still when you try to push him away from you.
“You’ve got to give me more than that. You’re leaving—why? Is it something I did? Did I say something? How long have you felt like this? I could’ve—I can fix it, baby. Don’t leave me,” Daniel pleads, his own eyes radiating how hurt, confused, and disbelieving he feels, “I thought we were strong? We’re the closest to being perfect, I thought. We barely argue; and even when we do it’s resolved properly. I don’t yell, I don’t talk to other women, I don’t ignore your calls or messages, I’m not possessive, I’m not crazy–what can I do? For you to stay, what can I do?”
“Nothing, Daniel. You can’t change my mind. But—it’s not your fault, okay? It’s me,” you cry harder when Daniel scoffs at your response, “I’m serious, Danny. It’s my fault. I can’t take it anymore okay? You’re better off without me; I’m a distraction, I’m not as supportive as I should be, I’m not your type–you’d just perform and be happier without me, okay?”
“Fuck no,” Daniel emphasizes, “Who the hell is telling you that? Because I know you seriously don’t believe that. You’re the best thing to happen to me in my entire life, baby. You’re not a distraction, you support me tirelessly, and you sure as hell are my type. I can’t keep my hands off of you, you scold me all the time for that so, how can you say that ‘you’re not my type?’ I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you, ask anybody, baby.”
You groan angrily, “Not anybody! Have you asked your fucking fans? They sure as hell think that I’m the devil reincarnated. I can’t do anything publicly without being verbally harassed for it. I can’t dress the way I want to, I can’t act the way I want to, and I can’t even go to work! Your little fangirls are affecting my career—and I can’t do it anymore. They’ve won. I can’t take the judgment anymore, not for me just existing. You’d be happier with your ex, just like they want you to be.”
You and Daniel stare at each other silently, the air tense.
“What do you mean,” Daniel pauses, his jaw tightening, “What do you mean they’re affecting your career?”
“They’re threatening to fire me because of my image. They’re saying I’m smearing the company's appearance,” you sigh out, picking at your cuticles anxiously. Daniel grabs your hands, stopping you.
“I’m going to kill them, baby–”
“Daniel!” you cut him off, aghast.
“No, I don’t care,” He dismisses, “The nerve of them to convince you that you’re not good enough for me. I should’ve kept asking you if you were bothered by the negative attention, but ever since you told me that you could handle it, I never checked in. And, I failed to see that it was getting worse. Worse enough to make you think that you need to leave to escape it. I’m going to embarrass those fans publicly and I’m going to get the team to back me up. As far as your job, I always hated them anyway. I never liked how they would deny your vacation time even though you had the days—you should quit.”
You stare at him deadpan, “Daniel Ricciardo. I’m not quitting my job and I am also still leaving.”
“Mhm, no,” Daniel scoffs hysterically, “You’re not breaking up with me. And, you would have a better reason to quit, if you stayed with me. I’ll retire you and make you my trophy wife, please. Seriously, babe. Don’t leave. I should’ve dealt with the fans earlier, I know—it’s my fault that it even reached this point. Please, just stay with me.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur, crumbling into tears again, “They all seem to think your ex is a better fit and…I think I agree with them.”
Daniel gathers you into his arms, tucking you into his shoulder, “Baby, I broke up with her for a reason. And, I’m glad I did. All of those chronically online fans have no clue about why I broke up with her. I couldn’t imagine going back into that relationship, especially now that I’ve found you. Let me prove it to you, baby.
You sob, “How are you going to prove anything to me right now? Can I just be dramatic for a little longer?”
He laughs, giddy at the sound of your usual antics, “Well, I am going to set the media on fire with the language I use to address how the world has been disrespecting you. But first, I’m going to take you to bed and remind you what you’d be missing out on if you left. What other man could learn to know you as intimately as I do, hm? C’mon, baby—let me prove it to you. Let your body decide.”
Leaning back to look at him through your tears, you think, fuck it, why not?
Daniel presses you into the bed; you whine out desperately when he breaks the kiss, your eyes focused on the plush warmth of his lips as you try to chase them. The eagerness of your actions only dawns on you as you see his lips shift into a smiling laugh then, the embarrassment washes over you; honestly, you think, you can’t act like you can’t live without having his lips touching yours—he might find your yearning repulsive. Did his ex act like this for him? What if that’s why he broke up with her—
“Heyheyhey—don’t hide from me, baby,” Daniel coos concerned, his hand gently coaxing you to turn your head and meet his eyes, you didn’t even notice when you moved to hide your face with the pillow; he continues, “Where’d you go just then, pretty girl? Please tell me, baby, don’t hold it in.”
You meet his troubled gaze, and the love and care you see pouring out causes fresh tears to dance across your waterline. Through your blurry sight, you see Daniel’s brow furrow saddeningly as he carefully pulls you up into a sitting position and holds you tightly as you cry into his shoulder. His left hand massages the back of your neck, and his right hand finds a calming rhythm as he rubs your back. Your tears taper out quicker, and you wonder if you’ve exhausted their supply from the crying you’ve done today.
You draw back from his embrace, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, and your voice shakes and cracks as you begin to speak, “I’ve never been this insecure about myself. I couldn’t give a single fuck about what people say or think about me. But, today? It was just too much, Danny. Seeing all of your fans tear down every aspect of me; my personality, my looks, my body—why? And, they’re doing it under the reasoning that, I’m not good for you. Like, you’re not a grown man, who can decide who he wants to date? I support you quietly and loudly and’ll do it forever, but that’s not enough for them. And, today, it felt like it would never be enough.
“So, when I saw them making signs, t-to…to encourage you to break up with me,��� Daniel muffles a sound of hurt in his chest, “I was humiliated. I-I, didn’t want that sort of attention for you, they should be focused on your racing, not your undeserving girlfriend. And, I thought I’d make it easy for you and leave.”
“Baby, no…”
“You’re such a good boyfriend, Daniel. It would be so much easier for you to end this relationship and go back to your ex, or date some other girl that satisfies you and your fans—”
“Babe, no,” Daniel cuts you off, his tone hardened, “The only person that needs to be satisfied with you is me. And, I am. The opinions of those fucking idiots don’t matter to me, and they shouldn’t matter to you. Because that’s all they are: opinions, and they’re absolutely stupid opinions, at that. They’re comments have done the complete opposite of convincing me to leave you. They’ve shown me that I need to let you know how much I want you with me—they’ve made me realize that I need to let you know that I love you.”
Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering. It’s the first time, he’s said it. Daniel loves you.
Sobbing softly, you murmur, “I hope you’re not only saying those three words because you think it’s going to make me happy. Because, I do love you, too.”
Daniel laughs wetly. “I’m saying that I love you now because you need to know that. I would’ve preferred to say it under different circumstances but, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m ridiculously in love with you. And—fuck everybody who’s saying you’re not good enough for me. If anything, I’m not good enough for you. I haven’t even won you a trophy, yet.”
You stare at him in disbelief, “Shut the fuck up. You’re everything to me. You could be driving the slowest car on the grid and I would still be celebrating your last-place finishes like you’ve won the championship.”
Daniel stares at you silently and you nearly fear that you’ve broken him. He sighs out lovingly before, leaning down and pressing kisses across your entire face to wash away your tear tracks. He finishes with a barely there kiss to the tip of your nose and asks quietly, “Let me show you that I love you. I don’t think saying it is enough.”
You look at him. You find what you’re looking for because you agree, “Okay.”
Daniel perks up, “Okay?”
You nod, slowly sliding down to rest on your back against the bed like you were before. “Yes.”
Your boyfriend shifts to kneel in between your legs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, and once he gets confirmation from you, he smoothly pulls it off of you, dropping it off the bedside. His hands spread across the expanse of your abdomen and move to rest on your waist as he buries himself in the length of your neck. He nips kisses and presses of tongue along your brown skin, surprising you often with the ache of teeth and suction to bloom bruises. When he slides downwards, he paints your collarbone and decolletage loosely, the irritated flesh only sends flares of pleasure across your nerves. Daniel huffs in frustration as the straps of your bra disrupt the smooth skin across your shoulders, and he pulls you upwards to arch into him as he slips his hand underneath to unclasp the closure. You’re brain comes online to help him remove the offending fabric as you shrug out of the straps and desperately fling the bra to a corner of the room you can’t care to look at.
Daniel hums thankfully and resumes tracing along your shoulder, down your arms, and to the bones of your wrists and tips of your fingers with gentle hands followed by his lips.
He swallows before speaking, “Whenever you’re splayed out so prettily underneath me, I forget how to act. The cloudy look in your eyes, your chest covered with my love, the muscles in your shoulders and arms relaxed and syrupy—so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”
You can’t find the words to respond to him because your entire body sings out when Daniel’s lips suction around your nipple. You feel his tongue swirl around, wetting it before his teeth join in and scrape softly against the sensitive bud. He releases you and even though your eyelids have fluttered shut at the feeling, you feel him watching you as your back rises off the bed and your head falls back. His hand finds its place right underneath your breasts, and he pushes you back down into the mattress and holds you there as he continues the assault of his lips on your chest. You can only cry out with every tug of his teeth, every suckle of his lips on the surrounding skin, whimpers choked down as his mouth ravages you entirely. Your hand flies to Daniel’s hair for purchase, and to press his head further into your chest, but he pulls away.
“Forgive me—but I love your chest, baby. I love how you let me take naps on them and play with my hair, I love the feeling of them in my hand, I love making you scream every time I play with them. And, you taught me that the only answer to ass versus boobs is both of them. Because, I would willingly suffocate in either of them, and all of you.”
Your chest heaves as you try to regain some air in your lungs, but Daniel doesn’t let you breathe for a second, “One day, I hope you let me fuck your pretty chest.”
Your mouth drops open, as you flounder for the air and words required to respond to his statement.
“Another time, though. May I take off your pants, baby? I need to fuck you.”
“Yesyes—please, hurry up,” you rush out, already moving to shimmy out of your bottoms, Daniel tugging them off roughly when they get caught around your ankles. The strength he uses slides you down the bed a little, and you can’t help but muffle a gasp underneath your hand.
He pulls your hand from your mouth in an instant, “No. Not tonight. I let you get away with hiding your sounds from me before, but I need to know how good I’m making you feel,” he pauses to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist and continues, “Be as loud as you want, love.”
You nod jerkily, and Daniel lowers your arm to rest against the bed carefully, before he shuffles down the bed, resting on his stomach and spreading your legs to drape along his shoulders. He starts with your right leg; nipping at the bone of your ankle before following with a soothing touch of his lips, and moving upwards, biting and kissing along the muscles of your calf, the inside of your knee. He slows when he reaches the plush meet of your thigh, taking his time biting the muscle and laving over the teeth marks he leaves with his tongue. He repeats the treatment along your left leg, ignoring how he can see the wetness dripping out of you, darkening the fabric of your panties.
“Love your legs, baby,” Daniel breaths shakily, “Calves, and thighs, muscle, and all plush skin. If I could choose how to go out, it would be in between them. Doesn’t matter if they’re around my waist, or my head—it’s fucking paradise, baby.”
Your thighs shudder as if they’ve heard his words, and Daniel notices immediately. His hands move to grasp them and let his thumbs dig into the fresh marks he’s added against your brown skin. You keen airily, your thighs attempting to shut, but Daniel’s hands keep you spread with little effort. He leans down and hides his smile by pressing his mouth to your panties. He proceeds to noisily kiss along your covered cunt, dragging his tongue and nose through the soaked fabric, humming amusedly when your hips buck down onto him, one of his hands shifting to press your pelvis to the mattress.
You’re mortified. Daniel’s pretty much making out with your cunt over your panties, and he seems to be enjoying it as much as you if the way his hips are rocking along the bed is any telling when you raise your head to stare down at him. His eyes shut as he loses himself between your legs; he looks blissed out and you drop your head back against the mattress, bringing your hand to tangle in the mess of his curls. He pulls away with a grunt and you tug at his hair annoyed, sitting up slightly to see what he stopped for—
His eyes are wild, drenched with lust. Daniel doesn’t waste time pulling your panties off, roughly tugging the fabric covering your cunt to the side, tucking it in the dip between your groin and thigh. You see his eyes roll back slightly at the sight of you before he shuts them and dives forward to bring his mouth down on your cunt. His tongue pushes inside of you sloppily and his nose makes sure your clit is always receiving attention. The only option you have is to choke on your moans and grasp for stability in his hair and the sheets of the bed. Your tummy undulates at the pleasure racketing up your spinal cord, it’s too much to process already. And in a split-second, Daniel’s tongue is exchanged for two of his fingers, your cunt thoroughly soaked with a mix of your wetness and his spit, and the stretch is mild, more of a welcomed soreness than pain. Daniel’s eyes open to watch your face closely, you’re too busy moaning to verbally assure him to continue, but he understands (the continuous desperate roll of your hips against his grasp is a helpful clue).
He massages his fingers into you rapidly, brushing along the sensitive wall along the top of your cunt—and it dawns on you very quickly that you are going to cum. He must see the realization wash over your face, or through the signs of your body, but he avoids your g-spot to scissor his fingers inside of you to stretch you out, a third joining the rest when you huff down at him angrily. The new stretch quiets you, loud whines and moans hushed for a moment as you savor the ache. Yet, you quickly hunger for more, unapproving of the sudden gentleness Daniel exhibits.
“Danny, please,” you cry, “C’mon—fuck me, already. ‘m gonna cum.”
He pulls his fingers from the grasp of your vagina and manhandles you onto your front, stomach flat against the bed. With firm hands, he pulls your hips upwards, one hand sliding down your back to deepen the arch and push your ass further out. The insecurity and shyness you had earlier have dissipated; you’d like to be fucked, now. You spread your knees wider and rock back even more.
“Fuck,” Daniel croaks out, and he rushes to grab a condom from the nightstand. You’re sure he’s relatively quick about the entire ordeal; of losing his pants, grabbing the condom, and rolling it on himself, but it feels like ages, and you can’t help but huff out angrily. Thankfully, you feel his left hand come back to rest on your ass and feel the head of his cock tap along your cunt.
Your hole parts for him prettily and Daniel sinks in smoothly, not stopping until your ass meets his hips. You whine softly, the ache of him finding a home within you will never lose its luster. Daniel shudders behind you, the grip of his hand on your ass shaking—his breathing heavy as it echoes around the room.
“Fuck,” Daniel moans again, “Love your cunt, pretty girl. Hot, wet, and tight,” he falls forward, and nuzzles into the hair at the nape of your neck, before pressing a kiss at the back of your neck, and rising again, “‘s so good…I-I can’t find the words right now.”
You giggle softly into the bed and Daniel takes the green light when you press back against him. He begins to thrust into you, hard enough to punch the breath out of your lungs. He’s never fucked you this forcefully before; his motions are erratic, yet somehow he’s nailing the spot inside of you with every other pass of his hips. The sound of your skin meeting manages to be hidden by the screams and moans you manage to release when you find enough air in your lungs. Daniel’s other hand wraps around your front and presses down on your pelvis, tightening your inner walls. And, your vision whites out.
Your legs give out and you feel yourself slouch into the mattress, but Daniel is quick to hold your hips up for you and continues to rail into you, not allowing you any respite. You can hear yourself babbling, but you can’t make out what you’re saying. The heat of Daniel’s chest radiates over your back and you feel his breath wash over your spine, his endearments and praise you hear but can’t understand as the pleasure has blinded your senses. What you can feel, is how his thrusts continue and don’t slow.
You regain control of your body when he rotates you onto your back, he only pulls out briefly while he grabs a pillow to shove underneath your hips before he falls back inside of you. At this angle, Daniel feels larger than life, knocking against buttons inside of you you’re sure he’s only ever discovered. It’s too much. He fucks into you slowly, the press of his cock slow but strong, the motion pushing you up the bed slightly.
You gasp, moans erupting out of you when you attempt to speak. You manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look at Daniel and see the pleased smile on his face. He moves one hand from your hip to cradle your cheek and swipes a tear that escaped from the corner of your eye away.
“Oh,” Daniel hushes you softly, “Gone for me already, aren’t you?”
“T-t-oo much,” you stutter, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “ feels s’good.”
He chuckles quietly, the noise fading into a moan as your cunt clenches around him, “Too much or it feels good, pretty girl? You’re going to have to pick one.”
Daniel’s thrusts get rougher, and he stops pulling out nearly all the way and focuses on digging into you deeper; making sure to drag himself along that place inside you with every thrust. Your scream breaks as soon as it leaves your mouth, the unyielding stimulation feels white hot. You take a shaky hand and drag it down Daniel’s chest, from his tattoos to his abdomen, and push against him while simultaneously trying to raise your hips away from his.
“No, baby,” Daniel coos down at you, knocking your hand away from his abs, and continuing to press inside of you, pulling your hips down, “Don’t run from me. Take it. You know what to say if it’s too much for you.”
You do know what to say. But, the knot inside your tummy starts tightening again, and the overwhelming amount of pleasure isn’t too much. You can take it. Daniel rocks down to kiss you, but you’re too out of it to exactly figure out how to make your lips work, and his eyes shine. He moves to bite at your neck, you feel him speaking against your skin and it takes a few listens to realize he saying, “I love you,” over and over again. His thrusts get choppier and you know he’s close when his hand slips down to play with your clit. This orgasm feels different than the first. It feels like it burns your nerve endings with just how powerfully pleasurable it is. You can vaguely feel Daniel collapse against you as he rides out his climax, but you’re more concerned with the absolute ecstasy you find yourself floating in.
You blink a few times and you fail to adequately process what’s going on around you. You feel Daniel pull out of you, rubbing soothingly along your hips and thighs as he massages any soreness away. You can’t make out his words, but they sound warm and loving making you feel light and fluffy. You don’t recall him moving from the bed, but he suddenly has a warm rag pressed against your inner thighs to clean you up, and your ruined panties are gone. When he tries to wipe against your cunt, you slam your legs shut, jerking away from him. He doesn’t force your legs back open, but he eventually manages to clean up enough of your wetness that he’s comfortable to wait until you’re clear-minded.
Daniel pulls you onto his lap and continues murmuring words of affection into the air, you feel them vibrate through his chest. You begin to rise out of whatever state you were in and shift in his lap, “Danny,” you try to speak, but your voice cracks roughly. He’s quick to grab a bottle of water on the nightstand and opens it for you, helping you drink as your arms are still too shaky.
“When did you grab the water?” you question softly, you down nearly the entire bottle, and move to snuggle back into his chest, bringing your shaky hand up to trace his tattoos.
“You don’t remember?” Daniel questions calmly, watching as you shake your head in dissent, “I think you were a little out of it after that orgasm. You melted into the bed—I couldn’t get you to say anything.”
“Oh,” you offer, looking up at him to read his face. You find nothing but love, so you figure it can’t be a bad thing.
“Do you know what subspace is?”
“No?”
Daniel nods understandingly and changes the subject, “I got this piece of cake for you earlier at the store. Can you eat it for me now and drink a little more water, baby? I’ll put on that crime show you like too.”
You agree to eat and drink as long as Daniel does too. Your hand shakes as you try to bring the fork to your mouth so you let Daniel feed you, he seems more than happy to do it for you. You kind of like it anyway, him taking care of you. You feel like your normal self halfway through the second episode of the show playing on the TV. You slide off of Daniel’s lap to sit beside him and focus on the show, pulling the blanket up to cover your legs, the plot of the show finally being processed by your brain.
“I’m going to go grab something from the living room, okay?” Daniel checks in on you, waiting for you to answer affirmatively, “Finish up that cake for me, love.”
You hum, grabbing the container from him and continuing to munch along as Daniel does what he needs to. He reenters the room with one of the boxes you had packed away. Daniel doesn’t look at you, he just opens up the box and starts putting all your belongings back to where they used to be. He pulls one of your heavier sweaters out of the box and moves to hang it up in the closet.
“No,” you say, voice scratchy. You watch Daniel turn to face you slowly like he thinks you’re going to tell him that you’re still leaving,
“That sweater doesn’t belong in the closet. It gets folded and placed in the bottom row of the dresser.”
Daniel sighs relieved and smiles at you, “Okay. What about this one too, where does that go?”
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Tysm for feeding us with ur wuwa smut fics bro <33 and btw since requests r open as u said, can u pls write the NSFW reaction of wuwa men when their fem s/o is always half-naked when their both home alone?? Lol, and if they ask why their s/o is so relaxed to just roam and walk around their private home nearly naked, s/o just shrugs her shoulders and says something like: “We’re a couple, now— are we not? I don’t see the problem here.” EHHEEHEEHHEHHEHEH >:333 (Again tysmsmmss amd have a good day/noon! 🫶)
How WUWA Men React When You Walk Around The House Half-Naked (NSFW)
characters: jiyan, mortefi, geshu lin, yuanwu, scar, aalto, calcharo x reader
warnings: suggestive behavior, teasing, not really all the way, just a short post, nsfw
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Scar:
He doesn't mind when you walk around half naked, matter of fact he'd go walking around half naked with you
You just know that he's purposely trying to hug you just to feel your skin on his
Somehow the two of you would end up fucking
"Why bother wearing clothes at this point?"
Sometimes he even rubs himself on you while you're half naked, sick pervert
He encourages it a lot
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Yuanwu:
He's flustered by your confidence, but glad enough you trust him to see your body
Despite being a gentleman, he is still a man, so he'd often times stare at you while having a nice sip of tea
"Aren't you cold?" You were in fact, not cold at all. The only shivers you get is when you feel a pair of eyes on you
Suddenly he's smiling at you and offering you to help him get his glasses in the bedroom
And now he's pinning your hands to your head and kissing you
You didn't mean to be provocative, but it happened anyways
-----
Mortefi:
"WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?"
He's panicked at first but he gets used to it later, a bit of a drama king but when you pointed out on him revealing his chest he just blushes and sighs in defeat
Definitely ogling at you, he especially loves the way he could see your boobs when you're only in your bra
At one point when he stands too close to you he's already pinning you to the wall and kissing you
"If this is your way of teasing me then it's working" He's say while blushing profusely
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Jiyan:
He's shocked but he doesn't say anything, instead he just tries to avoid staring at you and hopes you'd out some clothes on
But you don't, you're still in your underwear and it's getting really bad for his heart to see you walking around so freely
When he feels like he wants to talk to you about it, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and make you stare into his eyes and ask you if you were interested in going to bed together to fuck
And of course you say yes, cause he's already slipping his hand down to grope your ass, leaving you no choice
Jiyan likes it when you wear less in front of him
-----
Aalto:
He starts acting like he saw you for the first time and starts flirting with you
You didn't expect him to wrap his arm around you and slip his hand into your bra though
Now he's trying to have a conversation with you while he's teasing your nipple, just so you would get wet
"Oops, almost forgot about my food in the microwave" He stands up and leaves you alone on the couch, wet and confused
But you're definitely gonna keep walking around half naked, that's for sure
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Geshu Lin:
"What do you think you are doing?"
He acts like he has a problem with it but when you remind him that its only the two of you and that he's already seen your body suddenly hes fine with it
But he will still complain about it
Eventually he gets tired of complaining and just carries you to bed, telling you that now that he's hard you have to take responsibility for it
Tsundere Geshu Lin?
-----
Calcharo:
He's like a big dog, staring at his owner and wondering what to do or say
For some reason, he'd start putting blankets or towels on you
"Is this a new way to make me turned on?"
Before you know it he's fucking you with the same clothes you had on half naked
He ends up wanting you to walk around the house half naked anyways
-----
A/N: SORRY FOR MAKING IT SHORT ANON I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS TO DO AND IM PUSHING OUT REQUESTS SO THIS IS PROBABLY NOT SATISFACTORY BUT I HOPE MY OTHER POSTS MAKES IT UP TO YOU 😭😭
#wuthering waves#wuthering waves smut#wuwa#wuwa smut#wuwa jiyan#jiyan smut#wuwa calcharo#calcharo smut#wuwa mortefi#mortefi smut#wuwa geshu lin#geshu lin smut#wuwa scar#scar smut#wuwa yuanwu#yuanwu smut#wuwa aalto#aalto smut#answeredbyskull#noveauskull#wuthering waves x you#wuthering waves x reader
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Pick a pile
Positive and negative traits of your future spouse
1. 2. 3.
Pile 1
Positive
first I feel like your future spouse is positive in general they may have had some hardship in their life or growing up but they never let this get to them they learned from it and kept moving. This person is very loving they have a lot of love for themselves but also for you and their loved ones. Your future spouse knows how to love because of things they went through this person treats people how they wish they were treated. They are very successful especially money wise. They are very good at planning I feel like their future is something they think about a lot. They are empathetic and Loyal. They cherish and are very grateful for what they have. They are very smart aswell they may have a really high education. This is giving me Matilda vibes she was such a smart kid but she wasn’t always loved at home. I feel like nothing can bring this person down they are always on their “high hopes”.
Negative
Your future spouse Dosent like being committed to things they may get bored really fast. This person dosent like when they don’t have control over situations. They hate physical change they may not like to move homes a lot or move around a lot. This person may be very blind to the truth they don’t do much research or care what could go wrong only what could go right there a bit naive. I do see the person having problems due to their childhood or the way they were raised. This person very much avoids the problems in their life like the problem could be right infront of them and their looking the other way. They carry to many burdens, stress or work on their shoulders this person may be high up in their career so it always falls on them and it’s just to much for them to deal with it may even cause sleepless nights or health issues. They may not know the balance between work and play But Their work doesn’t go unseen but what it unseen is what it’s doing to them.
Thank you for reading loves! 🤍
Pile 2
Positive
Your future spouse stands up for what’s right there not just going to let someone be rude for no reason or talk about them they are not going to let anyone disrespect you. They know how to enjoy themselves they know how to take care of others aswell. This person is very friendly and nice they may have a lot of close and personal friendships. They are a very mutual person they have a “everything happens for a reason mindset” but they also learn from the experience. Your future spouse is a huge family person family means a lot to them the family they came from the family that they are going to have they just really love and appreciate the home you Two will have together. You are this person’s fairy tail ending. This person knows how to forgive they give people a second chance to change there actions they see the good in people. This person may comes from a really good family and set of parents.
Negative
I feel like this person try’s to help out more then they can give they may give someone 20 dollars just to prove that they can help others out even tho they only had 20 dollars left themselves. They try to give blessings to others but they are not pure or for the right reasons. They care a lot about what other think about them they want people to see them in a high value or light. I feel like this person takes a lot of wrong turns in life like they think that it will help them but it ends up hurting them in the end. This person has to many options and choices in there life it makes them confused and they mess up whatever they are doing. They may be very indecisive and let other people influence them. They went through something some kind of journey that changed them in a negative way.
Thank you for reading loves! 🤍
Pile 3
Positive
This person is an overly positive person I feel Iike they attract a lot of good things just because they are a very happy upbeat person. they have a lot of new fun things always coming to them they may be a very good at manifestation wether they know it or not. They are very creative and have lots of good ideas they may even be a really good cook or baker. This person whether they are male or female gives loving mother vibes a family persons. I do see you having kids and family with this person. Theirs something very pure about this person aswell they are very much a lover boy/girl they have always wanted a true loving relationship. This person achieves whatever they want they daydream about it and the next day they have it. They have very good useful skills aswell. They are very successful to they don’t just get what they want they earned it aswell.
Negative
They get bored very easily there are always out and in they can’t stay still or committed a lot. They also move around to fast they start a lot of things and never finish them or like starts off very strong and it Burns them out quickly. I feel like some things they do backfires or Dosent do them justice the way they thought it would. They like to get back at people who have done them ill they don’t really believe in karma they want to do it themselves. This person has to sides to them they may have been a bad person in there past but they are no longer this way or they appear one way but act another. This person may feel the need to always defend themselves or have a guard up. I feel like this person loves to be peaceful and have harmony but people come across them with ill intentions a lot so they feel the need to act on it.
Thank you for reading loves! 🤍
#pick a card#pick a photo#pick a picture#pick a pile#pick an image#tarot cards#tarot deck#tarot reading#tarotblr#tarotcommunity#pick a reading#pick a deck#pick a crystal#free tarot#daily tarot#tarot
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sincerely hope wherever helluva boss take us it does not lead to Stolas losing everything. I keep seeing little hopeful posts about Stolas losing his status and moving in with Blitzo and working at IMP, and yeah Stolas being the secretary they always needed is a cute idea with a lot of hijinks to explore, but I don’t want it to come at the cost of the only life he’s ever known. Getting kicked out and shunned with nothing but the clothes on your back is terrifying not to mention traumatic. Stolas was raised to be exactly what he is: A prince, guardian of the stars and prophecy; and if you take out the forced wife he actually enjoys his overall duty with the stars. Take that away and there won’t just be panic they’ll be a full blown melt down. He has no life skills, no understanding of the world or what his place in it might look like without purpose (which his life no matter how stifling always gave him)
And Blitzo can’t support him. Not the way he is right now financially or emotionally. He sleeps on the couch, presumably ever since he adopted Loona, and right now with his head always twisting things and making him the lit fuse on a bomb for every good thing going wrong for the people in his life he would spiral so hard. Stolas losing his title, his wealth, his palace, maybe even his daughter? Blitzo would see that as another way he ruined someone. It would ruin the beginnings of their relationship not because I think Blitzo would run, no Full Moon if nothing else showed us all that Blitzo wants to stay and will if he’s allowed, I think he will desperately try to be the pillar of support Stolas would need in that situation and fail at providing any stability.
All this to say I really hope Stolas remains a prince. And if Stolas does lose his status I hope it’s a choice and not him getting evicted and if he is evicted it’s a temporary plot thing due to Stella and Andre’s plotting that gets resolved eventually.
Stolas has been so isolated and lonely for so long. Raised in a cage with a script that he’s only now starting to break out of. I think there would be nothing more beautiful than his cage, an empty mausoleum of a palace, was reframed where the empty halls are filled with laughter and each room has someone in it that he can talk to and there is no longer “guest rooms” because the people he loves and love him right back all have a place when they visit. He could work as IMP’s secretary as a side job as a treat. Which I think would mean so much more because so much of his life and his hopes concerning Blitzo are about being wanted. He wants to be wanted, to be chosen, not be forced on others. It would mean so much if Blitzo asked to hire him when Stolas has no reason to accept except he wants to.
This got longer than I wanted.
#helluvaboss#stolitz#stolas#helluva boss#helluva boss spoilers#full moon episode#full moon helluva boss#full moon spoilers#stolas goetia
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How would Noa react to human reader on her period? I’m currently on mine and got this thought!
It's like you and i are the same person bc im on mine too ( The first time in like three years, im SUFFERING, ) Let's get self-indulgent. YOLO.
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. READ THE PROMPT ABOVE AND MAKE THE CHOICE IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH THIS CONTENT, OTHERWISE, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Ty ty.
Due to the environment and stress of living in the society you were placed in, your period was admittedly not regular though you tried your best to keep track of it. It got lost from time to time and you were left unsure when it would rear its ugly head back in. Sometimes, it was remarkably early by a few weeks, sometimes, it was at least a month late.
Your first period while with the Clan? You had nothing prepared. Nothing to ease your bleeding, nothing to ease yourself into some semblance of comfort. You quite frankly go into a small panic. You don’t know who to talk to - there’s no humans here, and Apes don’t bleed and have symptoms like Humans do.
Oh my god avoiding Noa for the few days out of embarrassment - How do you even begin to explain to him?
Don’t think for a moment that Noa doesn’t know something is going on.
The boy has an acute sense of smell. The roll of your pheromones, how they hit him and stuck around like a fog around his head, how they adjusted ever so slightly a few days before you began ignoring him? Noted.
You’re more hungry than usual - going for seconds at the evening meal. Nothing savory though - you stocked up on fruits and berries and just explained to him that the sweetness was more up your alley. He’d mention that maybe you should have some meat to balance but the absolute daggers you gave him caused him to never bring it up again. Noted.
The pull to your emotions, like you were swinging from a branch, back and forth not able to teether yourself to one? You began crying one day with him next to you while watching the Baby Apes play with each other. The next moment, you were snapping at him for even looking at you. Noted.
The subtle shift in your body? Becoming a bit more reserved , you often kept your hands in front of your chest, blocking him from looking at you fully? Maybe, he even notices when your arms grazed your chest that you flinched - Tender breasts. Noted.
Heightened mating the last few days? Oh, absolutely noted.
Not as tired as you though - Noa noticed you getting more tired during the middle of the day, asking him a few days before your period actually hit if you could go take a nap while he went with Soona and Anaya to fish. Noted.
You go to Soona and Dar in hopes that maybe you can talk to them about it and actually have them understand. You’re too embarrassed to bring this up to Noa and you doubted that he’d understand at all.
Noa does show up mid-conversation though- You had been talking to Soona and Dar about something from his perspective. He doesn’t take much time to notice that, letting his green eyes rest on you for a moment longer but the tone of the voice you’re using with his Mother and Soona? Quite, hushed, like you had a secret. Noa has to admit that he’s a tiny bit intrigued and he lingers, trying to pick apart the conversation despite his brain telling him not to, that it was obviously a private matter. But… The other side of him bargained and he wondered what secret you could have that you wouldn’t want him to know about. After all, you had been avoiding him for a few days and he needed to know why if that’s what you were talking to Dar and Soona about.
Admittedly, as you explained to them what was happening ( Soona and Dar ) they were more confused than you initially wanted them to be with your vague words, having to go into more detail and explain - Which was not on your bingo-card at all. You were unsure of what words/phrases they were going to understand so you had to transverse carefully around the subject. You felt like you were going to cry from embarrassment before a look of understanding flashed from Dar.
~*So, from listening to the conversation he was not supposed to be a part of, Noa gathered only a few things: you were going through something that affected females? Hence, why you went to Soona and Dar. You were embarrassed to talk to Noa about it, it must have been pretty contentious. And went through this consistently, albeit not regularly? It was a sign of Echo maturity, your body coming into its own. On a consistent basis? Noa was confused. How does your body do that?
Oh my god Noa asking you about it.
The blood rushing to your face as he mentions that he had heard you talking to his Mother and Soona. Your first instinct is to get defensive. You cross your arms in front of your chest, pretty adamant in telling him that there was nothing going on.
Noa retaliates in defense of himself and says, “I… just want to know why… you… Are ignoring me.” The spacing of his words gives away that he was being careful to choose what he told you.
Irrational anger bubbled to surface and you just snapped, “I’m on my period! Okay? I already talked to Dar and Soona about it and now you’re at my throat? Period! Is that a good enough answer for you!? It’s not always about you Noa!” You storm off, leaving the Ape bewildered.
You eventually do return an hour or so later, this time, incredibly apologetic with tears in your eyes as you’re muttering to him through a flood of tears, telling him all about what was happening and how you were feeling. Your cramps, the headache that wouldn’t go away, your insatiable need to eat everything insight, the pure driven desire you had to be both angry and sad at the same time. You even went as far as to tell him that you were indeed bleeding -Something Noa didn't have the heart to tell you that he was aware of. Remember that acute sense of smell? He noticed it. He noticed it the last few days, figuring you would bring it up when you were ready.
Noa pulls you into him, lightly pressing his forehead against yours. He’s still not 100% on the details but… He hated to see you cry. Hated to see you angry as well. He tells you that it’s okay, to calm down and that it’ll all be okay.
Those swinging emotions he recalled from a few days before your period?
Yeah, they happen during as well and you flew off the handle. “I am calm! What makes you think I’m not?” You groaned, pulling away from him, “I’m going to lay down.”
He just watches wordlessly as you walk away; wondering what he said that was so offensive.
He definitely begins to track it with fever though; just another thing for him to notice about you, and he really did his best to be accommodating despite not fully understanding the reason why you went through it. He would tell you when he knew it was coming, something that you actually came to gratefully accept because the mutiny that was your body made it hard to track yourself.
Uhm hello? Noa bringing you an herbal drink that the Elders swore by to help with mild pain in the body. Usually, it was Apes that had joint problems from age, or some from injury, but the drink did help ease your headache and cramps to a semi-bearable state.
He scours the dinner for the most sweet berries and fruits. Noa is able to tell from look and feel which ones would be more welcomed by you and he’s always so diligent to bring you two bowls. One for now, one for later.
OHHhhh my god Noa resting his hands on your stomach when you’re tangled in the nest together. He can sense the discomfort you’re in. You had tossed and turned almost the entire night, keeping the two of you awake. Now that it was dusk, you felt more at ease as he placed a hand on the lower part of your abdomen and groaned at the pleasure of feeling his heated skin.
~*Definitely becomes more of a coping action that Noa works around. If Noa senses you’re feeling either nauseated or in pain, he’s rather quick to pull you into him and ease it the best he can. Favorite position? You’re laying on your side and he is spooning you from behind. Hands on your lower stomach, lightly at first but more intense if you’re craving more pressure and heat from him. He’s noticed you like to fall asleep like that. And he’s more than willing to oblige.
Ah god the forehead touches when you have a headache? Someone sedate me.
~* He really gets into it and will wrap his hands around your head, his fingers almost meeting at the back of your neck. The heat from his hands feels absolutely euphoric against your temples as he pulls you towards him. You fall lax against him and ultimately let Noa pull you into his lap. Hands run from the back of your neck down to your lower back. He’ll place tender touches there too, knowing that lower back pain was also common.
#noa#noa x reader#listen this is so sloppy im so sorry#cryin#pota#planet of the apes#planet of the apes x reader#TW: period#kotpota#kingdom of the planet of the apes
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okay just because we were talking about this - how do you think an asl reunion at alabasta would look like?
i hope its ok that i took this as an excuse to write an au no one asked for :')
read on ao3
x
A lot of the problems in Ace’s young life—most of them, if he was being honest—could be attributed to the shitty choices that adults around him made.
When Bluejam grabbed Luffy by the scruff, the business end of a pistol jammed painfully into the nape of his neck, he was talking a bunch of shit about how Sabo’s dad ripped him off. He was paid to kill Ace and Luffy but he’d been short-changed, and for a man who seemed to think he was entitled to a certain lot in life, it rankled.
“But that noble brat doesn’t make a bad ransom,” the man said, shaking a weepy Luffy in one meaty hand to shut him up, like Ace’s baby brother was nothing but a piece of dirty laundry. “If his family won’t buy him back, I’m sure someone will.”
Ace’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Whatever time Ace didn’t spend in the jungle he spent in the gutters and outskirts of the city, where every unwanted, street-sharpened child knew the risk a certain kind of stranger brought with them.
If Sabo ended up with a slaver, Ace would never get his brother back. Pieces of him, maybe. But not the same golden boy he was right now. Not the brave, proud, secretly soft-hearted person Ace loved so much. He’d come back different if he came back at all.
He had to compartmentalize. He couldn’t act rashly until he had Luffy back. His mind raced frantically, but he made sure it didn’t show on his face. He snatched Luffy up when Bluejam finally let him go and made his own body a wall between his brother and the men who had no compunctions about hurting him to prove a point.
They were left to spread gasoline throughout the terminal, while the pirates made their way back down to the beach. Not one of them lingered to make sure Ace and Luffy did as they were told, and Ace should have wondered about that. Should have wondered why they were making themselves scarce, why the city gates were barred, what all those fuel canisters are for, but his thoughts were too full of other things.
That was why, the second the coast was clear, he tossed his gasoline drum aside and seized Luffy by the arms. He stooped to look right into his eyes, trying to ignore the way his chest panged at how wide and red they were.
“I have to go get Sabo,” he said firmly. “You have to stay here.”
“Let me come!” Luffy cried immediately, predictably. “Don’t leave me behind!”
“It’ll be faster if you wait,” Ace snapped, because he didn’t want to say that Luffy was going nowhere near any ship bound for the slave market, because then he would have to explain why. Even without the Fruit that made him a special novelty in the Blues, Luffy would be snatched up by evil hands in a heartbeat. “You’re too little, you’ll just slow me down,” he said instead.
It wasn’t nice, and when Ace had time later, he would feel bad about the way Luffy’s lip trembled. But for now, it was important that he got his point across. Every second he lingered was another inch ahead Bluejam’s crew got. Ace’s world would literally end if their ship left port without him.
So he gave Luffy’s shoulders a push that propelled him back a step. Then he pointed in the direction of the treeline. He made his face mean and forbidding.
“I mean it, Luffy,” he said. “Go wait for me at home.”
Luffy finally tucked his chin in a miserable little nod. Ace gentled despite himself and reached out because there were two people he would always reach out for and one of them was right in front of him.
He flicked the brim of Luffy’s hat up enough that it fell off his head, and then ruffled his hair. A gesture so familiar and well-practiced it was like muscle memory to him now. Luffy didn’t smile, but it kept the tears at bay for a bit longer, and Ace left him with another firm point back at the jungle.
Ace was a child, doing his best to keep his tiny family together. He had a half-formed plan that he would sneak about Bluejam’s ship and find Sabo wherever he was and they would fight their way out and escape together and reunite with Luffy in time for a midnight dinner. He was a pragmatic youth, and was made wiser by the world than any ten-year-old should have been, but he was still only ten years old. He couldn’t have guessed what was going to happen.
He would piece it together later—that Bluejam had been commissioned by the kingdom to make sure the Gray Terminal burned down, a noble title he planned to come back to collect once he had auctioned off Outlook’s eldest son to the highest bidder—that Ace had chased after one brother and left the other alone in a place that was about to go up in flames.
When he climbed aboard the Blood Batako, he didn’t realize it would be the last time he saw Dawn Island for almost half a year.
He didn’t realize that Luffy would wait for him right there where Ace left him, even as the fire spread into walls of flames much taller than a scrawny seven year old—frightened and crying, little hands bunched in the front of his own shirt as he choked for each breath in the thick, acrid smoke. That Dadan would find him there and haul him away kicking weakly but not screaming, because there wasn’t enough oxygen left in his body to scream. That the asphyxiation, not the fire, is what nearly killed Luffy that night. That he would spend the next week in Foosha Village tended to by their only doctor and wake up with some of his memory intact, but not all. That he would recognize Makino, but wouldn’t know Dadan.
Ace had no way of knowing, when he and Sabo finally made their way home, well-traveled at the tender young age of freshly eleven, and relieved to see journey’s end for the time being, and looking forward to reuniting with a certain crybaby who had probably been miserable cooped up in Dadan’s country or at Party’s Bar without them, that Luffy will have been gone for months by then.
“A cruise ship docked further up the island,” Makino says fretfully, “and a little boy who worked in the kitchens came down here to play because he said he didn’t like the way the kingdom smelled. He and Luffy were fast friends. I had no idea Luffy was planning to leave with him until I found the note he left in his room, and by then they were long gone.”
It’s a good thing Sabo is there, because Ace’s head is just a roar of white noise. Sabo is the one who chokes out, “But—what—did—did you call Gramps? What did he say? Is he going to find him?”
“I don’t have his direct line. I’ve left a dozen messages with his office, but you know how he is,” Makino says, forgetting that they don’t, actually. “He hardly remembers that he has an office. And the number Dadan has for him is no good.”
“Why would Luffy wander off like that?” Sabo says, progressively getting louder. “Why wasn’t someone watching him?”
“He’s just been so restless since the fire,” Makino replies. “There wasn’t anything keeping him here anymore, and it seemed like he just needed one good excuse to leave.”
Sabo looks as gutted by that as Ace probably feels, hurt and confusion racing their way across his face. And Ace finally makes his contribution, in the form of a choked, “What do you mean?” which is when Makino realizes there’s something they still don’t know.
She sits them both down at a table and holds one of each of their hands in hers, and gently explains that while they were gone, the world as they knew it had changed forever, and the happy little boy who always ran to catch up to them wasn’t running after them anymore.
———
Ace still forms the Spades, and Sabo still falls in with the Revolutionary Army, and the only reason they don’t sail together the way they promised when they were young is because the ocean is awfully big. They have a lot of square footage to cover, and splitting up is the only way they could even hope to cover it all.
It doesn’t occur to either of them to give up at any point. As Sabo climbs ranks, as Ace gathers a crew, both their bounties increasing every day, they continue to search faithfully. Either they’ll find him one day, or they’ll simply spend the rest of their lives looking.
Masked Deuce says, “What about the cruise ship he left on? Did you track it down?”
“Boarded by pirates that same year,” Ace replies. “According to the official report, it sank in a storm.”
The loaded silence says everything Masked Deuce will not say. Ace doesn’t care what someone who has never met Luffy thinks about his odds of survival at sea. If Deuce knew Luffy, he would understand. Since he doesn’t, Ace’s first mate can believe his captain is delusional all he likes as long as it doesn’t keep him from doing his job.
Deuce turns out to be a better friend than Ace deserves. One day when Ace leaves his crew to party with some locals and sets off into town to distribute flyers and put his ear to the ground, he hears someone rumble something under their breath about a hopeless cause. He doesn’t even have time to turn around before Deuce has seemingly teleported across the bar and knocked the dissenter out cold.
“Anyone who shares his opinion is free to get their shit and leave,” he says calmly.
The only voices that rise up are ones who sound very offended that Deuce would lump them in with that guy, and Ace refuses to look as touched as he feels.
When he hears word of Red-Hair Shanks in nearby waters, he tracks the man down to a wintery island and leads his crew up a small mountain to meet him. In part, he wants to thank this man who saved his little brother all those years ago. But also…
“I heard about the fire,” Shanks said grimly. “And Makino kept me updated about little Anchor until he disappeared. I’ve got eyes out looking, too, Ace. The world is big, but not so big that we’ll never find him.”
It’s a relief to know that Luffy is so loved, that more than just his brothers care if he’s ever found. But in true Luffy fashion, he explodes onto the scene when he’s good and ready.
Ace is woken up by Deuce kicking the door of the captain’s quarters off its hinges and shoving a crinkled Wanted poster into Ace’s bleary face so that a toothy, stretching smile is the first thing he sees.
He accidentally sets half the room on fire, a slip-up the likes of which hasn’t happened since the first week after he ate his Fruit, and there’s a lot of screaming, and someone shoves a baby Den-Den at him so he can call Sabo. From the way his nakama were carrying on, you would think it was their long-lost brother in the paper.
“I was about to call,” Sabo says breathlessly in lieu of a hello after only barely half a ring. “You saw it?”
“I saw,” Ace replies. The newspaper is rattling noisily in his hands but he can’t get them to stop shaking. “He took down Arlong Park. There are all these witness statements from the villagers. They’re saying he did it all for his friend.”
“If anyone even thinks about coming for his bounty, I’m killing everyone on the Grand Line and then myself,” Sabo says. It takes knowing him as well as Ace knows him to be able to tell over the phone that he’s crying buckets.
“Get in line,” Ace says. If anyone so much as looks at Luffy wrong he’s burning this goddamn planet down. He can’t tear his eyes away from the poster for more than a few seconds at a time. At the urchin grin, the pencil-mark curve of a scar, this bright young man he’s never met who is so, so familiar.
“They’re calling him Straw Hat Luffy,” Deuce says. He’s a pillar of serenity in a sea of absolute chaos, leaning on Ace’s shoulder to read with him. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now I’ll finally get to meet him.”
Which turns out to be easier said than done, because Luffy and his merry band of lunatics won’t seem to stay in one fucking spot for longer than an hour. It takes weeks to finally track that cute little caravel down to a summer island about halfway through the Grand Line, and by that time Sabo has taken a leave of absence from the Army to join him. They’re close now. They’re so close.
Wait for me, Ace would beg him if he could, wondering if this was how Luffy felt all those times his big brothers ran ahead and left him behind.
———
Ace never knew how heavy a heart could be when he was a child, a half-feral, angry, touch-starved thing. But now his heart is full—now it bursts at the seams, spills through his ribcage, until there’s no part of him that isn’t touched by it—and it’s the heaviest thing he’s ever carried.
A precious burden. He’s twice the man he would have been without it. He will never, not one time in his life ever, entertain the idea of putting it down.
But gods, Ace thinks, it would be easier, so much easier, to rip the stupid thing out of his chest and walk around a hollow shell of someone once-loved than it would be to stand here for one more minute and look down at his baby brother looking up at him like he’s a total stranger.
“Who’s this guy?” a blond man behind Luffy mutters. With the touseled hair hanging in an artful curtain over half his face and the cigarette between his teeth and the well-cut linen suit that makes it very clear he never skips leg day, blondie gives off an air of Do Not Fuck With Me just by breathing in a way that reminds Ace of Sabo at that age.
The swordsman beside him, called Roronoa Zoro on his bounty poster, is scowling outright, gray eyes sharp, ready at any moment to leap over Luffy like a faithful hound and dig into Ace with his teeth the second he presents as danger.
It makes Ace feel kind of nostalgic, like he’s looking at an old photo of himself.
He tries to focus on the nostalgic feeling, because all the rest of his brain is drowning in guilt and grief.
Somehow, he wasn’t prepared for this moment. Years of searching, nearly half his life, and he’s finally standing in front of the person whose absence tore a hole clean out of his whole future, and he has no idea what to say.
You look well, springs to mind, because Luffy does. His hair and skin and eyes are all different shades of brown that gleam with good health under the desert sun. He’s still skinny, but not in the waifish, underfed way of all the Gray Terminal kids. He looks like he’s been eating well. It settles something in Ace’s heart in the one tiny corner of it that isn’t breaking.
I should have been there, is the next-most immediate thought, and it almost takes Ace’s knees out from under him. He should have been there to make sure Luffy ate well. He should have been there to save him from the fire, to help him recover from the smoke sickness, to hold him when he cried in his sleep and to take his hand when he wandered aimlessly around the village with no one to play with and nothing to look forward to.
I’m sorry I left you, is what it boils down to, what Ace has held close and carved into his heart over the years, hating himself, hating the child he was who thought he knew better, who thought he could conquer everything without losing anything. I never should have left you.
But Luffy doesn’t know him from any other person in this busy marketplace, his head tilting to one side like a curious little bird’s, and Ace can’t think of anything to say to him that he’ll understand.
He needs Sabo. He’s about to become a walking fire hazard, and he’s about to mess this whole thing up, this reunion that was almost a decade in the making. Luffy’s two friends are eyeing him with mounting suspicion the longer he stands there and stares at their captain, every line of their body still the way a predator’s body stills in preparation for a pounce. Luffy, for his part, is still engaged, but only barely. His interest is slipping away—there are too many sights and smells and things bustling all around for him to want to stand still for a gawking stranger that doesn’t even have anything exciting to say.
His little brother. Crybaby Luffy. The boy who crawled under Ace’s blanket when their treehouse quaked in a storm, who held Sabo’s hand when they stayed out too late and walked home through the jungle in the dark. He’s a pirate now, a Wanted person, with a crew and a ship all his own, and he got this far without them. The last time Ace saw him was that last night in the Gray Terminal, when Ace was being mean on purpose to make sure Luffy stayed away from certain danger.
It occurs to Ace, for the very first time, that Luffy doesn't need him anymore. That tiny seven year old grew up.
“I saw you in the paper,” he finally says, making a concentrated effort to sound like a human being. “You’re pretty cool.”
Luffy brightens immediately. “Yeah? Are you a pirate, too?”
“I am. Made a promise to my brothers when I was a kid that we’d sail the seas together one day.”
“Wow!” Luffy says, suitably impressed. “We made a promise like that, too.” He loops both his arms through one of Blondie’s and one of Roronoa’s. “We decided way back when we were little that we were gonna stick together and become the pirate king, and the greatest swordsman, and the man who discovers All Blue!”
So one of his two guard dogs must be the little kitchen boy from The Orbit who spirited Luffy away from Foosha. The other must have come along not much later if they were all children together. Ace wants to hear the story so badly he has to clench his jaw to keep from asking. He wants to hear about everything.
Instead, ignoring the way Roronoa’s hand closes around the hilt of one of his swords, Ace reaches out and flicks the brim of Luffy’s hat so that it slips backwards off his head. Luffy squawks, and tries to free his arms in time to catch it, and then freezes in place at the touch to his hair.
Ace ruffles it fondly, muscle memory that hasn’t corroded even after a decade, and says what he should have said the first time that sunshine child in a worn straw hat shared a wild, impossible wish;
“I hope I’m there to see it when all those dreams of yours come true.”
If he had stayed a second longer, he would have seen the way Luffy mirrored Ace’s touch with his own fingers, frozen in place.
Instead, Ace has officially reached his emotional threshold, and formally retreats to find his twin. They take turns being the stable one and Ace is calling dibs on being a basket case for the next month. Masked Deuce is just going to have to deal.
Sabo got back to their meeting spot first, an outdoor table outside a tavern that hasn’t yet opened for the day, and already has their map rolled out and pinned down at the corners by various junk from their luggage. He’s marking something down and calls over a distracted hello, and Ace bleakly replies, “I found him.”
His tone is all wrong for the remarkably momentous occasion he’s announcing, so it’s not really Sabo’s fault that it doesn’t click right away. Sabo says, “Found who?” and Ace just looks at him with all his helplessness and weariness plain on his face, and Sabo drags an ink mark all across Sandy Island on the map as he whirls around and says, “You found him?”
“It’s not going to be how we thought,” Ace says, trying to manage his brother’s expectations. They share everything, but Ace would keep this heartbreak to himself if he knew how. “It’s—I think we took too long.”
“What do you mean?” Sabo asks, hands clenching into fists and unclenching. The fountain pen is dripping ink, ruining the fine leather of his left glove.
“He didn’t know me. I knew he wouldn’t, not really, but he—he didn’t recognize me at all,” Ace tries to explain. He feels stupid and childish and ungrateful, but really he just has no idea what to do. Luffy doesn’t know him and doesn’t need him and how is he supposed to fill a place in that kid’s life that doesn’t exist anymore? “We’ll have to—to start over from scratch, but how? How are we supposed to make someone like Luffy care about people like us? He’s sunshine personified, and deserves to have everything he wants and the best this shitty world has to offer, and we’re just—two selfish idiots who couldn’t even take care of one little kid between the two of us.” The awful truth, delivered quietly: “Luffy doesn’t need us anymore. I can’t see why he’d want us around now.”
Sabo is watching him like something carved from marble. Ace would never tell him, because it would hurt his feelings in a way nothing else ever could, but there are times when Sabo looks every bit the nobleman his biological family wanted him to be. The line of his jaw and the fall of his hair and his deep set eyes are regal, especially when he’s focused, when he’s working through a problem, when he’s the last sane voice in a room and he’s waiting for the morons wasting his time to run out of breath.
And then his eyes flicker past Ace’s shoulder, and his expression transforms. The breath leaves him in a rush like it was punched out of him, his lips parting, blue eyes widening in a way that seems to shave whole years from his face.
Something causes him, impossibly, incongruously, to smile.
“Would you put money on that?” he asks.
“What? Yes,” Ace says, thrown off by the inappropriate lightness of his tone. He feels himself start to bristle defensively. “Are you even paying attention?”
“One of us has to,” Sabo says, only smiling wider, and Ace feels sparks falling off his fingers in sheer aggravation as he turns around to see what is so—
He has three seconds at most to take in the sight of Luffy hurtling up the hill at top speed. It’s been years and years, but three seconds is all he needs. His arms remember how to reach out and catch him.
“I waited where you left me, but you never came back!” Luffy shouts. “You can’t be mad! I waited and waited, and then I went out to find you instead! I didn’t remember you but I had to find you! I still don’t—I still don’t know some things—but I know it’s your fault for taking too long!”
Sabo lurches over and Luffy’s rubbery hug wraps around them both and Ace is too shell-shocked by the last minute to do anything but hug back.
Luffy shoves his face in Ace’s shoulder, and there’s a hot, wet smear of tears there. It gives away that Straw Hat Luffy, the pirate captain worth thirty million berries, is maybe not as grown-up as Ace had initially feared.
Sabo presses his face against the crown of Luffy’s head, too overcome to do anything but hold him. The regal young man from moments ago is long gone. The one standing here with them is that street-rat from Dawn who knew the best places to steal food from, who always made sure they never went hungry, who once shrugged off his fine winter coat at the market and traded it to a vendor for a pair of sturdy boots for Ace and thick woolen mittens for Luffy. He had shivered all the way home, where there was an extra coat in the treehouse he could use, until Luffy had the bright idea that they should all bundle into Ace’s oversized cloak together for warmth and whined until Ace agreed just to shut him up. That had been the most annoying hike up Mount Colubo in history. It’s a memory that Ace cherishes beyond reason.
Ace whispers, “Of course I’m not mad, Lu.” It’s been ages since he was that hostile, hateful little thing who would take a bite out of anything that dared to show its soft underbelly to him. He presses as close as he can, cheek to cheek with this piece of his family that’s gone missing for far too long, and adds, “You’ve never been obedient a day in your life. If I expected anything different, that’s on me.”
Luffy laughs, and it’s snotty and choked and pure music to Ace’s ears. The kid worms closer, makes himself smaller, and lets himself be held.
He doesn’t need his brothers. His shoulders are broad, and his arms are solid and strong. He’s already made a name for himself, and even now those two friends of his are lingering watchfully further down the road—far enough away to give the respectful illusion of privacy, near enough to make Ace and Sabo’s day a living hell if they try anything fishy. It’s probably been a long time since he’s needed someone to hold his hand or carry him home.
But if, by some insane, undeserved miracle, Luffy still wants them…
It’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s more than Ace has had in ten years.
What one piece? he thinks, arms full and aching. I’ve got it all right here.
#one piece#op#opfic#asl bros#portgas d ace#revolutionary sabo#monkey d luffy#my writing#prompt#wizardmafianinjapirate
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Namalin
Namari x Falin
Easy short rarepair spotlight post for prosperity~ This one I didn’t think of on my own for once, I don’t know if it’s just I forgot the decided-on ship name or what but I remember seeing really nice art and a couple posts about it that I can’t find again 💔 Namalin warrior you are out there and not forgotten ty for making me see the light
I like that Namari’s critical of Falin! I have a whole character analysis on Falin if you’re interested, but it’s generally well noticed that people around Falin idealize her a lot. Laios, Marcille and Toshiro all put her on a pedestral of ultimate goodness in the world, a saintess if nothing short of perfection. Sounds like Chilchuck felt sort of creeped out by her vibes, uncomfortable because he couldn’t read her, so unlike Namari it seems he preferred steering clear of her rather than debate opposed ideologies like he usually does. Makes sense if unlike Namari his issue is with her cryptic aura rather than the stances she does show.
"… The dungeon is no place for soft hearts" my ultimate namalin scene <333 It’s fun because while this scene is there to show us a lot of things, mostly to establish Falin’s characters better as it’s the first flashback of her we get, the conflict in it is more than anything else Falin vs Namari in how they contrast and clash and approach situations differently. Namari wants security in swift effective violence and thinks Falin too soft for her own good when she prefers a pacifist approach and promotes compassion even for the "undeserving" in Namari’s eyes. Falin steps between the battle ready Namari and the ghost, fearless. Falin effortlessly gently exorcises the ghost without one step back, quickly. Falin proves someone wrong. Falin proves someone wrong.
I love thinking of Namari being surprised when she learns new aspects of Falin. I like Falin having the power to shape people’s views on her. With Falin ships the most fun part for me is usually that point where Falin/the relationship becomes a clean slate: the person realizes they haven’t been seeing all of her, realizes there’s more of her they hadn’t noticed or that she hadn’t shown, that there’s change, a shift in the views on each other and the dynamic a bit.
Namari often feels like an external view looking in to me… I need to make a proper analysis on her but like. I made a lamari post once (analytic more than personally invested rip sorry) and I go with the same Namari take here, I think she’s someone who tends to have an outsider view on people and relationships if that makes sense, she’s a coworker before anything else and she’s content staying at a distance, she’s not objective per se but she tries to keep feelings out of her choices and how she sees people (her lil arc on not staying to save Falin despite the existing camaderie but in the end asking to work for the Flokes more because she wants to stay with them). She’s serious no nonsense on the job but friendly off the job and likes having casual friends, but she’s not… She doesn’t really feel connected to the group. She’s so focused on doing her job, even if she does get impulsive and passionate and too assertive for her bosses’ tastes, so focused on working her reputation and life from the ground up that that professionalism and attitude limits her social life. It doesn’t help that her reputation makes her widely judged, so she probably enters social spaces on the derensive. The closest person she was to pre-canon as far as we knew was Chilchuck and even they have a very "coworker I get along with" dynamic more than friends, with a similar sense of boundaries, humor and world view. Also like canon says a few time, the party didn’t really try to get to know each other well pre-canon, didn’t hang out after work often no one knew where Marcille was from and no one thought that was weird (also how no one had the instinct to ask about Senshi’s past) etc, the notable exception is we’re shown Namari and Chilchuck hitting taverns together and having a grand time. Everyone’s fine with things as they are, they get along decent even if not everyone considers each other friends exactly.
Where I’m getting at is that to me, it feels like she tries keeping emotional distance. Emotional distance from people in general being something which in my interpretation of Falin is also present, which would make it a theme and common thread interesting to explore imo. But yes like, Namari looking at Falin, and how everyone treats her, and being more skeptical, seeing her for what she is a little more, maybe even uncharitable. "Why is everyone treating her like she’s all that? She’s gentle sure but seems like a doormat to me" and then one day she comes running up with her mace ready to cave in someone’s face to protect Laios.
So yeah… Keeping her distance but one day Falin offering her some gentleness that feels very too personal for someone who’s not used to being genuine and simply showing that they care… Them talking a bit which leaves her stumped and mindblown in a quiet way when Falin defies her expectations. Namari growing on Falin when she stays and decides to open herself up more, or when Falin ends up reading her really well like she’s shown to do with her parents and Marcille’s worries. She’s very attuned to worrying and why and when different people do it especially when it comes to when they worry for others, perhaps because she does a lot of that too, so I think she’d nail down how Namari does care for the rest of the party and it’d make Namari feel seen both in a warm validating way and in a scared naked way.
We see in the tentacles chapter that she’s someone’s who’s very protective and looks out for her peers in a tough love way. She’s overbearing but it’s because she wants everyone to have the best chances. I like that she’s very confrontational and somewhat pushy and rude, but it’s tough love, it’s protective care: asserting herself to better protect and defend. The opposite of Falin’s type of care, quiet and self-sacrificial devotion. They’re barbarian x healer but they’re also bodyguard x bodyguard in their attitude and role.
… What I want for them is slow burn slice of life of being coworkers and slowly getting to know each other better, pretty fluffy, but god, put this way they’d have the potential to be such a hot layered mess of insanely mutually devoted codependence… Falin taking a hit for Namari and Namari being scarred by it forever, lots of arguments about it, my god.
I like that she’s the fighter to Falin’s healer. I looove thinking of scenes of Falin healing Namari, necessitating touch and like, a moment of slowing down and sitting together in silence, too intimate, the perfect opportunity to connect that neither truly want to take until one day they do.
I love how onesided I imagine the relationship would be at first. Again, as per my interpretation of Falin, I think Namari would have all these little observations and opinions on Falin meanwhile Falin really doesn’t think of Namari much at first. So Namari thinks a lot about Falin and thinks she’s got her pinned down but hasn’t (not that she’s fully wrong, she’d have credit and confront Falin on some of her flaws like the doormat thing), while Falin is very passive about Namari and doesn’t think deeply about her or anything but she read Namari’s insecurities and logic well. Not unlike how Laios was the one who seemed to understand Namari’s way of care the best in the party in the tentacles episode, and how he was very understanding of her choice and reasons. In Falin’s case it’s more like, the objectivity of passivity… She cares about Namari less than Laios who generally seeks to form bonds, so her lack of investment allows her a neutral perspective. In that way another parallel with Namari that I’m drawing, except Namari lets feelings from her opinions seeps in more… Onesided beef my beloved. I’m going insane save me this post was a mistake.
I think Falin takes the crumbs of friendship and love where she can without expecting or asking for anything more than what’s offered, and I think her relationship with Namari (or anyone really) would start out the way it did with Marcille: the other takes the initiative and they end up spending time together, Falin is friendly but unattached until the bond gets gradually and wordlessly strenghtened through regularly spending moments together.
So! I think Namari would need to take a lot of the first steps, which since again she’s confrontational & argumentative and doesn’t hold herself back on that front that could spark a lot of conversations I think. Ooor since Falin cares about Namari less than Laios and Marcille she allows herself to be bolder herself lol. Or also circumstances force them to spend time together like dungeon party getting separated shenanigans.
I think their personalities match cutely, I think falin would try to protect namari like she does others but also Namari simply doesn’t need protection, just support. And I think they’re complementary in that way that Namari’s friendly but also won’t sugarcoat things, and I think if she takes an interest in Falin it could go from there and she could develop some understanding of her and idk like an intrigued crush….
Namari wants stability & security & to, like, not be judged and rejected and exiled lol, to find her nest her pack the place where she feels good and wanted in. I think having a fitting partner would help in that (similarly to how the found family with the Flokes seemed to. Oh another parallel, Falin’s top priority is protecting Laios her brother and what Namari are a family figure) and I think Falin would fulfill that cozy protection and that warm ‘being seen and not judged’ feeling. But also Namari would run up to her and yell about her trying to sacrifice herself ever.
Another fun thread to explore: post-canon guilt for not having gone to save her. Sure, they weren’t close, but they had some nice memories, didn’t they? Namari cares, and it stings despite herself when it feels like people think she doesn’t. Oh it wasn’t a lost cause after all, oh it’d have worked out, oh I could have stayed loyal and it wouldn’t have compromised myself in the end. Wanting to apologize to Falin, or just ahnging out with her and sharing a moment after she wakes up.
And tangent but that’s interesting to think about… Narratively, I think the purpose of Namari and Toshiro in the story, beyond strenghtening the theme of "seek to understand what is different from you and promote unity despite them" and fleshing the cast and worldbuilding, is Toshiro’s purpose was being a foil & tool in Laios’ arc (trouble connecting with people) while Namari’s was being and a foil & tool in Marcille’s arc (standing up for ideals without being out of touch with harsh realities and needs). They are the conflict that push our protagonists to grow— and they explore different ways of dealing with a situation or topic, different ways of growing into themselves on that end: Laios needing to listen to others more and Toshiro needing to focus on voicing himself more to be able to connect, Marcille needing to learn ideals sometimes cost too much and Namari needing to internalize that ideals are sometimes worth risks (not only to be able to find a reasonable but fulfilling life balance, but also to get in touch with their compassion: Namari restricts her own too much and Marcille is too harsh on people she deems to be breaking values, like Namari not risking her life and career for a friend with no promise of success, or even like how Namari is harsh on Falin’s way of doing things : too gentle, too soft, too idealistic) (similarly to Chilchuck’s arc with Marcille too, and he also plays a hand in advancing that arc in the Namari chapters). We are getting far from namalin sorry ummm preview for future analyses like Toshiro’s contrasting approach to grief and accepting loss.
More post-canon namalin! Thinking about a timeline where… Namari is fond of Falin finding herself and going off to do her thing. "Finally!" she thinks. If she’s still for hire, maybe Falin would want her to come along, either as guide or bodyguard <3, she knows Namari has a lot of good avice on a lot of things to give, plus they’ve worked together before. She hires Namari and they travel for a bit. Travel would do Namari good too I think, even if her end goal is to settle and I think Falin’s would be too eventually. Seeing sights that light her wonder for the world and going places where people don’t know her story, don’t recognize her face or her name. Them, feeling free. Finding a companionship that feels uplifting instead of stifling or charged. Namari having been too in her head about reputation and social games and money that they hit the roads and spend time in nature and it’s like, woah. I’ve been living in a small world with made up rules.
Ahh yes romance, Namari and Falin kissing after 3 years of not really knowing each other despite seeing each other every day then 2 months of wanting to spend more and more time together until they’re an inseparable duo! Workwives. I want them to stand next to each other during campire time and Namari cracks little jokes and Namari laughs. I want Namari to gift Falin a bug caught in amber and for it to be their wedding/promised to each other thing.
TLDR
Rowdy but levelheaded barbarian x gentle healer that will also cave your face in with a mace I like it…… They’re an interesting duo of mixed stuff.
Protection being your purpose and what you’re worth for, literally being a meat shield (Laios, Tansu), finding your individuality recognized and validated through a growing bond with the other. Sticking around as a love language. Also bug immortalized in amber and it being beautiful.
Nevermind this wasn’t short. Um! Anyways.
#Dunmeshi rarepairs#Namalin#Namari x falin#Falin x namari#Spoilers#Dungeon meshi manga spoilers#Bc of a chapter cover + post-canon talk#Namari#falin touden#Dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#Gotta make a namari analysis eventually. Maybe. One day. Tough skinned girl bc she’s been burned and reputation is v important#who cares but caring doesn’t put food on the plate. Who’s an outcast and foreigner and doesn’t have a home to go back to#It’s the hustle life. Idk what it is about the Floke that made her want to stay but that’s why i wanna look at the tansu party eventually#Namarlin ot3 is so good as well… esp if it focuses on namari#Namari is poly i know it in my heart#Also YES I know there’s 1 namarlin/namalin fic out there i haven’t read it. Yes i will. I just haven’t been reading much lately#Oh on that note -types up new post-#Analysis#character analysis#relationship analysis#meta#Holding my head#Complementary ships with conflict and character arcs i love you#Watch fumi’s brain melt live#Fumi rambles#I need to go lay face down on the floor now#This sure is what I was supposed to take away from the canon text!#TAKE IT OFF MY HANDSSS TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME I NEED TO ACTUALLY GO DO CHORES#Namari betting Falin would reject Shuro but going “no comment -looks away-” when asked why…
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BnHA Chapter 425: New Normal
Previously on BnHA: Everyone was all “and with that we conclude our final battle for better or worse!! We will now commence our slow return to the new normal, beginning with our protagonist and deuteragonist who are miraculously more or less intact, albeit exhausted and mildly traumatized. Also the words ‘more or less’ are kind of doing a lot of heavy lifting there.”
Today on BnHA: The Big 3 and Aoyama are OUT. Shinsou is IN. The Tododrama is PENDING, and the mysterious figure in the shadows is UNIDENTIFIED. Also class 1-A finally becomes class 2-A and it only took them 425 chapters and TEN LONG YEARS. Can you imagine if this series had actually run throughout their high school experience like people once expected. “THE YEAR IS 2044 AND MY HERO ACADEMIA IS FINALLY WINDING TO A CLOSE.” There’s an alternate universe somewhere where this actually happened and we were all so very, very tired.
This is once again a shorter than usual reaction summary post, as opposed to my typical page-by-page liveblog. Not gonna have time to do those for a while yet most likely, but like hell am I gonna miss out on the last days of the series, so here we are.
Once again basing this off of @pikahlua’s spoiler translation summary here!
watching the eighteen inch tall Rat Principal standing at a podium overseeing this graduation ceremony is surreal in the most wonderful way. it’s like receiving your diploma from a sentient Funko Pop
I love how they established that Mic sitting there screaming at the top of his lungs is also a beloved U.A. graduation tradition, and that the senpais just roll with it while everyone else is in varying stages of trying to decide if it’s too late to transfer to another school
ngl sometimes I forget that Ochako and Toga were actually the second canonical f/f ship in this series. shoutout to Hadou and her adorable girlfriend whose name I absolutely cannot recall
absolutely wild that Horikoshi gives credit to Rat Principal for coordinating the entire disaster recovery nationwide. are you serious. the “world-famous” Principal Nezu?? you’re telling me this little capybara is effectively the secret president of Japan now or something. when does he even sleep
“the principal made great contributions to quirk morality education” is also a VERY interesting tidbit that I really want to know more about. “hey guys what if we did a better job at teaching people not to be dicks with their quirks” AND JUST LIKE THAT JAPAN WAS SAVED huzzah
“we lost many things, but we gained nothing” is both HILARIOUS and soundly depressing, but I can see what he’s trying to get at. still an odd choice for a graduation speech though. “our job is all about harm reduction, and we couldn’t even do that this time around, but in the future we hope to balance things out and maybe even get some net positive impact going!” lmao. again it’s all true, and in all honesty it’s spectacular that they managed as well as they did, all things considered. and I guess it would have been disingenuous to just ignore the reality of everything this particular school body has been through and pretend like everything is great right now. but I still can’t help feeling like there was probably a more inspiring way to get this message across lol
regardless of what he says, Aizawa 100% either bribed or threatened Rat Principal behind the scenes in order to stay with his class. and will do so again next year. he can and will keep getting away with it. he is never leaving these kids
and the sheer relief from all of them upon hearing it is all the justification he needs. these kids have four thousand nine hundred and seventeen accumulated traumas among them. they don’t need a four thousand nine hundred and eighteenth. this man is their father ffs. MINA WAS CRYING AND EVERYTHING
Kacchan watched that YouTube video about a dozen times until he managed to tie his tie all on his own with the one hand. and he did an amazing job. he’s such a model citizen now
also it looks to me like he has his right arm hidden in a sling underneath his shirt, which is interesting. if I’m not mistaken (and I very well could be, since it’s been a hot minute since I did any BnHA timeline math), the final battle took place sometime in early May, so this chapter is taking place roughly one month later. the hospital chapter took place about a week after the battle, so it’s been about 3-4 weeks since then. I really want to know what kind of shape Kacchan’s arm is in, but I guess Horikoshi will get to it when he gets to it
also, “we all gotta be together today” was a real wakeup call to me in that it gave me just an absolutely ridiculous amount of feels. just a totally unreasonable amount. and it’s like. listen, self. Kacchan has completed his character growth arc. he’s a team player and a leader who loves all his friends and they all love him in return. we’ve known this for years now. it’s an established fact. you can’t keep bursting into tears or whatever every time he shows it. this is no way to live your life. I need an intervention
anyways later this evening class 2-A is gonna have a celebratory movie night in the common room, and Kacchan is gonna fall asleep two minutes in peacefully surrounded by all his classmates, and they’re all gonna nudge each other and smile fondly and cover him with a blanket and stay up until 2am and Aizawa will have no mercy on them the following morning. it’s gonna be so wholesome you guys
(ETA: I decided to go back and have some more feels about this one tiny Kacchan panel, because apparently the four paragraphs I already wrote about it weren't enough. so the thing is, Sero's wonderment at Katsuki being out of the hospital initially read to me as half bemused awe, and half "oh boy, time to get back into our usual rhythm of antagonizing Kacchan!" but my second time around, I can't help remembering that all of Kacchan's classmates got to watch this kid getting tortured and strangled and stabbed through the heart in 4K. like, even if they were busy with their own fights at the time, there's no way they didn't see the footage later on afterwards.
and that had to have been traumatic for them. their friend literally died and was just lying there so still for so long afterwards. and him getting better and going back to his usual asskicking self later on doesn't just erase those memories, you know? especially with him having lasting, permanent damage afterward. not just his arm, even! like who even knows if his heart is going to be okay long term. when people get organ transplants they have to go on immunosuppressants afterwards because otherwise their body will try to attack the replacement organ. so I wonder how exactly it works when it's still your heart, but it's being held together by various bits and pieces of a spindly little floss man. idk, but I bet you it's still pretty rough.
anyway so long story short, I'm now reading this as one-third bemused awe, one-third joking antagonism, and one-third genuine "no seriously, is it okay for you to be here, please don't do anything to put your health at risk because we seriously cannot handle you dying on us again." and Kacchan's not even disagreeing with him lol, which has to be the most concerning thing of all. "they said it's okay if I rest." even he knows he's pushing it, but it was too important of an occasion to miss. anyway please take it easy kiddo.)
Aoyama leaving makes me sad but it makes total sense for his character after what he’s been through. he needs time to sort things out and continue down his own personal honor-regaining journey. respect
also glad to hear that it was his own choice and that both Rat Principal and Nao would have supported him if he stayed. I still to this day do not understand Naomasa’s actual level of authority lol. like, he’s supposedly a detective, and yet he seems to be personally in charge of every single important police operation, on like a national level. and he has the authority to make decisions like letting Aoyama go free. he is the law, literally
Aoyama trying to feed Deku some farewell cheese also took me out. like he just walked in there and was all “sorry everyone, I’m leaving, but I’ll still aim for the path of a hero and will one day return, don’t you worry!” and at some point in the midst of this tearful speech he made a beeline directly to Izuku and tried to give him some cheese that he apparently just had in his pocket or something. and Izuku was all “YEAH!” all solemnly but HE DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THAT POCKET CHEESE. like he loves you and accepts you for who you are Yuuga but COME ON
at this point in the chapter it also became clear to me that Aizawa has his hair up in some sort of loosely assembled messy bun and that’s why it looks so especially flowing and gorgeous today. this is great cinema
and then AT LONG LAST, the admission of Shinsou into class 2-A. they tried everything they could to keep him out, BUT NOT EVEN THE END OF THE WORLD COULD STOP HIM. his rightful place
Ojiro’s scandalized response to hearing Fuwa refer to Aizawa as “Era-sen”, and then Fuwa subsequently revealing all of Aizawa’s secrets and Aizawa getting flustered and kicking her out, was one of the most delightful sequences I’ve read. “nooooo don’t tell them that, what the hell am I gonna threaten them with now”
Izuku has not even attempted to crack a smile since the final battle, aside from when he was frantically trying to reassure Kacchan in the hospital. I’m worried about him but also loving this a little bit, ngl. I am content to wait for you to eventually have a proper breakdown, mister Greatest Hero
also I singled him out on the whole not-smiling thing, but really this is true for just about all of them. my heart aches :(
were there really so many people freaking out over Izuku’s hair that Horikoshi felt compelled to throw in that “HEY DEKU-KUN, YOU SHAVED YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT DUE TO AN INJURY, RIGHT? BUT IT’LL GROW BACK, RIGHT!?” line in there lol. the hilarious thing is that this chapter was already in the books before 424 was released, so it means that Horikoshi anticipated the backlash ahead of time. the man knows his audience
and now for this mysterious little barefoot man randomly emerging from some rubble somewhere. who are you. fandom already thinks you’re everyone from Tenko to Hisashi lol. my personal theory is that he’s just a random citizen who’s hurt and traumatized and needs help. and unlike what happened with baby Tenko once upon a time, this young man actually will be helped by a hero in his moment of need, and it’ll be all hopeful and stuff because SOCIETY IS CHANGING FOR THE BETTER NOW HOORAY
or maybe he really is Tenko, idk. what do I know lol. don’t listen to me
lastly, Shouto out here immediately leaving U.A. after class and ruining my dreams of a class 2-A movie night. FINE THEN. GO AND BE WITH YOUR FAMILY my precious little life preserver. and I’m actually really, really excited to see what their endgame is actually, so yes, Horikoshi, bring it on please and thank you
#bnha 425#class 1-a#wait no#class 2-a#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha#this whole time we were led to believe this was the story of how izuku's generation became the greatest heroes#when really it was the story of rat principal's ascent to power#he waited until there was a vacuum and then he SWEPT RIGHT IN like emperor palpatine#it's his world now and we're just living in it
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Any guesses on the Veilguard companions?
some suggestions i think are worth placing bets on
an antivan crow (the concept art and short story presence PLUS what’s been said about each companion representing “iconic factions”, i think this is a dead certainty). natural choice for a rogue, but the concept of crow mages has been being set up in the novels for a while
again judging by concept art presence, a nevarran mortalitasi necromancer OR a nevarran possessed skeleton type as our friendly spirit companion
a grey warden, probably from the anderfels/weisshaupt itself. always has been one and there is no faction more iconic, right? i believe there’s ancient voice acting snippets suggesting it’s some guy called davrin
considering the collective way that concept art captions, absolution, and apparently three separate stories from tevinter nights were like “hey did you know the LORDS OF FORTUNE are a thing? the lords of fortune from RIVAIN”, one of these. my guess is that they thought about going felicisima armada for a rivaini companion but didn’t want to just rehash isabela’s pirate gimmick so they made something up and they’ve been trying to set it up really hard
i’ve seen people suggest scout harding is being pushed forward for the role and i guess the inquisition is an iconic faction now?
otherwise, couldn’t really say for a dwarven companion. iconic factions might include the legion of the dead, the carta... the tevinter ambassadoria is a bit more niche but would make sense for a northern companion. i could also see them simply making one of the other suggestions a dwarf, the grey warden is definitely a strong contender since it’s always been a human man and it’d be nice to mix it up
speculatively, i’d like to see a templar. you can’t deny it’s an iconic faction. either a southern templar trying to take up a new cause after everything crashed and burned or a vint templar with a completely new perspective to what we’re used to would be a lot of fun. i would actually love to play this character if it’s not a companion lmao
another obvious faction is the dalish. it’s been a while since we had one, we’ve never had a non-mage dalish companion so there’s a lot of room for a fresh approach, they’re so plot relevant right now. someone’s got to give us that good good exposition! and i am so sick of it not being the dalish themselves 😭
i would be very surprised if there’s no qunari or tal-vashoth. i don’t have many strong ideas, i would just expect it to be a rogue or a mage, since warriors are all we’ve had
all that obviously tallies up to more than seven so we have to pick and choose—and i’m sure there’s plenty of surprises i haven’t thought of—but those would be my instincts! i’ve been thinking about this for a while haha. i’d be excited for any of these, just please, please hand over the romanceable dwarf. i know you’ve got them bioware
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Unfair
Based on an idea from @diapereddoe
You’re sitting in the playpen, surrounded by your toys, when you hear the doorbell ring. Your ears perk up, and your heart sinks a little. You know who it is. It’s her. The woman who Daddy always has grown-up fun with. You don’t like her; she always teases you and makes you feel even more little.
Daddy opens the door, and you hear her voice, sweet and playful, but it grates on your nerves. This time, there’s another voice too, a man’s voice. You peek over the edge of your playpen and see him. He’s around your age, but he’s dressed like a toddler, just like you.
“Hello, little one,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension. “I brought a friend for you to play with.”
Daddy leads them into the living room, and you shrink back, clutching your favorite stuffed animal. The man smiles at you, a mix of nervousness and excitement in his eyes. He’s wearing pull-ups, you notice, unlike your thick, soggy diaper.
“This is Tommy,” Daddy says, ruffling the man’s hair. “Be nice and play together while we go upstairs, okay?”
You nod, not that you have much choice. Daddy and the woman head upstairs, leaving you and Tommy alone in the playpen.
Tommy crawls over to you, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Hi, I’m Tommy,” he says, a shy smile on his face. “What’s your name?”
You mumble your name, not meeting his gaze. He seems nice enough, but you can’t help feeling a bit jealous. Why does he get to wear pull-ups while you’re stuck in a wet diaper?
Tommy starts playing with the blocks, stacking them up and knocking them down. You watch him for a while before joining in.
Tommy seems to have fun with the blocks, and his laughter is infectious. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself smiling a bit. Maybe having a new playmate isn’t so bad after all. You both build a tower together, and when it topples over, you giggle uncontrollably.
As you’re engrossed in your play, you suddenly feel Tommy’s hand on your back. He’s pulling back the waistband of your diaper. You turn your head in confusion, but before you can say anything, you feel warmth spreading through your diaper. Tommy is peeing right into it.
You gasp in shock and disbelief. “Tommy! What are you doing?” you exclaim, your face turning red with embarrassment and anger.
Tommy finishes, letting go of your diaper and giving you an innocent look. “I’m sorry,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “My Mommy is too busy with your Daddy to take me to the potty. She told me to just go in my pull-up, but I didn’t want to get it wet.”
You feel tears welling up in your eyes. Your diaper, already soggy, is now even heavier and more uncomfortable. You glance upstairs, knowing that Daddy and Tommy’s mommy are too preoccupied to care about what just happened.
Tommy then looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know," he begins, lowering his voice as if sharing a big secret, "my mommy unlocked my peepee today. She says I can have cummies as long as I do it in the playpen."
You blink at him in disbelief. "What? Really?" You can't help the pang of jealousy that surges through you. Daddy never lets you have cummies, no matter how much you beg or plead. He always says it's because you're too little and still in your squishy Pampers, but Tommy is a big boy, still in pull-ups. You can’t help but feel extra babyish, realizing you are jealous of someone in pull-ups.
Tommy moves closer, his hand pressing against your soggy diaper. You try to pull away, but he’s already humping against your wet padding, his movements quick and desperate. In what seems like just a few seconds, Tommy lets out a soft moan and shudders, a look of satisfaction on his face as he cums into his pull-ups.
A few moments later, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. You glance up, your cheeks flushed with humiliation. Daddy and Tommy's mommy appear in the doorway, their faces flushed and satisfied. They don’t notice your discomfort right away, too engrossed in each other.
Tommy's mommy claps her hands, a wide smile on her face. “Well, it looks like you two had a fun time playing together! Didn’t you, Tommy?”
Tommy nods, looking proud of himself. “Yes, Mommy! We played with the blocks, and it was super fun!”
Daddy looks down at you, his eyes softening with affection. “And how about you, little one? Did you have fun with your new friend?”
You try to muster a smile, but the heaviness of your soggy diaper and the shame of what just happened weigh you down. “Yes, Daddy,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.
Tommy's mommy walks over and ruffles Tommy’s hair. “Good boy, Tommy. You didn’t have any accidents, did you?”
Tommy shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, Mommy. I didn’t wet my pull-up at all!”
You feel your heart sink even further. Everyone seems so happy, and you’re left feeling more little and humiliated than ever. Daddy bends down and checks your diaper, his brow furrowing when he feels how soaked it is.
“Oh, my poor baby,” he coos, lifting you out of the playpen and carrying you over to the changing table. “Looks like someone needs a change.”
As Daddy changes your diaper, you can’t help but glance over at Tommy, who’s now playing with his mommy. You feel a pang of jealousy and frustration. Everyone else got to have cummies, but you’re still stuck in your soggy Pampers, treated like the littlest of littles.
Daddy finishes changing you and lifts you up, giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead. “There you go, all fresh and clean. Now, why don’t you go play with Tommy some more?”
You nod, feeling a bit better but still longing for the grown-up pleasures that everyone else seems to enjoy. You crawl back into the playpen, trying to push away the feelings of jealousy and focus on the only distraction available to you, the toys right in front of you.
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This happened to me several years ago, but in spite of the fact I’ve discussed it extensively with my therapist, it still makes me angry and it’s been on my mind tonight.
So I’m going to post and hope the internet has some righteous anger to spare on me today, because I think maybe what I need is for someone else to be angry with me.
Let me set the scene. It is January of 2021. My mother died three weeks ago. Her body has been in the queue created by Covid, and in the wildly irrational way attributable only to grief it is deeply important to me that people understand my mother, who was terrified of suffocation, did not die of Covid. Her death certificate says complications of congestive heart failure, but her doctor has acknowledged my mother was a very sick woman with a blood clotting disorder; it could as easily have been a stroke or heart attack, or even her mixing her pain pills with beer one last time and getting unlucky. The only thing we know for sure is that whatever happened, it was so fast she’d fallen asleep in her chair and never had time to wake up.
I am at her funeral. In her casket I have put three things: a crochet hook with a ball of thread, a pack of fishing hooks, and a poem she wrote about her own mother when she was processing her grief as Grandma passed slowly and painfully of hospital negligence. Three things you need to know about my mother:
1) she was a master crocheter. She once wrote to a magazine to say “I think the last four rows of this blanket are screwed up, did you print a correction in a different issue?” and the reply was “um….so that was a joke pattern about the kinds of things that would theoretically be possible if crochet could be done by machine, and we didn’t actually think it would be coherent, much less possible. We, uh….congratulations on getting to the last four rows?” MY MOTHER REVERSE-ENGINEERED A PHOTOSHOPPED PICTURE AND FINISHED THE BLANKET. My sister still has it.
2) before the alcoholism, before the opioid addiction, my mother was an award-winning writer. She was once invited to speak to a conference of grad students who were studying how to teach English in higher education….AS A SECOND-YEAR UNDERGRAD WHO HADN’T FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL.
3) my mother loved to fish. Her best story was about catching a northern pike in Lake Erie, which may not sound so impressive if you don’t know fish, but as the bait guy put it: “Catherine, people spend THEIR WHOLE LIVES trying to catch this thing, and you mean to tell me you caught a gotdamn NORTHERN PIKE on a STANDARD ROD with EIGHT-POUND TEST with a PIECE OF WORM while you were fishing for gotdamn PANFISH on the DOCK?!” Smitty had been in the business for forty years, I think his incredulity probably speaks for you if you’re not a fisherman.
(Northern pike taste terrible, by the way. Stick to perch.)
So here we are. I’m standing by her casket. And this woman comes up to me and tells me she was “Cathy’s” favorite aunt.
A fourth thing you need to know about my mom: she hated being called Cathy. It was always Cate, Catie, or Catherine. NEVER Cathy.
I have never seen this woman before in my life. Not in person, not in photos. But even at my mother’s funeral I was raised to be polite, so I said “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure we’ve met in person.”
She tells me she is Aunt Pat, and launches into a story about how much she loved “little Cathy” as a child, and how she used to tell my grandmother “that’s my baby, she’s mine, I want her.”
I know exactly two things about Aunt Pat: one, she and my grandmother hated each other. Two, in the 1970s she was a stripper with a routine to “Top of the World” by The Carpenters and apparently she could make her boobs twirl in opposite directions. I only know this because my grampa thought it was funny. (Which, if you’ve never heard “Top of the World,” let me assure you: yes, it IS funny as hell that she stripped to this song of all songs. No shade on her for stripping, but good lord what a song choice.)
You will notice none of this includes my mother having ever so much as mentioned Aunt Pat, much less considering her a favorite aunt. And indeed, I happen to know the favorite aunt was Connie, not Pat, although at the time I wasn’t thinking that. I wasn’t thinking much of anything, to be honest; the death of a parent has a way of making that the case.
So THEN, with nary a pause for breath, she tells me “someone put some things in her casket.”
I say, “yeah. I did. I wanted her to have them.”
Pat continues as though I haven’t spoken: “there are some fish hooks, she liked fishing.”
I say, “I know. She used to take me at least once or twice a month.”
She says, “and some crochet. She used to do crochet sometimes.”
I say, “I know. I had to finish her last blanket, her arthritis got too bad.”
She says, “and she wrote something, once. That’s in there.”
I do my best to not explode, because for the first time since landing in my hometown I feel something that is not numb grief, and it is anger, and I say, “she wrote a lot of things. That one was a poem for Grandma.”
To which she says, again as though I haven’t spoken:
“She did so much and loved her girls so much, and can you believe they’re so ungrateful they didn’t show up?”
A fifth thing you need to know about my mom:
We looked a lot alike.
Now you would think, being the “favorite aunt,” that she’d recognize the eyes and mouth and hair color, which is identical to my mother’s before she started going white. You’d think she’d know what “her baby’s” daughters looked like.
I replied: “I’M RIGHT HERE. And my sister is in emergency surgery for her back as we speak.”
And this bitch looked right at me and said “oh. Who are you?”
“I’m Cate’s daughter.”
And she just walked away. Not so much as an I’m-sorry. She spent most of the funeral mourning with my mom’s sister that “Cathy’s daughters” hadn’t shown up.
I don’t care so much that she didn’t know who I was. And I don’t care so much that she ignored me for the rest of the funeral—you’re known by the company you keep, and the fact everyone kept pointedly turning and looking at me every time she (loudly) said “and can you believe they were so ungrateful they didn’t even show up?” would have been funny under other circumstances. I don’t know her and I don’t care to know her.
But I am angry that she brushed off my mother’s accomplishments like that. That she acted like they were so small. That she claimed to love her so much but couldn’t even get her name right. And none of it matters, her getting it right wouldn’t bring my mother back, but it DOES matter. It DOES. If you’ve ever grieved someone, you know exactly what I mean.
I’m still angry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be not-angry. But I hope so, someday.
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Ilicit affairs
Sergio Perez x Reader
A/N: Hi, I'm not sure about this one! English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes!
You and Sergio had just gotten into a fight. It was a big one, the kind that left you wanting space from the other. Since the hotel room forced you to be in the same space, you had gotten on a long walk around town. You had time to think, and although it hurt, your choice was made.
As soon as you walked in the hotel room, Sergio got up from where he was sitting on the bed. “Mi pastelito, I was worried you were not going to come back.” He pulled you in his arms. You hugged him back, taking care to note how he smells, the way it feels to be in his arms, how loved you felt. “This was a stupid fight. Let’s forget about it, okay?” he asked while carefully brushing your hair with his fingers. You immediately got teary eyes.
“Sergio, we need to talk.” You pulled his hand, so you were both sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked so concerned that it only made you want to cry harder. “¿Qué pasa?” You took a deep breath before saying out loud something that would break both of your hearts.
“I think we should stop seeing each other. I can’t be your mistress anymore.”
Every single word from those two sentences hurt. You had been his mistress for the last two years, ever since you had fallen for his charms at a GP. Since you were working for an F1 team, you were at all the races, and you and him naturally started and affair. You knew what you two shared wasn’t right, you knew you were the other woman, but you two shared something so special that you ignored all your moral judgement. You just listened to a lot of Lana Del Rey and cried whenever the urge to publicly show off your love was too strong.
Being his lover was a terribly beautiful thing. Nobody on Earth could ever feel as loved as you when you were with Sergio in private. He adored you and worshiped you for your mind, your body, your love. During those moments, you pretended he was your fiancé, your husband, the father of your children. You cosplayed as his wife. But your fantasy was always interrupted. In public, he had his wife and kids, and you stood to the side, pretending your heart was not longing for more, acting like you didn’t even know him. You let guys flirt with you since you were technically single. They all thought you were playing hard to get when you didn’t text them back.
But after two years of this illicit affair, your heart couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt was starting to be overwhelming. You were afraid of confessing everything anytime someone mentioned his name. This wasn’t fair to you or his family, and that’s why you had to stop seeing each other.
“What? Are you serious?” Unfortunately, you were. You batted your eyelashes to chase the tears away. “Sergio, this has been going on for too long. I can’t live with the thought that I’m possibly a homewrecker.” He looked at his ring finger that was always empty whenever you were together.
“Mi pastelito, you’re not a homewrecker, my wife doesn’t know about us, and she will never find out! We don’t have to stop, please don’t make us stop.” He was in agony, truly panicking when he thought about losing you. You caressed his face, trying to comfort him. You needed comforting too. “Baby, you know the truth always comes out, especially with your level of fame. This isn’t fair to your children or your wife. I can’t be the one to ruin your relationship with your family.” A selfish little voice inside of you was screaming at you to ruin his family, make him divorce his wife so he’d finally fully be yours. Mine mine mine mine
“I’ll divorce my wife. My children, they’ll understand. It will be fine!” The selfish voice roared at his words, but the rest of you didn’t. At this point, he was desperate, trying everything to make you stay. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it. If you divorce your wife to be with me, one day, you will wake up and realize that this was all a mistake, that you should have stayed with her. You’ll start to resent me, I’m sure. I love you too much to let you do that,” you said softly, like you would to a child.
Sergio closed his eyes and let you comfort him. You continued: “I don’t want to be the other woman anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend in public, maybe even someone’s wife. I want to kiss you after a race, I want to go out in a restaurant with you, I want the whole world to know we’re in love, but I know you can’t give it to me.”
He immediately protested. “Mi pastelito, that’s what I’m saying! I’ll get a divorce, and I’ll marry you instead. I’ll get you a big diamond ring. We can have a big wedding, so everyone will see. Please, mi amor, give us a chance!”
You gave him a soft kiss. Saying yes would be so easy, and it was everything you wanted. But you could never live with yourself if he let his family down for you. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s all okay. In a few minutes, I’m going to leave this hotel room, and you’ll have to let me go, okay? We will probably see each other at the races, but we will look away and continue walking. The only thing I ask for is that you be the best version of yourself for your wife and your children. Please, work on your marriage, take care of your wife, be the perfect father for your children. You owe me that much.” You were both crying now, realizing that in a few minutes, you would never be in each other’s lives ever again. In a few minutes, you would walk out as a free woman, heartbroken but free, nonetheless.
“I promise. I’ll really try, even though you will always be in my heart. I will always look for you in a crowd, always wish that things had been different. I love you, mi pastelito.” It was his turn to comfort you. He took your hands and gently caressed them.
“I love you too, so much it hurts.” You smiled weakly through the tears. “When I’ll see you with you wife and children, I will be happy. I’ll know that we have done the right things. And when you see me in the paddock with some other guy, you’ll have to be happy, too.” He made a pained face at the last part.
“You know I could never be happy to see you with someone else. You should be with me.” He looked so sad, so hurt.
“Then you know how I have felt for the last two years, whenever I saw you with your wife. That’s why I must go, baby.” You kissed him, and Sergio and you knew it was the last kiss you two would ever share.
It was tender, filled with love and adoration for the other. It tasted like “maybe in another life” and “how come we can’t be together in this one?”. The kiss felt like heartbreak and love at the same time. When you pulled away, the look in his eyes almost crushed you to death. Leaving him was the most difficult thing you had ever done. When you stood up from the bed, he did not let go of your hand. He tried to pull you back, but you stood strong. When he realized you were actually leaving, he kissed your hand and laid his head on your arm. This was the final act of your story. You were the one that got away. If this was a movie, the director would get an Oscar for filmography and another one for screenplay.
He finally let go of you, after what could’ve been minutes or hours. You did not dare to look back as you stepped out of the room, because you knew the look of anguish and despair on his face would be the death of you. When you closed the door, you were not longer a mistress, but a lovesick woman. At least, you were guilt-free. Almost guilt-free.
。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+
The next few weeks were hell. You were missing your lover like crazy, and apparently, so did he, because he had sent multiple texts asking to see you again. Even though the temptation was there, you did not reply to any of his messages. You did read them multiple times and cried a lot over them, but that doesn’t count, right?
The fact that you were working in F1 and attending all the races didn’t help. You wanted to swoon every time you saw Sergio’s face on a poster. On a few occasions you almost ran into him, but you always managed to hide before he could see you. Your heartbeat was so fast and so loud, you swore he would discover you because of it.
To distract you and to respect your part of the deal, you started seeing an engineer. It had been four months since you lost your title of Sergio’s mistress, and when he asked you out, you said yes. He was kind, gentle, and way more into you than you were into him. In other words, he was the perfect rebound.
It was the week of the Australian GP, and the guy who was now your boyfriend took you to a nice restaurant to celebrate your two months. Honestly, things were going great. You were taking things slow with him, and although your stupid heart betrayed you by beating fast every time you saw Sergio, you weren’t nearly as upset as you were three months ago. You felt good about yourself.
You excused yourself to go to the bathroom before dessert. It really was a nice place. You might have had one too many Aperol Spritz, though.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, please excuse me!” You apologized as you ran into a man. When you looked up, it was Mr. Sergio Perez himself, thankfully without Mrs. Perez. That would have been awkward, or at least more awkward than this already was.
“Mi pastelito, it’s you. It’s really you,” was all Sergio said. He wasn’t sure if you were real or not. Perhaps you were cake?
“Hi,” you avoided his gaze and tried to runaway, but he grabbed your arm. His touch immediately took you back to endless illicit nights spend together, where you had to restrain yourself from leaving marks on his body. Instead, he left love bites on yours.
“Are you really going to run away from me? Hide from me once again?” Oh, so he had seen you. Oops.
“Sergio, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m on a date right now, we’re celebrating our two months” you confessed sheepishly.
He held on to your arm possessively. “Yes, I heard everything about that new boyfriend of yours. Congratulations, I guess.” He pulled you closer to him, so he could whisper in your ear. “But I don’t think you’ve truly moved on. I know I sure as hell haven’t. Mi pastelito, does he know you’ll never love him like you loved me? Like you still love me?” He pulled back then kissed you on each cheek, like you were old acquaintances meeting again. “It was lovely to see you. Have fun on your date, mi amor.”
He left you standing there, in shock and more in love with him than you had ever been. A five-minute interaction with him made you head over heels once again. How cruel was that for you, but also for your new boyfriend. When you went back to your seat, your boyfriend happily informed you that an anonymous gentleman had picked up your tab. You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who was the mysterious man.
The next morning, you broke up with your boyfriend.
。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜
Oh, you were definitely tipsy. Perhaps even drunk? But that’s the Miami GP afterparties for you!
Hey baby, it’s me!!!!!!!
Sergio jumped when he saw your name pop on his notifications. It was like a siren call he had hoped for in vain since you left him. He replied immediately.
Hello, are you okay mi amor?
Are you alone?
Yes, why?
Can I call you?
“Hello?” Sergio picked up the phone, confused but happy that you were calling him at midnight.
“Hiiiiiiiiiiii baby, it’s me!” He chuckled when he realized that you were drunk. He would have preferred that you had called him sober, but when it came to you, he would take anything.
“Hello, mi pastelito. Are you alright?” He hoped you were not passed out somewhere. He heard people shouting your name in the background, so you were probably with friends, thankfully.
“Oh baby, I’m doing soooooooo good actually. These guys keep buying me shots. It’s great!” He definitely didn’t like to hear that.
“I think you should slow down. Tell these guys to back off.” You were pleased to hear his possessive tone.
“Are you jealous? Because if you are, that’s hot. All of this is your fault, anyway.”
“Really? How come? And when it comes to you, I am always jealous.” He heard you sigh.
“Well, because I saw you the other day, I had to break off with my boyfriend. It wasn’t fair to him. Now, I’m drunk in the club, and I keep telling people it’s because I just broke up with my boyfriend but really, I’m trying to get over you.” He softened at your words.
“I don’t want you to get over me, mi amor. In fact, I’m glad that you’re not with that other guy anymore. Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it?” You were drunk, but not drunk enough to forget why you shouldn’t see him.
“Checo, I really, really, really think that this is a bad idea. We were doing so good, we hadn’t seen each other in months.” You whined. “But I just miss you so much, I can’t help it.” He smiled at your words. This was the longest conversation you two had since you broke up.
“Don’t fight it, mi amor. Text me the address, and I’ll come pick you up.” Oh, he was good. It almost worked.
“I see what you’re doing,” you could hear him laugh. “Here’s what going to happen, okay? I’ll convince some guy in the club to buy me some shots, and if it works and I get drunk enough, I’ll call a cab to go see you. Text me the address of your hotel, please, just in case.” He wasn’t so sure about your plan.
“I don’t like this. Why don’t I just come pick you up?” He especially didn’t like the part that involved you flirting your way to free shots.
“Come on, baby, learn to live a little! It’ll be a surprise. I’m going to hang up right now, okay?” He tried to stop you, but it was too late. He texted you his location and kept checking his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed your call or a message from you.
Finally, at one in the morning, his phone rang.
“Hey baby, it’s me again!” He liked that you had started calling him baby again. “I’m on my way to your hotel, will you please let me in?” He was already sprinting down to the hotel lobby.
“Of course, mi amor, I’ll be there.”
“Also, the last guy that bought me a drink was pissed that I was not coming home with him, until I said that I knew Sergio Perez really well. He said he would forgive me if you sent him an autograph. Do you think you could do that?” He laughed.
“Yeah baby, I can do that. Are you nearby? I’m in the lobby.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You shrieked when you got to the hotel. “Okay, I’m here. Bye bye now!” You hung up the phone and practically jumped out of the car. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that last sex on the beach.
“Mi pastelito, you look gorgeous.” He smiled in appreciation. It’s true, you did look gorgeous, in your short dress that barely covered anything. You gave him a little spin.
“Thank you, baby, it got me so many free drinks!” He chcukled at that, even if he didn’t like the thought of other guys circling you like sharks. “Although maybe I should’ve toned it down, because if I wasn’t so drunk, I wouldn’t be here.” You sighed. He pulled you in a hug, and it was like coming home. It was like nothing had changed. The mistress was back.
“I’m glad you’re here, mi amor.” He kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go inside.”
You didn’t make it to the elevator before you were all over him. As soon as the doors closed, you were kissing him like a starved woman, which is what you were. You had cut him off your diet, but the craving was too strong. He made you sit on the handrail to get a better angle. This could have been a shot straight out of a porn movie, the way you were both desperate to touch the other, the sounds you made. Plus, an elevator scene is always a hit.
“I just missed you so much, baby. I can’t help loving you!” You said between kisses.
“That’s good, because I love you too.” The elevator doors opened. Thank God there wasn’t anyone else. He led to you to his hotel room, never breaking the kiss. Your lover was talented.
Once you were inside the room, he pushed you against the wall to stun you with kisses all over the skin your dress showed. So, basically everywhere on your body. You were already moaning.
“Baby, we have to think. We shouldn’t be doing this. We are supposed to stay away from each other, remember? I’m drunk, so I have an excuse, but you don’t!” He took his sweet time to answer you, as he was too busy marking you.
“It’s funny, I can’t remember anything, except that I love you. Oh well.” You protested weakly. His touch on your body after months apart felt too good for you to remember your morals. You forced him to remove his shirt. You still remembered the number one rule of being a mistress: never leave a mark. You were very careful not to scratch him, even if that’s all you wanted to do. You both made your way to the bed tangled with each other.
“I want to be on top of you, baby, so I can remember this moment. This is our last time, for real this time.” He sat against the headboard and let you straddle him.
“Mi pastelido, I don’t think there’ll ever be a last time when it comes to you and me.” You shut him up by removing your dress. He looked you up and down lovingly. “I missed this, mi amor. You’re way too beautiful for your own good.” He made you blush.
“Thank you, baby.” You started to move on top of him. He gripped your waist to help you move while kissing you. Oh, your affair was so back, whether you wanted it or not.
When he started to unzip his pants, you suddenly remembered one tiny detail.
“After I dumped my boyfriend, I stopped taking the pill. I know it sucks, but do you have a condom?” Sergio shook his head.
“No, mi amor, I was not expecting you to come here, I don’t have anything.”
A big neon sign with the word DANGER flashed in your head, but stupid drunk you decided to ignore it. Having him again was just too good.
“I’m clean, so that’s okay. But we’ll have to be really careful!” He nodded.
“I’m clean too. I’ll pull out, it’s going to be okay.” He started to make you move on top of him again. You continued kissing him. The sign still flashed in your head.
After that, things got hot very quickly. When he got inside of you, you couldn’t help but scream his name everytime he moved. You started to breathe rapidly. Still, you were watching him to make sure he really did pull out. You were already in a big enough mess, adding to it was unnecessary.
“Baby, I swear, I’m going to come very soon.” He was too busy pleasing you to comment, but he did make grunting noises. Why did you two every stopped seeing each other again?
Only a short while later, when you were arching your back, you had your orgasm. It was heveanly, You fell lifelessly against his shoulder, and your guard slipped. You heard him finish inside of you at that exact moment. You gasped, and immediately tried to get off him.
“Oh no, this is bad, like really bad.” He realized his mistake.
“I really tried, I swear!” You weren’t listening to him. You were too busy freaking out.
“I have to... I have to go!” You were scrambling to get dressed. He was freaking out too, more by the fact that you were preparing to leave him once again.
“Mi amor, calm down! It’s going to be fine! At least stay the night, we'll deal with it in the morning!” He was desperately trying to get you to stay.
You were putting on your shoes. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.” You hadn’t noticed, but you were crying. “This was a mistake. It won’t happen ever again!” You got out of the hotel room. He tried to chase you, but you were running down the hallway, and you were surprisingly fast, even with how much you had drunk.
When you looked at yourself in the mirror in the elevator, you had mascara tears running down your cheeks. You were nothing but an illicit affair. You saw nothing but the other woman in your reflection. This was your Black Swan moment.
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1#f1 fic#formula 1#sergio perez#sergio checo pérez#sergio perez x reader
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Celebrity Crush
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Summary: You have what some might consider to be an odd celebrity crush. Until you meet him in real life, that is. | 1.1k+ words of fluff!
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
As you twirl your straw in your drink, you tune out the conversation of your friends. The message to get ready had come last minute, with only a few minutes to prepare for an outing before your best friend arrived to pick you up. You had been watching a true-crime documentary when the message came through, and rather than listen to your friends discuss their weekend plans, you think about the case in the show. Or, more specifically, one of the officers who worked the case.
“Hello,” one of your friends calls.
She draws the word out and waves a hand in front of your face, which you bat away when your attention returns to the restaurant and the people around you.
“Sorry,” you apologize. “What are we talking about?”
“Celebrity crushes!” she cheers. “Mine is Tom Cruise.”
“Gross! He’s old enough to be your dad,” another girl comments.
“And he can pay for everything like my dad, too.”
“Can we move on?” someone interrupts. “Who’s yours?”
“Mine?” you clarify, pointing at yourself. “Oh, uh, you probably haven’t heard of him.”
“C’mon, spill!” they encourage.
You shake your head, and the friend closest to you repeats, “Who’s your celebrity crush?”
“Tim Bradford,” you answer softly.
“Who?”
“He’s a cop, and he’s been in some documentaries. Like the ones with Corey Harris and Aaron Thorsen. Plus, a new one with doppelgangers,” you explain.
“So, he’s a cop, not a celebrity,” your best friend argues.
“He’s been on TV! More than once,” you point out.
“Girl, you know I love you, but that’s more of a ‘hear me out’ than a celebrity crush.”
You shake your head and sit back in your seat. The sooner you get home to finish the documentary, the better.
The next day, after you’ve finished the newest documentary and your crush on Tim Bradford has strengthened, you find yourself out shopping with your friends. Thankfully, they’ve moved on from the celebrity crush comment. While you’re in the third store of the day, you wait in the dressing rooms to rate your best friends’ choices while the other girls shop.
An employee approaches you with a nervous smile and asks if anyone else is in the fitting area.
“Yes, one of my friends is trying something on. Is everything okay?” you answer.
“Oh, of course. I don’t want to alarm you, but we’ve locked the doors because there are some suspicious characters in the area. The police are on the way, so everything will be under control soon.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” you say.
She sighs in relief that you were kind about the ordeal, then walks away to alert other customers. You look toward the large windows on the storefront but don’t see anything happening in the parking lot.
A few minutes later, after your friends have purchased their items and are waiting to leave, two police officers walk to the locked door and knock on it. The employee you spoke to earlier rushes to let them in and obeys when the male officer instructs her to lock the door again.
“Ladies, we’re with the LAPD,” the shorter man says. “Our colleagues are outside handling the situation as we speak. However, we need your help; if you’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary today, please meet me at the counter and we’ll fill out a report.”
The employees follow him to the counter, and you realize that he is in the documentaries you’ve been watching. As you turn to look outside again, you see the other officer.
“Are you Sergeant Tim Bradford?” you ask.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers. “Can I help you with something?”
“Oh, no, I just watched the documentaries you were in and thought it was you. Your insight was informative; I liked listening to your side of the case.”
He smiles kindly and says, “I’m glad.”
You nod, then step back and look around the store. Unsure how much longer you’ll have to wait, you take a moment to look at the merchandise. You usually tag along on shopping trips but don’t buy anything. Your friends have different tastes than you, and an easier time buying things for themselves. One item catches your eye, and you run your finger over it. They have your preferred size, and you tap it a few times before you look away again.
Unknown to you, Tim watches you. He’s seen people come up to Aaron, Lucy, and even Nolan, and claim to have seen them on television. Those encounters usually end with someone asking for a picture, an autograph, and, once, to get their cousin released early. This is the first time he’s heard a genuine compliment, and he’s happy to have been the one you chose to give it to.
“Officer Bradford?” his partner calls. “A word?”
You smile at Tim when you look toward him, and with his eyes already on you, he notices immediately. He dips his chin as he walks past you, and you walk across the room to your friends.
“Wait, is that your celebrity crush?” your best friend whispers. “You didn’t say he was like… Abercrombie model hot!”
You shrug, and she turns to your other friends to talk about how attractive the officers are. Your gaze wanders back to the only thing in the store you’d ever consider buying, but you shake your head and look at Tim Bradford instead.
“The situation has been handled and the area is safe now. You’re free to go,” he announces. “Thank you for your help.”
Your friends rush out, eager to get to another store, but you walk toward the door at a normal pace. Tim and his partner are walking out too, and you hold the door for them.
“Go ahead,” Tim tells his partner. “Thanks,” he says to you.
He stops beside you, and you let the door close. After a glance over his shoulder, Tim passes you a bag.
“What is this?” you inquire.
“A thank you.”
“For?”
“Being nice. Plus, you didn’t ogle me like your friends.”
You chuckle and smile as you argue, “You’ve got to be used to that.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
You peek in the bag and see the item you were looking at. “I can’t accept this.”
“The ladies inside told me I had to take something for keeping them safe.”
“And you got me something?” Tim smiles, and you shake your head. “Thank you.”
“If you’d really like to thank me or hear more about those cases you seem to like so much, maybe we could meet for dinner sometime.”
“I would love that.”
“Great. I have to go, but… give me a call.”
You watch him leave, then realize that he didn’t give you his number. As you walk away, you pull the receipt from the bag. But it isn’t a receipt. It’s a piece of paper with his name and number. Under that, he wrote, I never wanted to be a celebrity crush before today.
#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x fem!reader#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford#the rookie abc#fem!reader#hanna writes✯
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the fall: part two
cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, death mention, flashback
part one
you miss kyle.
you know he shouldn't be on your radar, but it's been almost two months since you've last seen him. sometimes you wonder how he's doing, and if he's safe. cutting off all contact with kyle was the best thing for you and your sanity, but it was also one of the hardest decisions you've ever had to make.
the next time kyle shows up on your doorstep, it takes you by surprise. you were certain that he would stay away after the verbal lashing you gave him.
your eyes are wide and your voice is tinged with shock when you question him about being at your door. “i thought i told you to-"
"go to hell? yeah, i heard you loud and clear, darling.” kyle will never tell you, but he loves it when you put him in his place. “i just wanted to talk, if you’ll let me.”
you refuse to look him in the eye as you step aside to let him in. you know for a fact that he won’t leave you be, so you’ll just have suck it up and get through this visit with your sanity intact. when kyle is finally inside, you close the door and lock it, then follow him to the living room. he makes himself comfortable on your couch and you have to resist the urge to make him leave. you were already starting to regret letting him in.
pretty brown eyes look at you expectantly, and you know he wants you to take the seat next to him. you don’t. and perhaps it was done out of spite, but you chose another seat instead. kyle frowns at the distance between you two, but he doesn't comment on it. he eyes you for a moment, before he lets out a shaky sigh and opens his mouth to speak.
you beat him to it.
“you left me.” it breaks his heart to hear how small your voice sounds, and how you stare off to the side with an unhappy look on your pretty face. “and the worst thing about all of this, is how i went back on my word because i’m too fucking blinded by love and a pretty face.”
you meet kyle’s gaze head on when he apologizes, as if it would mend your poor fractured heart. “you can’t be too remorseful, if leaving was your first choice. do you have any idea how it made me feel?” you ask, your voice full of fury. “it made me feel like i meant nothing to you, like i was nothing more than a one night stand. is that what you think of me? that i’ll always be good enough for you to fuck, but not good enough for you to love?” you watch him wince at the venom in your tone.
he shakes his head in denial and tells you that he does love you, but all you can do is stare at him in disbelief, as your eyes glisten with tears. "i’m not even sure if i believe you, kyle,” you manage to choke out while you try to regain control over your emotions.
kyle watches you with a heavy heart. he did this, never expecting for you to fall in love with him. but when he realized the exact moment your feelings for him started to change, he never mentioned it to you. it was inconsiderate of him to let it happen when this wasn’t what either of you agreed to. he should have ended it when he first got the chance, but deep down, he wanted you to love him.
“did you know i was in love with you?” the question had been gnawing at your brain for the last couple of days.
you finally get the chance to ask kyle, and he doesn’t bother responding. how can he, when the answer is written all over his face. it shocks you to your core. he’s sitting across from you with tense shoulders and a jaw that’s clenched so tight, you think it might shatter. he won’t even look you in the eye. you’ve been struggling with your feelings for weeks and he knew. it hurt to know that he’s carried your secret around with him for god knows how long, and not once did he ever acknowledge it.
you don’t even bother kicking kyle out. he watches you storm away from him and into your bedroom, the sound of your door slamming traveling to his ears. he runs a hand down his face, before swearing loudly. he knows he fucked up and he’s not even sure if he can fix it. with a sigh, kyle strides down the hallway to your bedroom. he doesn’t knock. he sits on the floor with his back resting against the wall across from your door as he listens to your sobs. he wants so badly to open the door and go to you, but he knows his presence will only make things worse.
kyle’s not sure how long he sits there on your floor with his head in his hands, before you emerge from your room. he straightens up when he hears your door creak open, his face falling when he notices your red eyes and the pained expression on your face. “you’re still here,” you comment softly as you stand in the doorway.
kyle leans against the wall with a sigh. “wouldn’t have been right for me to leave you.”
like you did before, you think to yourself bitterly. you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. you were already hurting enough as it is. it makes no sense to pour more salt into the wound.
kyle watches you shift from foot to foot, before you sink down to the floor across from him. the look on his face is unreadable and it makes you nervous. you want to know what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling. you want to know if what he said was true.
“what you said before—” you bit your lip nervously. you’re not exactly sure if you want an answer to the question you’re about to ask. you pause for a moment to gather up the courage to just spit it out. “you said you loved me. is that true, or were you just telling me what i wanted to hear?”
kyle has to look away from your imploring eyes when he tells you that he meant what he said. you expect to feel some kind of warmth from his words. It should make you happy that kyle loves you, but it doesn't. your feel your lips tremble, as you suck in a breath to keep your tears at bay. when kyle meets your gaze again, his eyes are wet with tears, and the look on his face is just as bad as the one on yours.
"i don't understand," you whine as you brush your tears away. "why didn't you say anything, kyle?"
"because i'm selfish. i wanted your love even though i never planned to let you have mine. and i hope you'll forgive me for everything i'm about to say." he pauses to take a deep breath. he's not sure how this conversation will end, but he has to get it out, for his sake and yours. "i could have told you months ago that i was in love with you but i decided not to. and as much as it pains me to say this, i thought it would be easier for you to love someone else. i’m a soldier, sweetheart.” he’s got too many enemies lurking and too much blood on his hands. “you deserve someone who won't leave for deployment and come back to you in a casket. i won’t ruin you like that, lovie. i should have broken things off with you as soon as it became too much for me. that was always the plan."
“so you’ve decided for the both of us, then.” you hate the way your voices cracks as you say it. you haven’t fully processed kyle’s answer. it wasn’t something you thought you would ever hear from his mouth.
“i’m sorry.”
the cord keeping you tethered to kyle snaps violently when you tell him it’s over and that you’re done.
it’s for the best, you think over and over again as you watch kyle walk out of your door, and out of your life. this isn’t what you want, but since kyle’s determined to keep you at arm’s length, he’s not giving you much of a choice.
when you no longer see the taillights on his truck, you brace yourself for the flood of tears you’re sure will come. and when they do, you don’t fight them.
damn you, kyle.
the shrill sound of your phone ringing snaps you out of a daze, the high volume making you flinch a little. when you look down to see who’s calling, you see kyle's name. you don’t even hesitate to answer.
“hello?”
"good evenin’, doll. i'm sorry to be callin' you so late." it's simon. what the hell was he doing with kyle’s phone, and why was he calling you and not kyle himself?
"simon?" you must sound confused because he apologizes again. "it's fine. something must be wrong if you're calling from kyle's phone." when the silence lasts a little too long for your liking, you snap out a firm, “simon, please."
“it’s kyle, he’s hurt.”
a/n: thank you to @starsofang for the inspiration. ily 💕
don’t jump me, i’m working on part three right now so y’all can get a happy ending.
part three sneak peek
masterlist
#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#me a dialogue lover 😭#kyletogazwrites#i’ve done all the editing i can do#don’t jump me y’all
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