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randombush3 · 5 months

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audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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celestica-1988 · 6 months

Text

An headcanon for every Tokyo Revengers character. Some are funny, other are not.

Mikey favorite holiday is Halloween cause he can eat as many sweets as he wants and nobody can tell him shit.

Draken secretly wants to go to a spa with Emma. Draken babysits Toman, Emma takes care of the Sano household and they need to rest. He gets flustered if he thinks about sharing a bed with her or taking a bath together at the offsprings.

Baji feeds stray cats and others animals. Animals are naturally drawn to him for some reasons.

Chifuyu likes to watch TV programs of plane crashes. He dreams to be a pilot and he wants to learn how to avoid situations like the ones in the programs.

Takemichi started reading and watching thrillers in the hope they help him sharpen his ability to investigate

Kazutora still has nightmares of his father beating his mother.

Mitsuya keeps himself updated on what is popular amongs kids so he can sew cool things to his sisters like clothes or stuffed animal.

Hakkai is secretly learning Italian since he loves the Godfather series.

Taiju favorite film is Shark Tale.

Pahchin sleeps cuddling his dog.

Pehyan reads scientific books so he can came up with more witty come backs on Pahchin brain.

Angry is really loved by the elderly people in his neighborhood because he's always ready to help them in any way despite his grumpy face. One of the grannies taught him the perfect recipe for ramen.

Smiley is an hardcore naruhina shipper and won't hesitate to fight if someone insults his otp.

When Mucho saw Sanzu for the first time he thought he seemed like a stray cat. That's why he approached him with food aka cheesecake.

Sanzu would like to fix his relationship with Senju but he doesn't know how. Senju is always with Takeomi and he hates Takeomi. He's also scared that if he stops checking on Mikey, even for a second, something bad will happen to him and Shinichiro would have died in vain.

Kisaki has an album of pics of Hinata that he took when she didn't notice.

Hanma really loves movies with a lot of action and comments loud every scene of violence saying what he would have done instead if he was the protagonist.

Kokonoi talks about his days and his thoughts to a framed pic of Akane. He feels like she's still with him.

Inui plays guitar and he's interested in spiritism.

Izana throws darts to a Karen Kurokawa pic pinned on the wall because she ruined his life and his relationship with Emma and Shinichiro.

Kakucho shaves his hair by himself. He's not comfortable with people touching his scar.

Shion is unexpectedly good with children. He's a bit chaotic but overall a good babysitter.

Mochi is really good at cooking and he's proud of it.

Rindou started going to the gym because he was tired of being teased for his chubby cheeks. His guilty pleasure is eating Mac Donald food.

Ran loves 70s lamps, the one with bubbles that are moving up and down inside. They help him sleep.

South loves to dance Latin dances like samba, cha cha cha, rumba etc...

Wakasa has got some fishing trophies in his apartment.

Benkei appears as a tough guy but he loves to sleep with plushies.

Shinichiro has got an organizer that uses as his diary in which he writes his thoughts and notes all of his siblings birthdays.

Takeomi is always scolded by his relatives because of how he wasted his life, raised Haru to be a lunatic and ruined the relationship between Haru and Senju.

Hinata secretly trains in martial arts to help Takemichi, even though she knew he probably won't let her take part in a fight.

Emma often thinks at how good it would be if Izana lives with them. She wants him to have a family.

Yuzuha listen to heavy metal as a let out of her frustration for living with Taiju.

Senju sometimes wants to be adopted by Wakasa so she won't have Takeomi around and maybe Sanzu would visit her. She also hate Concordes.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #mikey tokyo revengers #draken #baji keisuke #chifuyu x reader #mitsuya takashi #tenjiku #ran haitani #rindou haitani #izana kurokawa #kakucho

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scaranation · 1 year

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hi hi !! could you write an ANGST with Dottore and Zhongli where we break up with them? maybe in dottore we break up because we can't bear(?) his experiments anymore and in Zhongli one we feel not enough/that he loves someone else (maybe Guizhong?)

Gn reader or Fem!reader(if u write for fem. sorry if u do not,i couldnt find rules and im really really sorry ! :( ... )

p.s will there be To love another 3rd part? it's my fav fanfic ever !!

love your work ♡♡

hihihi i know this is like super late but this prompt is literally so good 😭 also im thinking of writing another part to that fic, but i just dont know where to take it so ive been procrastinating haha

dottore’s part is kinda ooc bcs let’s be real if he’s that whipped for reader he wouldn’t let them break up with him, but im going to pretend that he’s not as much of a red flag as he actually is 🤭🤭

༊*·˚ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader, Zhongli x GN!reader (separate)

Content: Angst, no comfort. Mentions of canon typical violence, assumed past Guizhong x Zhongli

DOTTORE

“It seems my beloved has finally thought to visit me.”

You cringed from the overpowering metallic scent as you stepped into your boyfriend’s laboratory, trying hard not to look at the borderline gruesome sights on the clinical beds.

Dottore cleaned the blood off a bone saw he was holding, setting the instrument down carefully before walking towards you - eyes lit up, but holding a gleam different to the maniacal one he usually possessed.

“How was your day, my love?” His voice was humorous. He seemed to be in a good mood, humming lightly while opening the door for you.

“It was fine.” You sighed as you felt the weight of Dottore’s harbinger coat settle across your shoulders, registering the touch of his hand as he pulled you into him and away from the Snezhnayan cold.

“Has that coworker of yours still been bothering you?”

“… Don’t try pretending.”

“Whatever could you be talking about?” The Doctor’s grip on you tightened.

“I wouldn’t wish death on anyone, even if they annoyed me to that extent.” You sighed, finally tilting your head to stare into the planes of your lover’s mask.

“Oh, they’re not dead. Rather, they’ve been subject to some biological modifications of an experimental kind - would you like to see?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I’m hungry, don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Good thing I have a nice place booked for dinner, my love.”

His compliance was almost uncanny.

Normal couples gazed affectionately into each other’s eyes over meat and wine, fingers fondly interlaced over the dining table. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to return Dottore’s adoring scarlet gaze, and his hold on your hand felt more like a death trap.

“Is the food to your liking?” He asked. He hadn’t touched any of the vegetables on his plate, only biting into the steak.

“Yes. You should eat greens, too.” You commented.

“Mm. Why don’t you feed me, then?” Dottore only tilted his head, smiling eagerly. Recently, a fear of you being turned into one of the harbinger’s countless experiments had taken hold, and it was this same fear that drove you to play right how he wanted. And so, lifting your fork, you fed him with all the patience you could muster - staring into those deep red eyes, feeling like nothing more than prey. Those eyes would’ve been the last thing many others had seen before their death, the end of their lives marked by that sadistic grin. You almost shuddered at the thought.

Normal couples slept under starry nights reflected in their star crossed hearts as they cuddled close under soft sheets. Normality was such a strange concept, you decided. Despite the fact that you were doing just what normal couples should, the situation was still absurd. However, your fear of becoming another one of the harbinger’s lab rats wasn’t unfounded. You mulled over this fact, almost snorting at the juxtaposition. Here you were - wondering if the man who cradled you in his arms would strap you down to a table in the name of research.

“My love, are you still awake?” You felt Dottore’s breath ghost over your neck, his face pressing into your nape. With a rustle, he readjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”

“Nightmares, perhaps? I have a pill you can use for those.”

“No, just… thinking.” You squirmed in Dottore’s hold. His comment only reignited your spiralling train of thought, pushing you further to the point of resolve.

If he could kill his clones - literal versions of himself - then what would stop him from doing the same to you? Even if you remained alive, would you have to continue to tolerate being exposed to such grotesque horrors?

It was simply better to break things off, before you no longer had the option to.

Breakfast.

The first meal of the day, and the last meal you’d share with your boyfriend.

“Dottore.”

“Yes?” The Doctor’s head jerked up immediately from where he was chewing. You could feel the undivided weight of all his attention sinking into you, and for a moment, you faltered. He was notorious for paying little mind to anyone else, and yet, he treated you with the utmost attentiveness. You steeled your resolve.

“I think… we should break up.”

Silence. Then, the grating scrape of cutlery against crockery.

“Why.”

Not a question, more of a demand. You gulped.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“Yes. Is it something I did?”

“I can’t bear your experiments anymore, Dottore. They’ve gone too far, and I don’t think I can stomach living normally with you as if I don’t know the kind of things you do. Even worse, every day I’m wary that I might be your next test subject - whenever I walk into your lab, I wonder when I’ll be the one under your needles. It’s exhausting.”

Another beat of silence. You could see Dottore’s chest rising and falling at an increasingly fast pace, his jaw tensing.

“I would never, ever do that to you. It’s ridiculous that you’d even think that, and as for your prior reason… I can arrange for you to come to the lab less often…”

“So you’re just going to cover my eyes and act like you’re not doing anything with those experiments? I just can’t be ignorant here, nor can I trust you. If you can get rid of your clones so easily, then what am I? What value do I hold-“

“Those creations do not even compare to you.” Dottore finally snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. You flinched, and he felt as though his lung capacity had been halved. His head spun in tandem with the rapid tightening of his heart, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

It hurt Dottore, realising that you didn’t trust him. That all those fond, intimate memories together were just you acting out of fear - or at least, the most recent ones were. It hurt, beyond anything Dottore thought he could inflict on his patients. And even worse, you were frightened of him. The light shaking of your shoulders and the way you flinched were enough indication.

The Doctor enjoyed seeing his victims become terrified, but that same terror on you almost made him feel like he’d been the one stabbed with a scalpel. Foolishly, he’d fallen victim to his own maniacal research tendencies.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant to say… that you can trust me.” Dottore raised his hand towards you to cup your cheek, wincing when you avoided the action.

“I tried to, I really did. But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“My love, please.”

The second harbinger was begging. What a strange sight.

“Let me go, Dottore.” You murmured shakily. You saw hesitation, hurt, and anger flit through those vermilion eyes you’d used to love. But that love you held for him had only smouldered into disgust and fear.

“… Then go. Get out of my sight.” Dottore hissed, his teeth clenching at the wary expression on your face.

It was painful, how you walked out without a second glance.

“My love…” Dottore whispered. He stared at the closed door, almost expecting you to return. He repeated the phrase, over and over to himself - his face contorting into an expression he himself couldn’t name. Was there truly an emotion as human as this? It was a twisted, unimaginable feeling the Doctor couldn’t categorise. The syllables came off his quivering lips, as though by uttering them he could make you come back.

But the truth was, your not-so-normal relationship was over. Perhaps, Dottore would return to the normality of his heartless experiments, and you’d return to the normality of a better fate than one you’d endure by his side.

He only regretted not being able to hold you more.

ZHONGLI

There were only two letters between you and your lover, but those two letters seemed to stretch wider every day - ‘I’, and ‘M’. The seemingly infinite synapse between mere ‘mortal’, and ‘immortal’.

Zhongli was undeniably a mortal vessel, but he as a being was not. He’d lived eons before you, loved and hated thousands. He’d experienced things you couldn’t even fathom, and yet, you couldn’t comprehend how he treated you as though your fleeting existence was the centre of his much larger world.

Whenever you looked into Zhongli’s amber eyes, heard his deep laugh, or felt his gentle caress, you could only feel insignificant. After all, he used to be a literal god. You couldn’t help the guilt that gnawed at your conscience, couldn’t stamp out the incessant feeling that he was too good for you, that you couldn’t compare to whatever lovers he’d had in the past.

“How’s the tea, darling?” Zhongli prompted. He sat with his back to the window, basking in an almost ethereal glow.

“Ah, I have yet to try it.” You shook yourself out of your thoughts to raise the cup in front of you. Zhongli only smiled warmly, but the gesture made your hand shake a little. You’d planned to break up with him today, and yet the way he still stared lovingly at you - full of infinite trust - made you feel terrible.

But how many others had he also treated this way? In his life, those others were probably far more special than you, possessing talents far more worthy of a god’s attention.

Suddenly, a shattering sound pierced your ears, and a scalding warmth set into your thigh. You looked down in a daze, before snapping out of it upon realising that you’d dropped the teacup.

“Are you okay?” Zhongli was at your side in an instant, mopping up the spilled tea and collecting the broken fragments of the cup.

“Yeah.” You gritted your teeth again. How dare someone as insignificant as you make Rex Lapis get down on his knees to clean the mess you’d made. It simply made you feel as though you didn’t deserve such a wonderful man at all.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is there anything I should know about?” Zhongli asked slowly.

“No. Well, yes.” You stammered. You hadn’t planned this out very well, and your heart squeezed tighter.

“Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything, darling.”

A warm hand came to rest against your cheek. You closed your eyes, feeling tears build and slip down your face.

Zhongli wiped at your tears, holding your hands in your lap as he looked up at you worriedly - his thumbs tracing comforting circles on your knuckles. He thought of saying something, before deciding against it. He knew it was better to let you speak first.

“Let’s break up.” You blurted, feeling Zhongli’s fingers come to a complete stop.

“We can work through this, tell me why first. Has something been upsetting you?”

Your tears fell harder. He still showed you so much kindness, never jumping to any conclusions.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, it makes me feel guilty that someone like me can have you.” You sobbed.

“Darling, you know it makes me happy to just spend time with you. That in itself is fair exchange, no?”

“But what makes that so special? You’ve lived for so long, you could’ve done this with anyone else, and you probably have. Who am I in comparison to someone like Guizhong?”

Through your blurred vision, you could still see Zhongli’s form kneeled by your side. He seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.

“You and her are both special, in your own way. Why don’t you calm down a little first? I can pour you some more tea.”

“I’m so selfish, Zhongli. I really don’t think I can stay with you.”

“Do you really want to leave that badly?”

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace, his soft understanding gaze. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“… Yes.”

“Very well then. You know I won’t stop you, because I just want what’s best for you.”

The light grip on your hands released, and as you stood up everything seemed to spin.

“Thank you… for everything.” You murmured, stealing one last glance at the man you loved - before leaving.

Zhongli remained where he was for some time. In his life, many things came to an end, but this hurt a little more. When Guizhong had left him, it was due to her passing - the youthful Rex Lapis had found someone to blame, to ventilate his grief. But the most crude fact in this situation was that you were still alive, and had chosen to leave him of your own volition. Zhongli himself had made this happen.

However, an archon’s most prized trait was impartiality. Therefore, Zhongli knew that he had to maintain indifference. He refused to let himself chase after you, or force you into anything. It was only unfair, if an immortal were to impose such a fate onto a mortal.

And so, he could only watch as you faded from his life, like the cyclic ebb of waves on an ocean shore.

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withleeknow · 3 months

Text

parallel lines.

pairing: jisung x reader genre/warnings: best friends au, unrequited love au, angst; unedited (nothing new lol) word count: 1.3k note: @joy: one of your numbers was “things you said while you were driving” :D hope you like it boo, but i also hope you perish, but i also hope you like it <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

live in the moment. don’t let the present pass you by. that’s what people love to tell you.

it’s a bit of a cliché, but it’s not terrible advice. actually, it's something that you have to remind yourself from time to time too - to focus more on what’s happening in the now before it becomes a piece of the past.

if it were any other day, sure, you’d be up for internalizing those words.

but today? no, today you can only focus on one breathe at a time, one stoplight at a time.

because today, he’s leaving. one of the people you’ve cherished the most your entire life is leaving you and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening.

you’re not even listening to what’s being said from the passenger seat of your car. in fact, in the past forty five minutes, you’ve only been nodding along, making a noncommittal noise every now and then to pretend like you’re absorbing whatever information he’s feeding you.

eventually, you hum at the wrong time, and that’s when he catches on.

“hey! you're not even listening to me,” jisung complains, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“sorry.” the apology is insincere as it rolls off your tongue. “i’m just a little distracted.”

“why?” he asks.

how is that even a question? you spare him a glance, then you tell him, “i’m literally driving you to the airport right now.”

he looks at you, opens his mouth to say something but stops himself before any word could come out.

you turn your focus back to the road, thinking about how the distance keeps getting shorter and shorter, how you’re just getting closer to the ending of a chapter in your life. you could drive slower and bide your time, but what good does that do? you could stall for five or ten more minutes, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still getting on that plane and leaving you behind.

after a moment of silence, jisung says, “i thought we agreed we wouldn’t let this be sad.”

“how could it not be sad? you’re moving away. we’re saying goodbye.”

“i’ll still come visit,” he tries to reason. “we can facetime and text every day. you can fly out to stay with me sometimes. it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again.”

you huff out a breath, gripping the wheel tightly. “but it won’t be the same,” you say quietly.

to that, jisung doesn’t have a solution to appease you. because what could he even offer you at this point? what you said is true - once he leaves, that’s it. things will never be the same again. absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder. sometimes, absence just sucks.

you go over the question in your head a couple times, wondering how you could make it sound less pathetic but in the end, you find that there’s not really any way around it. “would you ever come back?” you ask. “you know, not just to visit. would you come back?”

the man beside you purses his lips in thought.

“i don't know,” his voice is small as he looks out the window wistfully. it's unlike him, but you can't exactly fault him for it. this is one of your last moments together. just minutes ago, you practically refused to let him make light of the situation and face it for what it really is - a looming goodbye that eerily feels like a farewell, and you have to try your best to focus on the road instead of breaking down in front of him. “i don't know if there's anything here for me anymore.”

that stings.

what about me? you think but don’t dare to utter out loud. did you finally outgrow me?

sometimes, you think jisung knows. knows that your feelings for him extend far beyond the confines of platonic friendship. knows that you’ve loved him ever since you knew what love was, or maybe he was the reason why you even knew what love was in the first place.

he’s silly and far too unserious for his own good a lot of the times, but he’s not stupid. and you yourself don’t exactly do a very good job at concealing your foolish heart.

you let the remainder of the drive marinade in heavy silence. you’re too distraught to pretend that you aren’t, to try and make jokes and sweep it all under the rug. when you get to the airport, you help him get his luggages from the trunk, then watch as he drags them inside.

his whole life, packed up in suitcases.

you observe jisung from a distance as he goes to the correct counter to get check in his things. two minutes and the suitcases are already off. the lady behind the counter gives him a manufactured smile as she waves him off with her perfectly manicured hands.

so quick, so easy. the process of leaving you, done in mere minutes.

he returns to you with only a bag slung over his shoulder, his passport in his hands, and a sad smile on his face.

if jisung knows, then he’s pretty decent at pretending he’s just as clueless as the next person. he has never brought it up, never even hinted that he’s aware of how you feel about him and that’s why you’re never sure if he really holds this knowledge or not.

but there’s something different about right now. maybe it’s just because this is your final moment together before the chapter forever closes, but there’s something in the way that he’s looking at you. soft, delicate features and big brown eyes tinged with regret, with a little bit of guilt.

you go in for a hug to avoid being scrutinized under jisung’s gaze any longer. you both just stand there for a couple minutes, your arms around his waist, his arms around your shoulders. your heart begging him to stay while his aches to leave.

you know he’s always wanted to leave. leave this place, leave this city. but you can’t help feeling bitter about it because it means leaving you too.

when you pull away, your eyes are burning with unshed tears but you don’t let yourself cry, not in front of him. there’s plenty of time to deal with your grievances later, when you’re alone.

“text me when you land, okay?” you say, faking a smile. then you pause, “i love you.”

jisung ruffles your hair, tries to do it the playful way he always does and tacks on a grin for good measure, but you know it’s not entirely sincere judging by the way it doesn’t reach his eyes. goodbyes are inherently sad, after all.

“love you too,” he says. it’s not unusual for the two of you to say the same words but mean completely different things.

his hand lingers on your hair as the grin dulls into a tight-lipped smile. you watch him turn around and walk away, and the burning sensation behind your eyes intensifies.

it dawns on you then, that it doesn’t really matter if he knows about your feelings or not. it doesn’t matter because he’s already made the decision to pack up his life and forget about this place forever. it doesn’t matter because knowing doesn’t change anything; your own feelings are yours to bear and he shouldn’t have to be responsible that you’re in love with him.

you stare at his retreating figure that grows smaller and smaller with every step, until he passes through the security gates and you can’t even see him anymore. you hoped he would look back, but he didn’t.

and in that moment, you know that it doesn’t matter, not even a little bit, because he can’t love you the same way you love him.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz1skz @jazziwritesthings (italicized = can’t tag)

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han jisung angst #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung

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hughesmedicine · 8 months

Text

“besties” | c. mcward

cole mcward x !hughes sister

a/n: sorry that the ending is rushed! I’ve had this in the drafts for months but here it is also got a jack insta edit coming soon!

made this for @starsandhughes 🫶🏻

ynhughes

liked by _quinnhughes, colemcward, _eliaspettersson and others.

ynhughes trip to van was a need🤟❤️

tagged: _quinnhughes, colemcward, _eliaspettersson

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colemcward please come back you left me with these lunatics!

ynhughes omw! one test is okay to miss

jackhughes don’t skip the test stay home and wait till summer.

ynhughes ugh sorry cole I’m being forced to stay!

colemcward boo you stink jack.

ynhughes ^

jackhughes don’t agree with him!

ynhughes sorry but it’s in my contract that I have to agree with him when it comes to you

jackhughes what contract??

ynhughes canucks contract! guess who signed 🤭

jackhughes don’t play with my feelings.

lhughes_06 why are you guys posing with a dog? who’s dog is that?😭

ynhughes erm found her on the side of the road!

colemcward yep that’s totally how we found her!

lhughes_06 you guys kidnapped the dog didn’t you?.

ynhughes not exactly!

lhughes_06 not exactly? do tell

ynhughes erm sorry I’ll die in those trenches.

colemcward yeah me too.

_quinnhughes please come back

ynhughes dude I literally left 30 minutes ago, you’ll be fine

_quinnhughes no I won’t!

ynhughes fine I’ll come back

elblue6 y/f/n y/m/n hughes you better not go back and get on that plane, you have a game tomorrow.

ynhughes yes mom! I’ll send you picture updates of the view out the window so you know.

_quinnhughes she can skip it.

elblue6 quintin jerome hughes she can’t and stop trying to convince her she can.

_quinnhughes alright got it sorry mom!

tylerduke so anybody find it weird that it’s all cole on the top?

ynhughes what?? no it’s not all cole on the top, there’s also me!

lhughes_06 stop that is pretty weird, anything you need to tell us y/n.

jackhughes yeah is there??

_quinnhughes guys stop there’s nothing going on with them

ynhughes yeah what quinn said, cole and I are just certified besties🤟

colecaulfield yeah “besties”

ynhughes shut up cole!

jackhughes COLE WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!

colecaulfield nothing!

jackhughes expect Luke and I at your door tomorrow, already bought flight tickets.

ynhughes better change your locks. (cause of my brothers but also me.)

colecaulfield if anybody needs me I’ll be on a flight to disclosed location where y/n can’t find me and where the three brothers can’t either.

ynhughes bold of you to assume I can’t find you, you’re currently booking a flight for Japan

colecaulfield I’m terrified of you.

colemcward

liked by ynhughes, tykerduke, _quinnhughes and others.

colemcward finally can post my favorite photos of my girl, I love you so much thank you for the visit and the dates (I beat her at hockey and she won’t admit it!)

tagged ynhughes

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ynhughes he’s lying nobody beats me at hockey(just ask matthew or brady! they’ll tell you the truth )

matthew.tkachuk she’s right nobody beats her

colemcward lame you could’ve taken my side!

matthew.tkachuk and get hit with her hockey stick during games? I’m good you’re on your own during this one kid

jackhughes ahem @/_quinnhughes quoting you “guys stop there’s nothing going on with them” how stupid do you feel right now!

lhughes_06 gonna need to hear him actually say “I’m so stupid for thinking there’s nothing going on between them”

ynhughes actually I need to hear this too

colemcward same so babe come here quickly

ynhughes don’t rush me but coming

_quinnhughes YOURE STILL IN VANCOUVER?! You better come see me right now.

titobeavui91 sorry but she’s currently visiting me with Cole so you’ll have to wait your turn.

_quinnhughes I know where you live so I’ll be there soon

trevorzegras ew you guys are sick (cute but sick)

ynhughes call it sick again and that hockey stick you gave me will be finding a new home and it’s not appropriate enough to say online!

trevorzegras I’m sorry you guys aren’t sick! I love your relationship so much and it’s so cute, best nhl couple ever!

ynhughes thanks bestie love you!

colecaulfield FINALLY now I can post all the cute sick pictures I took of you guys when you came to visit me!

ynhughes thanks cole! (send them to me!)

trevorzegras he can call you sick cute but I can’t??

ynhughes actually he called the pictures sick cute not us! Think you getting bashed into the boards is messing up your reading , do I need to help you with that again?

trevorzegras oh I’m so cross checking you.

ynhughes try it you won’t be able to!

jamiedrysdale and you hit him in the spot, love it💀

ynhughes me too! If he hugs a stick and cry again send it to me!

tylerduke now you guys should come see me! I miss our trio

ynhughes booking a ticket right now sorry @/_quinnhughes skipping our dinner tonight and captain cole won’t be at practice tomorrow!

colemcward we’ll be there soon Ty!

tylerduke thank god I need y/n to keep me sane around the umich boys.

markestapa all of us are offended, we are not that bad!

ynhughes you are.

lhughes_06 she’s right sorry guys

markestapa don’t come back now.

ynhughes too late tickets are bought!

#cole mcward x hughes sister #cole mcward x reader #cole mcward #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #cole caufield #tyler duke #matthew tkachuk

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midnightsnyx · 7 months

Note

for smau… mat barzal just gushing over his girls (wife and daughters) all the time to the point where he literally doesn’t even post hockey anymore. it’s just his girls 25/8 and his teammates are always commenting and chirping at him.

love love love this idea!!! i took the name nora from my mat barzal fic and just picked the other from a baby name website. also, i dont know many islanders so theres only a few lol

honestly i kinda wanna take this and turn it into an AU lol

disclaimer: photo credit to all original owners. they were found on google/pinterest/etc. requests for blurbs & instagram edits are open!

barzal97

liked by dawson1417, yourusername, and others

barzal97 best feeling in the world.

view all comments

al_rom26 second that! ⤷ barzal97 ✌️

user1 good luck this season!!!

ny_islanders 😎

titobeauvi91 miss you brother ⤷ barzal97 miss you too! see you on the ice✌️ ⤷ user2 screaming crying throwing up

mattymarts17 there will be a better feeling one day bud

barzal97

liked by titobeauvi91, bohorvat, and others

barzal97 missing this girl

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user1 since when does Mat have a gf?? ⤷titobeauvi91 that's his wife 👀 ⤷user2 SINCE WHEN IS MAT BARZAL MARRIED

ynbarzal miss you too ❤️ ⤷user3 brb going to stalk her profile

bohorvat young love

al_rom26 yeah man you're kinda depressing when your wifey isn't here ⤷barzal97 am not ⤷mattymarts17 he's right

barzal97

liked by ynbarzal, _connorbedard, and others

tagged: yourusername

barzal97 my wife's been upgraded to baby mama

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pagertrain did yn approve this caption? ⤷ynbarzal no she did not.

joshanderson_77 congrats guys!

user1 omg awwwww

titobeauvi91 can't wait to be upgraded to uncle ⤷barzal97 you'll have to visit us

user2 baby mama lmao love it

ynbarzal can you come make me a sandwich ⤷barzal97 I am in the next room?? ⤷ynbarzal too much energy ⤷bohorvat don't question pregnant women bud ⤷user3 she's so cute omg

barzal97

liked by ynbarzal, ny_islanders, and others

barzal97 Welcome to the world Nora. Beyond thankful for my wife❤️

tagged: ynbarzal

titobeauvi91 booking my plane ticket now ⤷barzal97 ✌️

ny_islanders Congrats to the Barzal's!

mattymarts17 we're so happy for you guys. ⤷barzal97 thanks man

user2 still can't believe mat barzal is married and has a kid

al_rom26 wow, congrats guys!

ynbarzal love you and our little family <3 ⤷barzal97 love you ❤️

barzal97

liked by ny_islanders, ynbarzal, and others

tagged: ynbarzal

barzal97 like mama like daughter

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bohorvat Holly said to bring Nora for a playdate with the kids soon ⤷ynbarzal i'll text her!

user1 she is literally living the life we all want ⤷user2 fr

al_rom27 workin on #2 yet? ⤷ynbarzal get outta here ⤷barzal97 👀

titobeauvi91 do you even play hockey anymore🙄 ⤷barzal97 full time dad ⤷ynbarzal he's in dad mode

user3 🥺🥺🥺

mattymarts17 she's growing like a weed

barzal97

liked by bohorvat, al_rom26, and others

tagged: ynbarzal

barzal97 Nora is getting upgraded to big sister!

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titobeauvi91 growing your own hockey team so you don't have to play? ⤷barzal97 you know it

user1 no wayyy ⤷ynbarzal yes wayyy

ny_islanders Can't wait to see Nora as a big sis!

al_rom26 you just should change your username to "mat barzal family fan account" ⤷ynbarzal tell me about it

barzal97

liked by ynbarzal, ny_islanders, and others

tagged: ynbarzal

barzal97 everyone meet Rosie

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user1 girl dad!!!

mattymarts17 how's Nora adjusting? ⤷barzal97 she doesn't want anyone else to hold her Rosie so we're working on that

titobeauvi91 2 down, 18 to go ⤷ynbarzal Anthony, get out of here

barzal97

liked by bohorvat, colecaufield, and others

tagged: ynbarzal

barzal97 thought playing hockey was the best feeling in the world. turned out, it wasn't even close.

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titobeauvi91 that is so sweet... I kind of love it

ynbarzal we love you so much ❤️

ny_islanders beautiful family!

user1 literally crying ⤷user2 same omg

al_rom26 ok this is officially a mat barzals family fan account

mattymarts17 I told you bud

#hockey imagines #allies writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #allie answers #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #fake insta post #social media au #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fluff

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alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

Pairings: Andrew Garfield x Photographer!Reader

Summary: In 2018 you met someone on a plane. You played board games and somehow that man stayed in your life. You've been pretty private until that man, love of your life spilled the guts during his interview with British GQ.

A/N: I watched Andrew's '10 essentials' video and somehow it produced this little Social Media story. Enjoy! Andrew articulates his thoughts very beautifully and philosophically, I tried to somehow embrace it.

2018

yourinstagram

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by ynupdates, yourbestfriend and 56 282 others

yourinstagram london, im coming!!! can't wait to be back home and work in the uk for some time.

photo taken by the kind stranger that earlier lost to me in bananagrams. board games at its finest.

view all 16 292 comments

yourbestfriend can't wait to see you, bby!

ynupdates just wanted to say that i love all the photos you've done for the latest Vogue issue. i really admire your talent❤️

⤷ yourinstagram thank you, lovely! xx

vogue we're waiting for you, yn!

gqbritish we are too!

user33 is she the one that won the international portrait photographer of the year?

⤷ ynupdates yes, she is!

⤷ user55 is she under some agency or something? I'd love to contact her for some photoshoot

⤷ ynupdates i believe she's now working around magazines' photoshoots, hence the gqbritish and vogue commenting

——————————————————————————————

andregarfieldlasagna

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by andrewmyhusband, andrewspiderman and 4 292 others

andrewgarfieldlasagna Andrew today in London!

view all 1 292 comments

andrewmyhusband who is he taking photo of, smiling this hard???

⤷ andrewbtch people that saw him said he was out with some woman, but they didn't know who she was

andrewspiderman man's looking soon good 🤤

garfieldmyman THE arm!!! and that smile?? I can't

agfan772 that is a very specific camera, isn't it rather professional?

⤷ andrewsgirl well, he has loads of money so he's probably buying the best

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2019

yourinstagram

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by vogue, ynupdates, andrewgarfieldlasagna and 3 292 292 others

yourinstagram earlier this year i was invited by the incredible Gia Coppola to visit the set of her newest film, Mainstream. it is streaming online in early 2020, starring this guy, but also, and most importantly, absolutely talented and beautiful Maya Hawke.

view all 34 217 comments

mayahawke i love you, i love you, i love you

⤷ yourinstagram i love youuuu xx

gqbritish are we teasing our next cover star?

⤷ yourinstagram are we?

⤷ gqbritish we are.

andrewgarfieldlasagna omg!!!! 🤤 Andrew as a blond man looks sooo good

andrewbtch him covering gq??? and yn's taking photos? its gonna be great

ynscamera she's around andrew so much. on the latest vogue party she was seen leaving with him...

⤷ andrewscat she said in her one and only (for now) interview that she's great friends with him. i wouldn't be speculating about their private lives.

⤷ ynupdates she also said that he's one of the most down to earth celebrities she's ever met. but also that whenever she's around him, he's just andrew and you can't feel any arrogance or swankiness that is often associated with stars.

⤷ ynscamera they seem like great friends. good for them!

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2020

gqbritish

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by yourinstagram, ynupdates, andrewgarfieldlasagna and 3 292 393 others

gqbritish Andrew Garfield, man that became someone he'd dreamed of being. This month we interviewed one of the most wanted actors and (let's face it) men on planet Earth. How his SpiderMan movies changed his life? Is he in the newest MCU production with Tom Holland and Tobey Maguire? How friendships within and outside the Hollywood established him as a person? Click the link in our bio to get the (philosophical) answers to those and some more questions.

styled by Andrew Garfield

photographed by yourinstagram

GQ British 2020

view all 183 303 comments

andrewspiderman 'im not a werewolf!' sure andrew...

andrewgarfieldlasagna the way he speaks about his friendship is something I want to be able to express. he loves all of those people so much. it's so sweet.

ynupdates 'I wouldn't say I have hundrenths of best friends. No. I've got a few. My men from when we were young and beautiful. My YN that - she's just the perfect friend, you know? You'd say there's no 'perfect' people, and before knowing her I would've agreed. But now? She knows exactly what you need, how to talk with you. She - she's like a ray of sunshine you await all day, you know? Just before the sunset, it happens. And then it stays with you till you close your eyes before falling asleep. That's YN and her presence.'

⤷ ynupdates 🥺 I can't. he talks about her so beautifully...

⤷ ynscamera i want him as my best friend

⤷ amdrewandyn i refuse to belief those two people aren't in love, there's no way

yourinstagram working with this man is an absolute pleasure. thank you, gq for the opportunity of capturing this man's charm and warmth. ❤️

⤷ gqbritish no, we thank YOU.

agfan918 what a beautiful man

andrewspiderman he's denying those spiderman rumours so much with the proofs laying on the table

⤷ andrewsupdates like andrew said 'it's a photoshop'

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andrewsmylove

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by ynupdates and andrewgarfieldlasagna 2 102 others

andrewsmylove guysssssss... i met andrew fucking garfield. i met the love of my life. i can die happy now.

view all 1 007 comments

andrewsmylove before you all start asking questions let me say this 1) it was outside london 2) he was out shopping (he had so many shopping bags full of groceries) 3) this picture was taken with zoom - we kept at least 8 feet distance 4) i got to have a small convo with him 🥺

andrewgarfieldlasagna oh god, so happy for you, love! ❤️

andrewspiderman do you know how he's dealing with quarantine?

⤷ andrewsmylove he said 'im alright, thank you. it's different, its hard. but there are people that don't have the luxury of staying comfortably at home and do mostly nothing. that, that's unsettling. i won't complain about myself. we just need to pull through it and hopefully it'll quickly become a history'

⤷ andrewbtch why isn't it surprising that he's Firstly thinking of others? he's so thoughtful

⤷ andrewsmylove he is! he talked to me about the food bank that just opened near the place we met. Two of those bags he was carrying were going there.

andrewandyn so happy for you! do you know if he's alone?

⤷ andrewsmylove he's not! when we were saying our goodbyes i said that i hoped he wasn't alone. he said 'oh don't worry, darling. i’ve got my family with me'

andrewbtch is this man shopping wearing a suit???

——————————————————————————————

2021

yourinstagram

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liked by ynupdates, vogue, gqbristish, andrewgarfieldlasagna and 3 292 394 others

yourinstagram little lynn says hello

view all 199 383 comments

vogue hello, little Lynn!!! 👶

gqbritish we can't wait to see her during your photoshoots!

yourbestfriend keeping this little one a secret was haaard! my beautiful goddaughter ❤️

mayahawke congratulations, baby!!

andrewspiderman congratulations!!

andrewandyn i didn't know she was dating anybody during quarantine

⤷ andrewbtch i was sure she was spending it with andrew

⤷ andrewsmylove maybe they're, you know...

⤷ andrewbtch if andrew is a dad it's the end. nah, i can't take it. he's sooo hot plus a dad??? nope.

——————————————————————————————

andrewgarfieldlasagna

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by andrewspiderman, andrewandyn and 8 292 others

andrewgarfieldlasagna i can't belive it 🥺 after all those leaked photos, i still wasn't sure they'd bring andrew and tobey to be in this movie. andrews laying didn't help either. but im sooo happy. it was perfect

view all 1 292 comments

andrewspiderman when ned opened the first portal i recognised that lean man immediately, but when he pulled off the mask i screamed so loudly 😭

andrewandyn it was so nicely done. bringing them back didn't outshine Tom's performance. im so glad to be alive and seeing Andrew's wearing that suit for the third time

yourinstagram 'im not a werewolf' liaaaaaaaar

⤷ andrewsmylove omgggg hi Queen!

⤷ andrewbtch yn???? you didn't know???

⤷ yourinstagram nope. this is the cause of our divorce.

——————————————————————————————

⤷ andrewandyn divorce, babe. divorce.

⤷ andrewbtch poor andrew getting divorce from his best friend 😢

2022

andrewspiderman

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by andrewgarfieldlasagna, andrewandyn, andrewsmylove and 12 292 others

andrewgarfieldlasagna Andrew in his '10 essentials' video with GQ told a story of him and YN meeting. ON A FLIGHT. PLAYING BOARD GAMES. 'We are married. She's the mother of my child.' I am so happy for them 🥺

view all 2 392 comments

andrewandyn I told all so. I was right!!!!

andrewspiderman DILF.

andrewbtch daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry. daddy?

andrewmyhusband well, time to change the username...

ynupdates they named their child after his mother 🥺

andrewsmybaby guys!!!! gq released an interview as well

⤷ andrewspiderman no way! do you have a link?

⤷ andrewsmybaby ofc! www./gq-magazine/.co.uk

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www./gq-magazine/.co.uk

Andrew Garfield's search for ultimate philosophy of his life

Living the last year in Andrew's skin would be both - fulfilling and terrifying. Golden Globe win, an Emmy nomination, re-playing SpiderMan - Andrew is speaking about the freedom he feels while choosing his next projects. Not excluding the new experience, new life he'd been living since last year.

Interviewer: I cannot not start this conversation with congratulating you.

Andrew: (blushing) Oh, thank you very much. Thank you.

I: You won a Golden Globe for your portrayal of Jonathan Larson in Tick, Tick...Boom!

A: Yeah. Super cool. Yes. It- you know how it can be with awards. I don't say I don't like them. It's pleasing to be recognised by the critics. But (scratching his beard) with this film it never was made for awards. Or I've never treated it like it. The storytelling of Jonathan's life, genius and impeccable talent was what I wanted to present as genuinely as it could be possible. Showing young and older people that this man did so much for theatre, for music, for people.

I: You definitely brought him to life.

A: That's- that's what I wanted. Thank you for acknowledging my pains.

I: Of course. I'd never deny someone's genius in acting.

A: No, no. Please no. I have this problem with that word. Genius is something that remarkable people could be blessed with. People making difference in the world, changing it for the better. No genius in my head. But like all words and feelings there is no universal meaning to them. So, in your understanding of the word: thank you.

I: You said about changing the world, but last year your world changed completely.

A: (smiling) Yes. Yes, it did.

I: You're a married man.

A: I am. I am married to the most delicate, understanding, caring, mesmerising woman I've ever met. I don't think my or your lifetime would be enough for me to express how much this woman changed my life. The- the absolute love I feel is one of the greatest feelings I've experienced. Such an eternal feeling.

I: It's not the only change, is it?

A: (laughs, while blushing) No.

I: Last year you welcomed your daughter in the world. You're a dad!

A: Yes! I finally can shamelessly make those ludicrous jokes. Even if not funny it's a dad joke.

I: How's that? Being a father?

A: Don't make me start. (laughs) At home, I have two rays of sunshine, beaming at me, making me absolutely awestruck. It's not helping when the little one is the picture of her mother - mind-bogglingly precious. It's- it's funny because my brother has kids. And whenever he spoke about how much he loved, appreciated and just - just valued them and his wife, I couldn't comprehend that. Love was always such a beautiful but mysterious feeling for me, somehow uncomprehending. And then YN came into my life. And little L was born. Those feelings just started burning my heart. My whole body. I still can't understand it. But it's so magical. You're really ready to do anything for that little human.

I: How are all the milestones?

A: Exciting. (tears up) Fuck. See? Oh God. Being so full of that love is- oh screw it. I'm done. (laughs)

I: What are your plans?

A: There's not many of them. We're trying to live the moment with YN, appreciate the joy that Universe gave us - little Lynn. We're living from one milestone to the other. From her first smile, through first prattle, first solo sitting situation to those attempts of the first word. I'm not the youngest, the big 40 is waiting around the corner, and experiencing those joys with my love is, I think, the essence of my existence.

I: Do you think without that you'd be lost?

I: Fullfilled.

A: I don't know. Maybe. Probably. It's a big thing to derive your happiness from other people, even if it's your absolute partner and child. It's dangerous. (Andrew thinks for a moment.) That's why I surf. It clears my mind, brings me my own, autarcik joy. It's something that is only mine. YN isn't a fan of surfing, but accepts and supports my endeavours. So to answer your question, without them my existence wouldn't feel pure. They make me complete.

A: Yes. It's strange getting to know in your late 30s that you lack so much. That your life could be so different if you met that on person earlier or not at all. There always was that perpetual search in me, for meaning of life, for love, for - you know - answers. Why, why why. There still is that search, but now I can just leave one room and go look for my wife and talk to her about it, search together. Or I can find my daughter, hug her and speak to her, sing. And even though she, for now, only can be a blabbery little human, the search is united.

I: What do you wish for now, in your life?

A: Like a dad would say, health. (laughs) My dad has so fun with calling me out on sounding just like him. I do. I do sound just like him. That's what fathers do apparently.

Magazine GQ

Andrew Garfield

Photographed by YN Garfield

——————————————————————————————

yourinstagram

♥️ 💬 ➤

liked by mayahawke, andrewgarfieldlasagna, gqbritish, yourbestfriend and 5 202 292 others

yourinstagram exhausted (the best) father after chasing his one-year-old daughter around for the whole day.

1461 days with you and it still amazes me how my love for you can only grow.

view all 140 292 comments

yourbestfriend i know im late, but im still babysitting my little baby. youll have the whole hause to yourselves

mayahawke give my baby L a kiss!

⤷ yourinstagram be quick. lil lynn is ready to sleep and parents are ready to play Bananagrams

⤷ andrewsmylove bananagrams??? the game that they played the first time they met??? 🥺

andrewspiderman 4 years and a day??? they've been together for so long

⤷ andrewsmylove not really a day. it's fu 4 years - leap year has 366 days - so it's right

andrewbtch i still can't belive he's a father

ynupdates happy anniversary! ❤️

andrewgarfieldlasagna happy anniversary, lovies!!

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield fluff #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield x you

876 notes · View notes

weenwrites · 2 months

Note

love 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 LOVE your writing! You’re one of, like, three authors I can actually identify. (I don’t pay attention to who writes what nor do I remember, but you write so well that from rereads and new reads I recognize you).

When you feel up to it, can you do TFP Smokey, OP, and Ratchet with an s/o (cargo plane alt, big bot, like Stratosphere) crashing like Smokey did and the surprise reunion? Aaaand maybe other misc reactions of such a big bot?

✎ A/N: Aa thank you so much for your kind words!! :D Also I could've sworn I did a reuniting with S/O on earth thing with Optimus and Ratchet before, so I leaned more towards reactions about having a massive S/O instead.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Smokescreen

When the two of you first met, he was in complete and total awe at your sheer gargantuan size. In fact, the way he gawked at you the whole time he was passing by, may have caught your attention and saved him from bumping straight into a glass panel that two bots were moving, and if that wasn't the case, then ah well.

Anyway, back before the war grew so hectic, he was proud to have a partner as cool as you, and every time the random person he was talking with would comment about you, he'd casually just slip in a "yeah, that's my partner" with the most love-struck look on his face.

There's no place in the world where he wouldn't recognize you right off the bat. Aside from your size being your most defining trait, he'd recognize your color scheme, alt-mode, and voice anywhere, no matter what was going on. And the moment you crash-landed right in front of him, he was so confident that he knew you well enough to tell you apart from any phony.

Of course the rest of the team were immediately going at him, telling him that it's not that easy to tell their real friends apart from the spies, but when he's proven right that it is indeed you, he never lets them live it down and now all they want is for him to shut up about it.

As badly as he wants to share a habsuite with you, the chances are that you are waaay too big to fit in any rooms. The largest room that could possibly fit you is the training room, but even then you dwarf it easily (and also they need to use that...). Once you get your own room, however, he spends much more time with you in there than he does in his own habsuite.

He brags about you quite a lot to the rest of the team and says things like "did you know that my s/o—" or "oh hey! y/n used to enjoy doing that before the war—" and at this point they're all fed up with how lovesick he is. They would shove him off on patrol with you to take care of the problem. Even Arcee's started teasing you, about all these things that Smokescreen's said, and honestly it'll get so embarrassing that you'll probably ask him to stop at some point.

He's very eager to fight along side you, and keeps encouraging you to go out with him into battle. He'll paint vivid pictures of your shared glory—just imagine, the moment you step onto the field you'll completely level the cons to ashes! They won't ever know what hit them!

Optimus

If you met sometime before the war, when he was still an archivist, then he'd frequently go out to visit you since you were probably too big to be walking around the Iacon Hall of Records. Flying with you was one of his favorite past times after any long and difficult shifts. Unfortunately the two of you don't get to enjoy that once peaceful feeling of flying together when the war started. Flying lost its relaxing touch and soon became more stressful and frightening, as the fear of being shot out of the sky became more prevalent in both your lives.

Soon enough, the fear of losing one another had became something so horrifically possible, and the next second it became real, and the rest became history that passed in several long, agonizing years.

As opposed to expressing joy and relief to seeing you again—well, he partly was—he was initially skeptical that it was truly you. The team had been tricked by a decepticon spy before, who's to say it won't happen again? Yet the moment you confirm your identity, he allows his cold, distant front to drop, and he sincerely welcomes you back.

Though he didn't express any enthusiasm outright upon seeing you again, he makes his feelings clearer once the two of you are away from prying eyes. And as you catch up, it's not hard to miss how the war has made him jaded and weary, yet you don't have to look too far to see glimpses of how he was before.

He tries to situate a nice comfortable living space for you—preferably somewhere that's within the base, but since you're too big to fit in any of the current rooms they have, the best they'd have is probably someplace outside. And if this is sometime after the base was destroyed, then unfortunately the best he could do for you was get the biggest hangar they have on base to house you in your alt-mode.

But then there comes the problems with energon rations... Your massive size and your altmode automatically constitutes an equally large portion of energon is required for you to function, and with the team's unfortunate shortage and size, it's difficult to obtain enough energon to keep everyone functioning... Yet perhaps now with your assistance, it may be easier to obtain enough energon to supply the entire team.

Ratchet

Even before the war, he was no stranger to loss. There have been patients who he couldn't save and the war only increased that amount ten-fold, yet the feeling never ceased in it's capacity to tear him apart from the inside. A lot of horrible things have happened to him, but the moment he lost you took the cake for the "worst thing that's ever happened". And in that moment, it was as if things were as painful and horrible as possible, it couldn't get any worse and it would never get better again.

And yet that moment eventually passed, as all things do. Though the tears shed have long since dried, and the loud, echoing sobs have grown quiet, that absence always stuck with him. He doesn't think of it as much as he used to, he's far too occupied with his own work to mourn, but it's still there.

Beholding you was like beholding a ghost, and he couldn't really believe that you were standing right there in front of him. He's nigh speechless, but somehow he manages to get himself together to say your name at the very least. He's quick to run a general check-up, and your massive size doesn't slow his work in the slightest.

As much as he'd prefer to have you live within the base, the place is already pretty crowded as is, and with someone your size packed in with the rest of the bunch, he wouldn't be surprised if the number of accidents around the base would skyrocket tenfold. Of course he doesn't mean any offense to you, it's just that there's no space for you. Their current base is so ridiculously minuscule in comparison to the buildings back on cybertron that it feels like they're living in a cardboard box that the U.S. government kicked over to them. While it's certainly far from ideal, he still has to make do, so he'll try to help think of something to improve your living conditions.

Sure, the thought that someone could get hurt on a mission is something that weighs on his mind every single time, but for some reason whenever you're deployed, that anxiety of his worsens ten-fold. It may be because you're partners, but from a medical standpoint, if you were to get hurt, you could leave a massive crater in the team's resources. Not only could you easily wipe out what little energon they have, but the team doesn't have the proper resources to patch up any major injuries, and the last thing he wants right now is to be forced to say goodbye to you permanently.

#tfp imagines #tfp headcanons #tfp x reader #tfp smokescreen #smokescreen x reader #tfp optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #tfp ratchet #ratchet x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites

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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

Text

Perfume Allergy (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Reader makes an unlikely friend on her flight to Italy.

Warnings: I believe a little swearing, talks of planes and such.

A/N: I came up with this story on a plane! It was a blast to write and I’m honestly really proud of it. I hope you enjoy!

You always found flying in an airplane to be an odd experience. A set amount of people, usually around 100 plus, were all leaving a certain destination to get to another destination; on the same time, on the same day. All hundred of those people board a thin metal tube that’ll fly at over 30,000 miles in the sky at around 500 miles per hour. If you were to ask these people why they’re going to their final destination; you’d get varied answers. Work, visiting family, college, going to a sports game.

Which leads you to now. If you’d been told this morning that you’d be witnessing a near allergic reaction freakout on your flight to Venice, you’d laugh. However, you can’t laugh now. There was a whole fiasco going on in the main cabin of the large plane.

“You said Peter has a perfume allergy?” A tall, bearded man in a tan golfers cap asked. “I’ll tell you from experience, perfume allergies are no joke. I can feel hives breaking out already,” The man stood up from his middle-row seat. A boy 2 rows up, sporting a zip-up dark blue hoodie also stood up. His expression was one of shock and disappointment, staring at another boy deeply. His brown hair was gelled neatly to the sides, creating a simple hairstyle.

The tall man commanded a few passengers, asking a pretty girl named MJ to stand up, and telling a boy named Ned to sit in her spot. The brown-haired, blue sweatshirt boy was staring at sat down. That’s Ned. Noted. The bearded man spun around the narrow aisle, pointing around other people to other seats.

“Ned, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Your safety is my responsibility,” The man said. He also muttered something under his breath, but you couldn’t quite make it out.

Once all the commotion ended, who you learned to be Peter and Mr. Harrington sat down in the row in front of you. Peter softly thanked the man for saving him and awkwardly shuffled to his seat. It was a funny situation. Mr. Harrington was right, perfume allergies were definitely no joke.

“Did I tell you about how my wife pretended to blip out? Turns out she ran off with a guy in her hiking group; we had a fake funeral for her and everything. Well, the funeral was real. I thought she was really dead. Do you wanna see the video?” Mr. Harrington rambled. You felt for Peter. He was publicly embarrassed by his friend for having a simple allergy. Now he’s stuck sitting next to his chatty teacher who makes strange comments. You chuckle, partly because of the hilarity of the teacher’s comment. The other part was due to the fact that Peter was going to be subjected to this for the next 9 hours. “Oh! You have a dual headphone adapter. Here, we can watch it together!”

Oof. This was going to be a long flight.

You didn’t think of the idea until an hour into the flight. This plane ride was international, meaning, obviously, you had access to the tablet screens hooked up to your seat. Most airlines carry a feature where you can chat with seatmates or other passengers on the plane. If you’re not mistaken, maybe you can make a new friend?

You bit your thumb as you scroll through all the computer features. The small screen carried almost everything. Hit new movies, streaming and live TV shows, cute little games, and more. After scrolling for a while, you found the ‘chat’ option.

A green welcome screen appeared before you. It requested you type in your desired chat buddy’s seat number. Well, he’s directly a row in front of you. If you are row 24, he’s row 23. After counting seat positions in your head, Peter should be 23F. Carefully, you type the seat number in; it alarmed you the passenger has been invited.

It took a long minute before Peter accepted.

23F: Hello?

24F: Hi…is this perfume allergy Peter?

Despite the loud roaring of the airplane engines, you heard a close groan. This frustrated reaction causes a slight chuckle to escape your lips. Hopefully, you thought, he didn’t hear this and wouldn’t immediately hate you.

23F: Ugh, you heard that?

24F: Loud and clear. Don’t worry though, I thought it was funny. Definitely not as embarrassing as you thought. That 16-year-old getting caught with the drink was far funnier.

Typing these long sentences on the small screen was rather difficult. It wasn’t the most efficient way to communicate. The small tiles on the keyboard could only do so much when you are trying to type fast. Your tapping was louder than the groan Peter let out moments before. Maybe he’ll be curious about the noise and look behind him to find you? You can't deny, that when you saw the boy stand up you found him attractive. His face had sharp features, and you couldn’t help but notice the muscle tone that shone through his flannel and sweatshirt.

23F: Would it be embarrassing to admit I know him?

You pause. Wait…was that kid also on this weird field trip Peter was going on? Must be a senior trip or something.

24F: Not as embarrassing as having the name Perfume Allergy Peter. Is this a school trip?

There was a slight pause in Peter’s responses. You’d imagined he also was having the same typing struggle you were. You heard some rustling in front of you. From the small crack between the seats, it had been Mr. Harrington. You could hear the soft snores coming from his open mouth. Jeez, he could catch flies with that thing.

23F: Harhar. Yeah, science trip. Most of my class is here.

The more you and Peter talked, you both learned about each other. Peter had an Aunt named May that he trusted with his life. He learned you were in Venice on a short vacation. Despite being a teenager, your parents trusted you immensely. So they bought your tickets and reserved the hotel. Peter had a best friend Ned, who was the boy he was sitting next to before he got up. He also didn’t have a perfume allergy. He fessed up on trying to sit next to a girl. You found it corny, but oddly charming.

You cracked a smile. As you attempted to type your reply, the screen froze up. A small alert came up reading ‘Announcement In Progress…’. Rolling your eyes, you tried your best to listen.

“Attention passengers. We have officially reached our cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. You are now able to use the in-seat power outlets located at the bottom of your seats as well as the bottom of the in-seat TV tabled located in front of you. Shortly, our flight attendants will be roaming the cabin with drink carts where you get a complimentary drink and snack. About halfway through our flight, you will be provided with a complimentary meal. To see the menu, you can find it on your TV screen under the ‘food menu’ option. Now, please sit back and enjoy our flight to Venice,” A friendly feminine voice came over the PA within the plane. Some jolted awake, while others were still completely passed out. That counted Mr. Harrington.

He shared more about the alcohol boy, who he called Flash. Peter told the story about how he once crashed the boy’s car. However, he left a lot of holes in the story. When you asked why he had it, he told some patchy story about being a part-time valet.

23F: You never told me your name.

24F: I’m a woman of mystery.

You’d caught Peter trying to turn around in his seat a few times. You knew he caught glimpses of you because you caught glimpses of him. Now that you’re closer in proximity to him, you saw more details. His left eyebrow had a bit of disturbance in it. He also had a small scar on his left cheek, close to the cheekbone. He was gorgeous. You couldn't deny it. Even on a travel day where he’ll be jet lagged and sweaty once the ride is done, he still looked amazing. You felt a little awkward in your baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants now.

23F: Wanna play 20 questions?

You chuckled. If you had a dollar for every time you’d heard that question in your teenage years; you’d be a quadrillionare. Sure, that’s not a real number. Which further encapsulates your dramatic point.

24F: Ick, is that your way of asking if I’m a virgin?

A hand appeared, dangling over your screen. It was Peter’s. He was flipping you off.

23F: I just wanted to know your favorite color :(

A tap on the shoulder made you jump. Your seatmate, a sweet older lady, was trying to get your attention. Slowly, she pointed towards the aisle on your left. You looked up from the screen, seeing a taller male flight attendant with a chunky grey cart. He smiled at you, motioning towards the cart.

“Anything for you, ma’am?” His kind smile caused you to smile as a reaction. His hair was red, funnily resembling someone from the Weasley family in Harry Potter. He wore a goofy-looking dark blue suit. In all honesty, it looked a bit large on him.

Your smile never faded, “Water, please.”

After you’d received the hilariously miniature cup, you saw another message pop up from Peter on your tablet. You’d set the plastic on your small table, placing it in the designated dip for cups that it offered.

23F: Gee, Smiley McGee over there. You’d think he had a six-pack under that suit or something.

24: Someone’s mad they don’t have a 6 pack under their flannel.

Suddenly, you hear more rustling and movement ahead of you. You peek through the crack; Peter’s teacher was still. His mouth was still wide open, and there was a slight snore. A seatbelt unbuckled and now someone is towering in front of you. Peter’s hands were dangling over your screen, leaning his entire body weight on the back of his seat.

“What if I did?” Peter questioned, playfully raising an eyebrow.

You humorously frowned, “What happened to the shy Peter I witnessed at the beginning of the flight? The one that had to be defended by a pretty girl? The one with the perfume allergy? Yeah, I miss him.”

He rolled his dark caramel-colored eyes.

“I think this is the part where you say ‘I have proof’ and you lift your shirt and boom, there are six-pack abs. And then I get all shocked and flustered because I didn’t expect you to be telling the truth. Then, we exchange numbers, get married, and live happily ever after. Just like in all the cheesy romantic comedies from the 90s. Foolproof plan!”

Peter laughed, shuffling around on his knees to get in a more comfortable position. “You’re a crazy lady. At least buy me dinner first.”

“Already did.”

“But it’s complimentary?”

You laughed, “I was hoping you didn’t hear that.”

Peter chuckled with you. For the past 5 hours, you’d been speaking to this boy. He knew your whole story. If you were a story, he was the best friend who knew your true origin. Considering the Avengers and stuff, maybe you secretly were a superhero. Or Peter? Nah. Who are you kidding? That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to teenagers flying out of JFK International Airport.

“Well…maybe you could make it up to me by possibly giving me a special 10-digit number?” The brunette suggested, raising his left eyebrow up and down.

You hold your hand up to your ear. You also squinted your eyes, really trying to fake not being able to hear him. “I’m sorry, Peter. The engines are too loud. I’m having a really hard time hearing you. Can you repeat yourself?”

“I want your phone number.”

“At least by me dinner first.” You smirked.

#peter parker #spiderman #marvel imagine #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman far from home #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #reader x peter parker #mcu imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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enchanting-eloquence · 2 years

Text

Competition part 1 (Jake Seresin)

Summary: A trip to visit your boyfriend on base turns into a competition when you realise you weren't the only couple with ideas of hot reunion sex.

4.3k words of pure smut (one day I'll learn to write short!)

Author notes: Thank you so much for reading! All comments, likes or shares would be massively well received, thank you! ❤️ This also hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for any mistakes!

Warnings: Porn with a hint of plot, minors do not engage and move it along! Voyeurism, overstimulation, bad language, unprotected sex (be safe kids!), fingering, oral (f receiving), m/f sex. Tell me if I've missed anything.

Competition - part 1

Part 2

Family day at the country’s most prestigious military academy wasn’t something you’d ever considered having to attend, let alone dress for. But now here you stood, on Jake’s third visit to Top Gun, shifting from one foot to the other as you regretted wearing such a pretty sundress to somewhere that apparently was five degrees cooler than anywhere else on the island.

You’d seen the outside of the building before of course, dropping Jake off when he’d been called up just a few weeks before. But to go inside was something else and you couldn’t help but be impressed by the many photos on display of planes soaring through the air at gravity defying angles as you signed in and moved through to join a larger group of people in a vast hall.

On the wall beside you was a large plaque filled with names of every pilot ever to be called up. You scanned the list until you saw the one you were looking for not once but three times, and a rose of pride bloomed in your chest. It was one thing for your boyfriend to tell you he was the best, another to see the evidence for yourself.

The doors opposite opened and a stream of uniformed people began to enter the room. You recognised some from social occasions, and met their eyes with a smile. But your grin was reserved for only one of them, and as Jake strode through the door - hands in pockets and wooden toothpick in mouth - and looked directly at you, you felt both your heart and your womb flip. You saw his eyes take you in; and saw the way his jaw tightened in response to the v-neckline of your dress as he walked to you and plucked the toothpick out of his mouth before dipping you into a kiss that was just showy enough to let everyone know they were meant to look. Even as you rolled your eyes, you kissed him back, grateful for the feel of his mouth on yours after three long weeks apart and barely wanting to let go when he pulled you back up and nuzzled his nose briefly to yours.

With a loud cough, two uniformed older men stepped into the room and one by one each of the pilots stopped what they were doing and stood to attention as the taller and broader of the two - Admiral Simpson - welcomed you all and explained the plan for the day, offering a free hour before lunch would be served.

Immediately, Jake’s hand went to the small of your back as he began to nudge you forwards. When you looked inquisitively at him, he only hissed. “Need you alone,” his eyes flashing in a way that had you following keenly behind him through the maze of corridors and through a door numbered 24.

As soon as it was closed your back was up against the smooth wood, his lips hot and firm on yours and his hands pressing roughly against your hips. You basked in the sharpness of strong coffee and the tang of mint on his breath, and inhaled the warm smell of cedarwood and spice as you allowed his lips to assault yours, allowed yourself to be taken in the way Jake always liked to do after he’d been away for a while.

“Need you,” he murmured, pulling away to let his hands frame your face before moving back in to force his tongue between your lips. Slowly his hands moved down, trailing a line along your throat and over your shoulder blades, across the sensitive tops of your breasts and down into the valley between.

“Missed these tits,” he whispered. “Wanted them in my mouth the second I saw you in that dress.” And then his mouth was following his finger, hand grasping at your back to pull down the zipper on your dress so he could shrug you out of it and moan at the sight of your lace covered breasts. Before you could so much as breathe, his mouth was on one nipple, sucking it hard through the lace while his fingers teased the other into a point.

You gasped out a laugh. “Jake give me a second, at least let me touch you.”

“Ah ah. Need this. Been thinking about this for three weeks sweetheart. Just want to take, want to play out everything I’ve been thinking about and make you feel good.” He stared directly at you, his green eyes sharp as though fixed on a target. “Want to see nothing but you.”

He caught your bottom lip between his teeth. “Taste nothing but you.”

Dipping his head into the crook of your neck he inhaled. “Smell nothing but you.”

Quickly, so quickly, a finger was inside your panties, coating itself in your slickness so that you gasped. “Feel nothing but you.”

As he pressed against the bundle of nerves, you let out a soft moan and heard him murmur into your ears, “hear nothing but you.”

As if on command, you heard a thud against the wall opposite you, followed by a loud giggle and a moan.

Jake’s head snapped back, his eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

It took a moment - and another thud - for the realisation to dawn on your lust-addled brain before you brought a hand to your mouth, laughing out loud.

“I guess someone had the same idea?” You whispered loudly, stifling another quick laugh. “Who’s next door?”

“Fucking Bradshaw.” Jake cursed through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed on the wall as though he could burn lasers through it.

“Oh,” you somehow managed to be rational despite the burning heat in your core. “Rooster has a girlfriend? I thought he and - what was her name?”

Jake turned back to look at you in disbelief. “You really want to talk about Rooster’s love life right now?”

You waved a hand to the wall as you heard the rhythmic creaking of bed springs. “I mean, it’s not like we can think about much else…”

On a grunt, your boyfriend fisted a hand in your hair dragging your lips in for a rough kiss before snaking his free hand back into your panties as his teeth grazed your ear.

“Fuck. That. I have been waiting to get you alone for Three. Damn. Weeks.”

His thumb began to flick from side to side in your clit as his mouth assaulted your neck.

“I don’t care what anyone else is or isn’t doing through that wall, I will have you screaming my name over and over again.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Oh baby, anyone would think you were competitive.”

His head lifted up and you saw the quick flash of arrogance in his eyes.

“Is that what this is about?” You asked, voice stern. “Jake, I-.” But your words were lost on a moan as he plunged two skilled fingers between your folds and had them curling in a way that made your knees buck.

He chuckled. “When you’re the best there is there’s no need to compete sweetheart. But you do sometimes need to show others how it’s done.”

Before you had chance to catch your breath he dropped to his knees, pulling your underwear down in one smooth move and pushing the flat of his tongue against your clit as his fingers returned to your wet opening.

Your sucked in a breath and cupped your hand around the back of his head as you began to moan gently.

His eyes were back on yours as he pulled his mouth back, “oh y/n, you can make more noise than that. Or maybe I need to do something differently.”

His perfect pink lips were next to attack your clit, sucking the tiny bundle of nerves until it swelled and throbbed, until the knot in your stomach became too tight to bear and you found yourself standing on tip toe and grinding against his face in a desperate attempt for even more pressure.

“Shit Jake.” You groaned, his name one long syllable the sound of which made him moan into your heat, eyes sparkling as they stared up at you.

With two fingers still inside you his other hand got to work on your folds, dancing and scissoring around your pussy in ways you hadn’t even known you wanted.

His name became a chant on your lips, matched only by pounding of your pulse that seemed to echo in your ears, throb in your stomach.

“Yes sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you as he licked his wet slick lips sinfully. “Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You are baby,” you panted, beginning to see stars as his mouth returned to action faster and more forcefully than before. “Jake. So good. I’m going to. Fuck don’t stop. I’m Fuck. I’m.” The scream that left your lips was so loud you found your own hand flying up to cover your mouth even as you tried to remember how to breathe. And when Jake returned to his feet a few seconds later, he found you that way, hand still over your open mouth and eyes still half closed while the aftershocks of pleasure flooded through you.

“So good,” you murmured, unable to make a more complicated sentence if you tried. Fleetingly you realised that the noise next door had paused.

Jake grinned, sucking the moisture from his lips before removing your hand, kissing it as he spoke and led you across the room. “Now sweetheart I don’t want to see this hand here anymore, ok?” Your eyes widened and you dimly registered a light thudding against the wall as he guided you down onto the bed and, pinning you with his body, returned to your sensitive clit with a hand forceful enough to prevent the squeeze of your thighs when you tried. “I intend to make you feel so damned good that you’re screaming my name over and over again. And I don’t care who hears. OK?”

You nodded, gasping for breath as he stroked his thumb up and down on the swollen spot.

Through the wall you heard something that sounded a lot like “Bradley, now please,” followed by a loud whine.

Your boyfriend’s jaw tightened, and you had a sudden urge to laugh. But that urge vanished as he began to flick at you with more force, more speed, more intensity. Somehow the pressure inside you was beginning to build. Somehow you were racing rapidly towards another orgasm and your dripping pussy had begun to clench uselessly around thin air.

“Jake,” you breathed.

“Oh no sweetheart, I’m gonna need it louder than that.”

“Jake,” your voice was hoarse but loud enough to inspire that broad grin. “Need you. Inside.”

He shifted slightly to move his other hand between your legs but you flinched away, shaking your head as questioning green eyes rose to meet yours.

“Need your cock.”

Jake pursed his lips, the perfect picture of handsome arrogance, and was on his feet in a second, whipping down his trousers and underwear before climbing back between your legs and returning his thumb to your clit.

You arched your back from the bed and let out a sound low in your throat.

“Oh sweetheart,” Jake murmured. “Making such good noises for me.” He leaned right over to catch your lower lip between his teeth before opening his mouth to kiss you. You kissed back hard, using your tongue and the nails that clawed into his back in a desperate attempt to hurry him on as you continued to make sinful sounds into his mouth. His answering laugh was muffled by your lips.

“So desperate for me aren’t you?” He asked, lifting up from you to put a hand around his cock.

You stared at him wide eyed, watching as he pumped his hand up and down his thick length, spreading the moisture that was already leaking from the tip.

“Knew you would be,” he murmured, still stroking slowly with one hand while the thumb of his other continued to move against your clit. You were shaking now, your entire body trembling with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. “Been thinking about it every night that I’ve been here; about how you’d be at home, in our bed, touching yourself and wishing you could sneak in here,“

He shifted closer to you and your breath caught. “Sneak into this room,”

He removed his hand and lifted your legs over one shoulder. “Surprise me with a visit.”

His tip nudged at your entrance, so close that your walls fluttered in anticipation.

“And beg me to fuck you.” He hissed.

“Fuck me,” you whispered.

Jake raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck. Me.” You cried out in response, earning a deep thrust that filled you right up to the deep spongey spot within.

You grasped the bed sheets, screaming out a curse as Jake’s fingers returned to your clit.

“Oh darlin’, so fucking good for me,” he hissed. “Love it when you take me so deep, when I can watch myself moving in and out of you, watch how good you grip me.”

You thrashed from side to side, Jake was always good in bed but this was like nothing you’d ever felt before, your overly sensitive clit buzzing and your pussy throbbing harder with each thrust. The tension inside you was fast approaching boiling point, and if there were any thoughts left in your brain you might’ve felt embarrassed at how easily he’d gotten you there, but there was nothing. Nothing but him - his thumb on your clit, his arm on your ankles, the glorious slam of his hips against your ass, and delicious pressure of him pistoning in and out of you. You let out a stream of words that were nothing short of gibberish and he licked his lips like a predator ready to be fed.

“Gonna come for me darlin’?”

With wide, almost feral eyes you nodded, taking every ounce of strength you had to raise your head and stare down at him.

“Do it. Want to feel you. Want to hear you. Ready?”

Again you nodded, biting your lip so hard you thought blood might flow.

Jake shifted ever so slightly and for a moment you feared he might slow down. But instead he moved faster - faster than you ever thought possible, his thumb taking up the same brutal pace.

“Get ready. I want you to wait, wait on the edge for me to make you feel good.” You whimpered as he pulled back, “and when I tell you, you can come. Right. Now.”

And as he slammed all the way back into you, the pressure within you exploded and you heard yourself scream.

This time there wasn’t even a moment to recover as Jake continued to tap on the swollen bud of nerves just above your entrance. Pulling himself out of you he moved up the bed until he was half on top of you and could kiss your neck, cooing into your ear as you panted.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “Such a loud, good girl.”

You mewled and bucked your hips in a desperate attempt to get his fingers away from you.

“What’s wrong baby, don’t want me to make you feel good?”

“Too much,” you panted, “too much.”

“Tell me louder sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear as he gathered more juice from your folds and returned to press harder against your clit.

“Can’t come again Jake,” you groaned, “too sensitive. Can’t-.” You cut yourself off with a scream as he plunged two fingers inside of you and manoeuvred himself beneath you.

“You can baby. One more while you ride and I’ll give your clit a break. Ok?”

You bit your lip and shook your head.

“I can’t.”

“You can y/n. You want to make me feel good too right?”

Moving your hand down to his still hard, pulsing cock, you nodded jerkily.

“Good girl. Then climb on.”

You swallowed loudly, and heard the rhythmic thuds next door pick up pace as a distinctly masculine groan sounded. The sound was enough to make you follow instruction, trembling as you straddled your boyfriend’s tight hips until your now sopping pussy hovered over his weeping tip.

Jake used the hand that came to your hip to pull you down further. You moved gently, taking him inch by inch so that you could feel every ridge and vein of him as he filled you to the hilt.

When his broad head hit your cervix, you heard him grunt, and felt his hips snap reflexively, causing you to gasp and then again as his fingers resumed their movements.

“Oh that’s it darlin’,” Jake muttered. “Take every bit of me deep. You gonna ride me? Ride me until you come?”

The words set off a flutter in your womb and you found yourself moving as if in a trance, every bounce and grind causing you to flutter even further.

“Thought about this too y’ know.” He murmured. “Tugged my cock so many times thinking about you bouncing on it,” he grunted and thrust up to meet you, “so hard the bed banged off the wall. So hard everyone knew what we were doing.”

You whimpered.

“You like that darlin’? Like the idea of everyone knowing that my cock is inside you? Everyone knowing who your pussy belongs to?”

This time when the whimper left your lips he moved his hand up to your jaw. “Tell me y/n. Tell me whose this pussy is while you ride me.”

He was drawing figure of eights now over your clit, and you found yourself riding no longer on instruction but instead to chase yet another high building inside of you.

“Yours, you own this pussy Jake. Only. Fucking. You.”

“That’s right baby, only me.”

From the other side of the wall you heard a whine, followed by a single phrase. “That’s it you dirty, dirty girl.” Your pussy twitched in spite of you and Jake raised an eyebrow.

“Oh you like that?” He chuckled. “What is if you like baby? The dirty talk or being able to hear them fuck?”

You moaned softly as the noise stopped with one final thud next door.

“Or maybe,” Jake murmured, grinding himself into you forcefully, “you like knowing that they can hear us fuck.” He slowed his speech punctuating his words with the thrusts of his hips into the sensitive spot within you. “Knowing. That. Every time. This bed. Hits the wall. They know you’re taking. My cock. So. Fucking well.”

You gripped his hips, grinding into his erection, his fingers, desperately seeking more friction.

“Give them something to talk about baby, come for me again. Tell me what I need to do.”

“Don’t stop.” You panted, eyes rolling back into your head. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Somehow your climax felt even harder this time, hitting you in a way that made you cry out his name in a voice you could barely recognise as your own while you continued to ride him. For Jake’s part, he gripped your thighs tight enough that you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow. But you didn’t care - how could you when it felt so fucking good?

All you cared about right now was the sound of your name on his lips, the relief as his fingers finally gave your clit a break; and the shift inside your still pulsing walls as he sat up and pulled your head to him, fingers fisting in your hair as he kissed you deeply. He panted against your lips and you wondered briefly how in the hell he hadn’t cum yet, how he could still be so hard and still have that depth of lust in his eyes.

As if on command he pulled back, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Think you can give me one more sweetheart?”

Your eyes widened, “Jake you promised.”

And with a wicked glint in your eye he flipped you over until he was on top and began to move steadily within you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“I promised I’d stop touching your clit, and I will. But I know how to make it good for you without that, what do you say?”

Next door, you heard bed springs squeak and heard the steady chanting of a name. “Rooster, Rooster, Rooster.”

Your eyes flicked consideringly to the wall and then back to his as he thrust deliberately. “Do I have to call you Hangman?”

His handsome face lit up with that superstar smile, eyes sparkling with more than amusement. “Oh sweetheart I think we’re past that, don’t you? Now how about you turn over for me so I can hit all the right spots to drown them out.”

Legs still around his waist you sat up to plant a forceful open mouthed kiss on him as you dug your nails into his scalp.

He groaned out a sigh and returned the gesture, both of you kissing one another as though it were what you needed to breathe. And while he was still deep in the kiss you pulled away, backing off him until his cock slid from you with a pop and then flipping over until you were on your knees with your back to him, resting on your elbows and looking back to him through heavy lidded eyes.

“What do you say Hangman?” You asked as the squeaks picked up pace next door and you heard a loud keening. “Wanna make me scream.”

“Fuck.” He drew out the syllable in a deliciously sinful Texas drawl, and you watched over your shoulder as he fisted his cock, lining it up with your entrance before plunging it inside all the way to your most sensitive spot.

You both cried out in unison, his hand coming up to tug your hair into a ponytail and pull your head backwards, the curve in your spine leading the ridge on the head of his cock to move against your most sensitive spot with every thrust.

“How is it darlin’? Tell me how it feels?”

“So good,” you moaned, gasping for breath as the angle of your neck robbed you of oxygen. Any other time that might’ve been a concern. But right now oxygen was the least of your worries, all you really cared about was the delicious pressure of his dick inside you, of the glorious flames of pleasure that ignited within you every time his thrusts moved your hips forward in that way.

“I’ve missed you inside me. So big you fill me up so well. Missed your hands on me, missed you bending my body in whatever way feels good, taking what you want because you know you can. Know I’ll do anything you ask me to.”

Somehow he was right, the talk mixed with the pressure that accompanied every snap of his hips was enough to have another coil of pleasure tightening within you in a way you’d never been able to manage alone; never been able to manage with anyone but him.

“Why’s that baby? Why will you do anything for me?”

Next door you heard the voices pick up in volume, noises that only spurred you on.

“Because you’re the best Jake,” you moaned, voice getting louder as you knew he wanted. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, the best there is.”

“Yes,” his hips moved harder against yours, deeper still, and you felt his hard abs move against your ass. “That’s right darlin’, keep saying it.”

“Fucking me so deep, getting me so close again.” You cried out, “God Jake I’m close. So close.”

He pushed down on your lower back, tightening the angle that he hit your insides until it was deliciously painful.

Through the wall you heard a deep shout, followed by something like a whine. You didn’t care, it felt too good to care.

“Fuck you hit so deep. So fucking deep. I need to come around your cock.”

“Not yet baby,” he hissed, speeding up his movements as he barked the instruction. “You’re gonna come with me, understand?”

“Jake,” you keened, your womb tightening so much it hurt, and fucked your self back ok him. “Can’t wait, it’s coming. Need it now.”

“Not. Yet.” Again, he timed his words with thrusts and arched his own back as he thrust into you again. “I’m close baby, need you to hold on just a second.”

“Jake please, fill me up. Do it.”

You threw him a glance over your shoulder, your expression filthy and desperate as you told him quietly, “I want your cum dripping out of me while I walk around here today. Bet you’ve thought about that, huh? Having your cum running down my legs while I walk around this place.” His jaw slackened. “No one will know. But I’ll be all yours. All, yours.”

“Now.” He roared, and you screamed loudly enough to graze your throat as you finally exploded with him, feeling him coat the inner walls of your pussy. With one final, sloppy thrust, he put a hand around your middle and pulled you up to him, kissing your back and touching your sensitive nipples as he slowly fucked the last of his cum into you and breathed heavily.

“Fuck I’ve missed you.” He murmured.

You smiled and turned back to look at him again. “I had no idea.“

Slowly he pulled out of you, your combined juices flowing out onto the bed as you both gazed down at them.

“Let me get you a towel.”

You cleaned up and dressed together in silence, grinning at one another like teenagers throughout.

Clean and dressed again you paused. “You think we need to worry?”

“About what?”

“Well as hot as that was, they could probably on the edge of the base.”

“We won though right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “And there I was thinking you just wanted to make me feel good.”

“Oh darlin’, that’s always the top priority. But beating Rooster is right up there too.”

#hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman smut #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick smut #jake seresin x f!reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

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