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everscorner · 2 months

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Something In The Way You Move

Author’s note: I hope you enjoy reading my first ever one-shot. I got the idea for this after listening to the Ellie Goulding song with the same title. I’m not exactly sure how I would categorise this fanfic, but that’s alright. This is only for fictional purposes only, and please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: bad language, toxic relationship, flirty men at the bar, mentions of bruises, cheating, implied smut, fluff, angst, relationship issues, minors DNI (let me know if I missed anything)

famous!Reader x Jude Bellingham Word count: 8k words

///

‘“Y/N Y/L/N is the most famous woman in football.”’ Winnie dramatically turns towards you, eyes comically wide, her grip firm on the copy of the British Vogue magazine in her grasp. ‘Bestie, did you hear that? According to this article, you’re the most famous woman in football.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, apparently I am.’

‘How are you so calm right now?’

You’re anything but calm, you’ve just mastered the art of concealing your emotions—it’s a skill you developed shortly after meeting Jude. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s the shock, it still hasn’t sunk in yet.’

‘It’s definitely the shock, not that I blame you,’ her eyes flit back to the article. ‘This is insane.’

‘In a good way, I hope.’

‘Very good way.’ You watch as she takes in the words of the article. ‘Girl, you’re in Vogue. Like, on the cover! They, like, wrote a whole article about you.’

‘God, sometimes I forget how dramatic you can be, Wins.’

Her theatrics are what first drew you to her. Never in your life had you come across someone like Winnie, and now you consider her one of your best friends. The two of you met at a fashion show a year ago, and well, the rest is history. . .

‘Dramatic? How is this dramatic? This is a big deal, Y/N,’ she shuts the magazine, using her fingers as a makeshift bookmark to save her spot, then sits it on her lap. ‘When you told me you were doing a shoot for Vogue, I didn’t think you meant a cover shoot. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Because the whole thing was surreal, ‘cause I didn’t actually think they’d put me on the cover, the thoughts go through your mind.

‘I guess it slipped my mind,’ you state nonchalantly because that sounds better than the self-deprecating thoughts.

Your cool exterior makes you seem indifferent about the whole thing, but you truly are flattered and overwhelmed. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on the cover of Vogue, and yet here you are.

‘“I guess it slipped my mind,”’ she mocks with a hearty laugh. ‘Seriously though, I’m so proud of you. And if we weren’t sitting in this car right now, I’d give you the biggest hug.’

‘Thank you, Wins, and I know you would.’

You’re in the back of a black Mercedes Sprinter, there is a Netflix crew with their cameras filming you, and you’re being driven to Wembley Stadium where you will watch your boyfriend’s team play a Champions League final.

The cameras are there because you’re in the midst of shooting an episode for season one of your yet to be named Netflix reality show. It’s been a month of filming scenes with the crew, but you still feel self-conscious having such intimate conversations with cameras present.

Who’s idea was it to give you a Netflix show anyway?

‘Shall I read it to you, then?’

‘Uh, no. No no no.’

‘Oh, come on. Why not?’

You squirm in your seat and feel your face heat up, ‘Uh, I don’t know, ‘cause it’s awkward.’

It was a hundred percent your idea to stop at the shops to have yourself filmed buying the magazine, you know, for content for the show, but now it feels so silly, almost like you were bragging or something. To have Winnie read the article to you will only make the embarrassed feeling worse.

‘Why is it awkward?’

You discreetly point a finger towards the camera.

‘The cameras?’

‘Shh!’ you want the seats to part and swallow you up. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘But this will make great content for the show.’

‘Oh god.’

Winnie laughs hard, she’s clearly entertained by all that is happening. ‘Are you shy?’

‘You know this about me.’

She laughs harder.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying this.’

Not to be that person, but Winnie doesn’t get it. You can almost predict how the internet at large will react to the footage, should Netflix decide to use it for the show. It’s not beneath the world, namely those wretched online gossip rags, to paint you as some self-involved individual who makes her friends read magazine articles that praise her successes.

Hell, just this morning you made the mistake of reading the comments of a MailOnline article about your recent night out in Madrid. You had been out for dinner with your manager and his wife, and it was your standard MailOnline article—though they were uncharacteristically nice to you—nothing out of the ordinary, so you felt it was safe to venture into the comments.

Big mistake, and it’s safe to say that in future, you’ll steer clear of the comments section of anything.

‘Last chance, are you sure you don’t want me to read it?’

‘I’m begging you not to.’

‘Very well,’ she lifts the magazine back up from her lap, her finger bookmark helping her open to the exact page of the article. ‘I’ll just read it for myself.’

‘Let me know if it’s any good.’

She scoffs, ‘Whatever.’

With a wry wink, you blindly reach for your phone that’s seated comfortably on your lap and open the Instagram app to update your story. The hope is that this will distract you from your fretful thoughts.

Again, on the exterior, you’re as cool as a cucumber, but inside, you’re tightly wound. It sounds like an exaggeration, but so much is counting on Real Madrid winning tonight’s match, so you’re praying for their triumph.

Will it fix the many issues that riddle your life? No, but a win could mean a less tense Jude, and it could take him out of the foetid mood he’s been in lately.

To be fair, the moodiness is not only exclusive to Jude, but you know.

‘Gosh, I really hope they win tonight.’

The words slip out your mouth before you can stop them.

‘Huh?’

‘Real Madrid,’ you turn to Winnie, who’s engrossed in the words on the page, ‘I really hope they win tonight.’

She looks up from the magazine, and with a kind smile assures you, ‘Don’t worry, they will.’

She’s so optimistic, so sure, and that’s the attitude you will carry with you through this final.

///

It wasn’t easy, but in the end they came together as a team, and Real Madrid won the Champions League.

The hours that followed the victory were nothing short of chaotic. First there was the team’s celebration on the field, where they received their trophy and medals. Of all the events of the day, that’s the bit you hated the most. So much was happening all at once, which overwhelmed you and made you unpleasant, and of course, that led to an argument between you and Jude.

///

A couple hours earlier.

‘What the actual fuck is wrong with you?’

And more importantly, what the fuck is wrong with you for still putting up with Jude’s shit? You don’t even know how it got to this point. One minute you were teasing each other and making light conversation on the bed of your hotel suite, and the next you were bickering. But that’s how it is with you and Jude lately, there’s no middle ground.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ he challenges.

‘Yeah, did I stutter? What the fuck is wrong with you?’ you press, refusing to back down. Usually, he can intimidate you into submission with a harsh look and tone, but not tonight. ‘Seriously, Jude, you’re not even fun to be around anymore.’

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ he spits back.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘As if you don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I did, would I?’

The fucking prick, and if it were any other day, you’d tell him that he’s a prick, but that would only prolong the fight, and you both still have to get ready for dinner in an hour.

‘Why are we even having this argument?’

‘You tell me, you started it,’ he throws the accusation so carelessly.

‘How is any of this my fault?’

‘You’re so childish all the time,’ he answers without faltering, ‘always acting up in front of a crowd.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Then when I call you out for it, you start hurling insults at me,’ he finishes, a smug expression on his face.

You hate it when he gets this way, so vindictive and purposeful in his aim to hurt you. ‘You’re such a fucking prick!’

‘Case in point. . .’

And you think you might cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you teary over him.

‘That’s it, I don’t want to go anywhere with you tonight,’ you announce after a stretched silence.

‘Like hell you’re not.’

Your eyebrows come together in a frown so deep, it’s sure to leave lines in its wake. ‘You can’t force me to go with you.’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop being childish.’

‘How am I being childish?’ With an incredulous scoff, you tell him, ‘You know, there’s something seriously wrong with you. I think that you need to get your head checked.’

‘What?’

‘You’re. Insane. There’s something wrong with you, in your head.’ There’s nothing normal about his recent behaviour. ‘If you think I’m going out with you tonight after you’ve disrespected me, you’ve got something–’

‘We’re not doing this shit.’

‘“This shit”? What does that even mean?’

‘I’m not doing this shit with you. What’s this even about?’

‘It’s about you not respecting me.’

‘That’s bullshit, and you know it’s bullshit,’ he responds dismissively. ‘What have I said or done to disrespect you? I only asked why you were frowning on the field.’

‘And I told you that I wasn’t.’

‘You forget that you’re a bad liar.’

‘I am not lying!’

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’ he yells right back at you, and his voice is like a whip.

That’s when the tears spring to your eyes. You know you said you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but it’s all too much.

‘Oh, don’t cry.’

‘How can I not when you’re being so cruel?’

Jude’s livid now, nostrils flaring livid. You should shut up, but you can’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. It’s like a tap that won’t shut.

‘And, it’s like,’ sniff, sniff ‘like you enjoy seeing me upset. And I just feel like everything I do sets you off lately, and I don’t know what to do anymore.’

The tears are freely falling now, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You want him to feel guilty for the way he spoke to you.

‘Why do you hate me so much?’

‘Baby, I don’t hate you. How could you even ask that?’

When he reaches out to take your hand, you move it away from him. ‘Don’t.’

‘I’m trying to bridge the gap. I’m trying to comfort you.’

‘I don’t need your comfort,’ you sound so sad, and maybe that’s because you are really sad.

You can’t believe the current state of your relationship, and you can’t, for the life of you, understand how it got to this point. You and Jude loved each other, you still love each other. . . Well, you still love him, you’re not so sure of his feelings.

‘And can we drop this, please? I promise I’m not trying to get out of talking about it, but’ sniff ‘just for now, until after dinner.’

///

So you both agreed to a temporary truce, but things are still awkward between you. For example, the ride to the restaurant was silent, Jude barely acknowledged you at dinner, and now he’s somewhere in the restaurant socialising, and you’ve been left to your own devices.

It’s not all bad though, because you’re not completely alone, you have the other WAGs to keep you company.

‘How’s your cocktail?’

You wish Winnie had come though, she would make it better, more bearable. You tried to beg and bribe, desperate for her to meet you here, but she’s stubborn and she wasn’t in the mood. ‘A night wasted with cunty football WAGs? I don’t think so.’ Her words, not yours.

‘Good. It’s a bit too sweet for my liking though.’

‘Same,’ Coralie chuckles.

You’re jonesing for something stronger, a shot of something, but you’re already tipsy after opting out of dinner—your excuse was that you weren’t feeling well—so rather you stick to the sugary beverage.

The group of you are at some swanky restaurant in Mayfair, and you’re doing your best to be sociable, but it’s hard to do when all you want to do is burst out crying.

‘How do you plan on celebrating tonight?’

You shrug your shoulders, ‘I thought this was the celebration.’

‘With the team, yes, but how do you plan to celebrate with Jude?’

‘He has to be up early tomorrow morning.’

Coralie rolls her eyes.

‘You don’t like that answer?’

‘It’s boring, is all.’

And because you don’t know how to respond to that, you take a sip of your cocktail.

‘You look tired,’ she continues.

You guess she just wants to fill the silence?

More like over it. It turns out, you’re not so great at concealing your emotions. ‘Exhausted. It’s been a long day.’

‘Filming a reality show is exhausting, huh?’ Coralie chaffs. She leans in towards you, probably to prevent someone from eavesdropping on your conversation. ‘I need all the details.’

Coralie’s sudden shift in topic catches you off guard. This whole exchange is not really going the way you want it to go, but you’re playing along because you really don’t want to sit alone.

‘Uh, the details?’

‘All of it.’

Unlike everyone else at this table, Coralie isn’t a WAG. She’s employed by the team, and her job’s to be sort of an assistant to the players. When you moved to Spain at the start of the season, Coralie was actually one of the first people you were introduced to, and she was instrumental in helping you and Jude find your apartment.

‘Where to start?’ When you draw a blank, you inquire, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Hm, how did the opportunity come about?’ she turns in her seat so she’s fully facing you now. ‘How long have you been filming? What is the show about? I want to know it all.’

The reality show is the last thing you want to be talking about, but fuck it. You’ve been internally spiralling all night thinking about your fight with Jude, and this will give you something else to focus on for a bit. Without giving too much away, you skim over your agreement with the streaming platform, how they approached you with the offer, and the basic premise of the show.

‘And it’s not weird for you to have the cameras following you around?’

‘I mean’ you finish the remainder of your cocktail and place the glass back onto the table ‘it’s not like we’re filming every day. There’s, like, a schedule.’

‘And how does that work?’

You do your best to explain the schedule and how it’s set up, but you’re past the point of tipsy, slightly over it, and quite frankly, you want the conversation to be over.

Truth be told, you still can’t believe that someone at Netflix looked at you and your life and thought you were interesting enough to give a reality show to. Not that you’re complaining, the exposure and paycheque totally make it worth it.

‘And how does Jude feel about it?’

Coralie’s question comes as no surprise. She’s got this little crush on Jude, but it’s harmless, endearing even.

‘I don’t know.’

‘He doesn’t talk about it?’

‘I mean, we have talked about it, just not in great detail.’ You can hear the defensiveness in your tone. ‘We don’t talk much about work.’

‘But this affects him,’ she presses on, clearly not satisfied with your response. ‘Or will he not be on the show?’

‘He will be.’

You’re not entirely sure where she’s going with these questions.

‘He just doesn’t have an opinion on it?’

‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.’

Of course this is a lie. After your manager had reached out to you about the offer, Jude was the first person you called because you value his opinion.

You weren’t sure you could commit to filming six episodes for the season, and you felt like having the crew and cameras around would feel like an invasion of your personal space.

Jude felt differently and was encouraging.

‘This could be good for your career,’ he had advised.

He’s even filmed some scenes for the show.

‘So you’re like Kim Kardashian now,’ Coralie teases.

‘Jude said the same thing,’ you smile at the memory.

‘Well, I’ve got an idea for the finale.’

You cock your head to one side, ‘You do?’

She nods, a wide smile taking over her beautiful face, ‘I do. Picture this: you’re on vacation, I’ll let you pick the location, and Jude proposes to you.’

Oh you’re not drunk enough for this. And the crazy part is that she seems so delighted with herself—proud even.

‘What do you think?’

‘No.’

‘What? Why?’

‘No, absolutely not.’ You feel yourself getting worked up. You’re so moody these days, and it’s not hormonal.

‘At least think about it.’

‘Coralie, no.’

‘Okay, okay.’ And you think she might drop it, but she continues to ask, ‘Which part don’t you like?’

All of it. In fact, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore. But you don’t want to be impolite, so you force a smile as you tell her, ‘Right now, marriage isn’t on the cards for us.’

With her hands held up defensively, Coralie clarifies, ‘It was just a suggestion.’

‘And I appreciate it.’

Well, this is a shitfest. Winnie, Winnie, Winnie, you think, I should’ve pushed harder.

There’s no use in dwelling on the fact, and there’s no use in staying at this table. But if you leave abruptly, Coralie might take it the wrong way.

‘I need a refill, want to come?’

She points to her still full cocktail glass, ‘I’m still good.’

‘Okie-dokie,’ you raise off of your chair. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

Coralie’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, it seems the annoyance is mutual. You just wish the night was over and you were back at the suite. Part of you wishes you’d bump into Jude, not because you have anything to say to him, but you sort of miss his face.

‘Get a grip,’ you mumble to yourself as you manoeuvre through the tables.

You’re miserable, more than usual, and it’s affecting the way you’re interacting with people. Already Coralie thinks you’re a bitch. She didn’t say anything to you, but she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. And on a different day, the guilt would gnaw at you, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to care.

‘A vodka tonic, please.’

At least your manners are still intact.

‘More vodka than tonic.’

So you’ll drink in hopes that it will help the time pass quicker, and maybe if he sees your tragic state, Jude might let you go back to the hotel. After tearing into you, of course.

As if the sadistic fuck would let me leave.

Knowing Jude, he’d force you to stay but he’d be pissed at the fact that you weren’t on your best behaviour.

The last time, he called you ‘inconsiderate’. And maybe it’s true, maybe you are ‘inconsiderate’, but he’s no better. Hell, he’s worse, but you can never tell him that. In his heart and in his mind, he is a saint—you just bring out the worst in him.

‘Thanks.’

The tumbler is cold in your hand as you raise it to take the first sip. You wince at the bitter taste of vodka, but it’s just what you need, and you feel some of the tension leave your body. You think you might stay here a while.

It’s peaceful at the bar. There’s no Coralie and her unsolicited suggestions, there’s no sulking Jude. . . though you’d much rather have him sulking at you than the cold shoulder, at least then he’s showing some emotion.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

But then there are the men who think it’s okay to approach you.

‘I’m John, by the way.’

John flashes you a bright smile, and you can’t help but notice his super white and super perfect set of teeth.

‘John, cool.’

‘And you are?’

Bored. Annoyed. Over this interaction. ‘Do I have to tell you?’

‘It’d be nice, yes.’ He then looks at you, really looks at you, then very thoughtfully, he says, ‘You know, you look familiar.’

‘I do?’

‘Yeah, I feel like I know you. . . or I’ve seen you somewhere.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘No, I think I do,’ he waves for the barman’s attention. ‘I think you’re famous.’

‘Well, you’re wrong.’

When the barman comes over, John orders himself a scotch. ‘You know, you still haven’t told me your name.’

And so, despite your better judgement, you tell him which sparks a conversation. Of course, he’s a ‘finance bro’—his overconfidence is a dead giveaway—and he’s at the restaurant for his uni pal’s bachelor party. There’s a group of them.

Without being too obvious, your eyes look down at his left hand, which is conveniently hidden away. Your guess is that John’s got a wife at home, and he’s been allowed out for the night, begrudgingly, of course, so he’s trying his luck with you.

‘Well, since it’s a bachelor party, shouldn’t you be at a gentlemen’s club?’

He shakes his head, ‘Isaac’s not into that.’

‘Isaac is the groom, then?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I’m sure Isaac and your friends are missing you, John,’ you raise your glass to your lips. ‘But thanks for the chat.’

Your dismissive tone only spurs him on, you literally see his eyes light up. Clearly, he sees you as a challenge, something to conquer. ‘How about you? Are you here alone, with friends?’

You polish off the remainder of your drink, ‘Something like that.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘Well, I–’ Your body tenses when you feel a strong arm snake around your waist, but it immediately relaxes when you smell the all too familiar scent of Jude’s cologne.

‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ he says, strategically wedging himself between you and John, his back turned to him. ‘Hi.’

Jude leans over to take your lips in a deep kiss, you know, the kind that you feel deep in your core. God, you love this man.

‘Hi.’

You don’t have to force a smile, because you’re genuinely pleased to see him, and at first you can’t read his expression as his perfect brown eyes search your own, but then he smiles, really smiles, which causes you to relax.

‘Vodka tonic?’ you offer.

‘No,’ he leans over to kiss you again, this time it’s on your forehead. ‘Is that what you’re having?’

‘Yeah,’ you raise a hand to wave the barman over.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ordering myself another drink.’

‘No, you’re not.’

The tone of his voice is one you know all too well. You know not to push him, you don’t want to push him, ‘cause things between you are actually good.

‘I’m not?’ your tone is teasing.

‘No, you’re not. Come.’

Before you can question where he’s taking you, he leads you away from the bar, and you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye to John.

‘Jude, that’s rude,’ you tell him, suppressing the urge to smile. ‘And where are you taking me?’

‘Back to the hotel.’

Finally, ‘The hotel?’

‘Yeah, we’ve had enough socialising for the night.’

///

You release a content sigh. ‘You know,’ you start nonchalantly as you leisurely stretch your limbs and flex your toes, ‘I should flirt with random guys at the bar more often.’

Keeping your hands off of each other on the car ride back to the hotel proved quite the struggle. Jude’s earlier possessiveness had you putty in his hands, and his actions, paired with the alcohol in your system, had you ready to jump his bones.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he playfully admonishes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘I might be inclined to, I like it when you get like that.’

‘Like how?’

‘Possessive and all that,’ your heart swells with pride at the memory of Jude moving you away from John.

‘Oh god.’

You burst into fits of obnoxious giggles when he buries his face in the crook of your neck and starts kissing the area.

You and Jude had managed to behave yourself in the car and on the elevator ride up to your floor, but the moment you stepped into your suite, he took your wrist into his large hand and tugged you into him. Without a word, he pushed you up against the wall of the dark entrance hall, and took your lips in an impassioned kiss.

‘Jude, stop!’ you screech.

‘Promise you won’t flirt with random men.’

‘No!’

The kisses intensify, his beard tickling the sensitive skin.

‘I swear I’ll scream,’ you actually can’t breathe, and your stomach hurts like you’ve been doing crunches. ‘Babe, please!’

‘Promise me.’

‘Okay, okay! I promise,’ you relent.

And so he stops.

‘If we get a noise complaint. . .’

‘Who cares?’ Jude rolls back to his previous position on the bed, his back pressed against the mattress, his toned torso exposed.

Instinctively, you follow him, curling into his side, craving the connection. ‘You don’t care?’

He shakes his head, ‘No, do you?’

‘I guess I don’t.’ All you care about is the fact that things between you and Jude are good again, and all is right in your world. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘You are?’

‘Ravenous.’ On cue, your stomach starts to grumble. ‘I’m thinking of having a burger and–’

‘What’s this?’ Jude’s hand moves down to your left hip bone, and his index finger lightly traces over the bruise that’s starting to form. ‘You’re hurt.’

The forming bruise is the result of you being pressed against the entry table as Jude fucked you.

‘Oh that?’ you weave your fingers with his to stop their tracing motion. ‘Don’t worry about that, I honestly don’t mind it.’ But when his eyes remain fixed on the spot, you insist, ‘Babe, please don’t make a big deal of it. It was good.’

Like, really good. So good, Jude had to put his hand over your mouth just to stop the wanton moans that were spilling profusely from your lips.

The heat creeps to your cheeks at the very welcomed memory. ‘And by the way, don’t act like you’re not pleased with yourself.’

He doesn’t try to deny it, he simply laughs.

‘Exactly,’ you rest your head on his chest and focus on the calming steady beat of his heart. You wish you could stay like this with him forever, and abandon all your responsibilities.

‘I love you.’

Jude’s admission catches you off guard. It’s not his first time saying those words to you, he’s said them countless times in the past, but there’s something about the way he says them now. . . it’s so heartfelt.

‘And look, I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months,’ he continues before you can say anything, ‘but starting tonight, I promise to be better.’

His words, so vulnerable and pure, leave you stunned.

You blink away the tears that are starting to collect in your eyes, ‘Jude. . .’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

You drape your arm over his torso, and release a shaky breath. ‘I love you too.’

There’s so much you want to add to that, but you don’t trust yourself to not break down in tears. Recently, your relationship has been put through the wringer, and you admit that you’ve still got a long way to go in terms of repairing it, but this moment is proof that it’s still salvageable.

After a long and comfortable silence, Jude asks, ‘You still hungry?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Here,’ he hands you the in-room dining menu.

You thank him and start scanning the menu’s offerings. ‘The skinny fries sound good.’

‘I thought you said you were ravenous.’

‘Hold on, I’m not done.’

Five minutes later, your main and a side with dessert, were on their way.

‘And now we shower.’

You let out an obnoxious groan.

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to move from here.’

Jude laughs, ‘Sure you do. Come on, Lazybum.’

‘Lazybum?’

He laughs some more. ‘Yeah, Lazybum. Let’s go.’

Nothing against the shower or anything, but you’re worn out and are too hungry to move. ‘Five more minutes.’

‘No, let’s go.’

You raise your head off his chest, and your eyes lock with his, ‘I can’t persuade you to stay in bed longer?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Oh, babe,’ you whine, and move to straddle him. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘I’m no fun? What do you mean I’m no. . .’ The words sort of fade from his lips when you start writhing against him, the only thing separating you is the bedsheet. ‘Stop that.’

‘Stop what?’ you feign innocence, your hip gyrations not ceasing.

‘What you’re doing right now,’ his hands move to your hips to stop their subtle winding motion. ‘It’s distracting.’

You sigh.

‘And stop pouting.’

‘Make me.’

Jude’s eyes light up at your testy attitude. Then he sits up, and with his hands on either side of your face, he pulls you in for a peck. ‘Behave.’

‘Yeah, but babe, I–’

‘Hey,’ swiftly and smoothly, his hand grabs a hold of your wrist and starts massaging the spot just past your palm, and he maintains eye contact when he tells you, ‘We’ll shower, then we can lay in bed after.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

You nod, ‘Yeah, okay.’

Your cooperation earns you a second peck.

‘But babe, can we watch a movie after? My choice.’

Despite having to be up early tomorrow to fly back to Madrid, Jude agrees. A post-midnight dinner with a movie and cuddles from Jude, you like the sound of that. You can’t help but stare at Jude’s pert ass when he gets out of the bed—the guy’s got a hot body.

‘You like what you see?’

You flush, but make no effort to turn away. If he’s going to give you a show, who are you to look away? ‘Shut up.’

‘Pervert.’

‘You’re the one slutting yourself out.’

‘Whatever.’

Then with a final kiss, Jude disappears into the bathroom. Some moments pass, and then you hear the shower water run.

You’re scrolling through Netflix’s romance category when you’re interrupted by the incessant buzzing of a phone. Your initial thought is that it’s your manager—who never seems to sleep—calling about a new work opportunity, but when you grab the vibrating device, you discover that it’s Jude’s phone and not yours. And it’s Coralie calling him.

You think nothing of the fact that she’s calling Jude at such a late hour. It’s probably something work related that can’t wait till morning, and you’re about to answer the call when the vibrating abruptly stops. That’s when you see the text notification displayed on Jude’s lock screen:

Coralie: I’m drunk and I miss you, call me

Heh?

Your heart starts hammering against your ribcage and a sick feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

What?

The room starts to spin as you struggle to breathe, and you think you might collapse onto the bed.

Is he. . . Surely he’s not cheating on you. With Coralie?

‘Babe?’ Jude's voice calls from the bathroom, startling you and causing you to almost drop his phone.

‘I’m coming,’ you absentmindedly respond back.

‘Hurry.’

The cheek, you think as you punch in his phone’s password.

The phone unlocks and you think what an idiot he must be—a smart cheater would change the password.

‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.’

You have a very limited time window, so you’ve got to move quickly. The adrenaline rush makes your fingers fumbley and shaky, but you somehow manage to open the WhatsApp app. Coralie’s chat is right at the top ‘cause she was the last one to text him.

If you had more time, you’d peruse through his other contacts to see if he’s texting other girls.

‘Here goes nothing,’ you tell yourself.

Then with a deep inhale through your nose, you psych yourself up one last time for what’s to come when you open the chat, and then you open it.

Before the bit about being drunk and missing Jude—drunk texts? How corny—Coralie had sent another lengthy text complimenting the way he looked at dinner tonight, and explicitly told him what she wanted to do to him in the restaurant’s loo.

The fucking bitch!

How dare she? How dare she act friendly with you knowing very well that she was sending dirty texts to your boyfriend behind your back? And the worst part is that you believed the friendly act, believed that she had good intentions.

Rah!

But there’s no time to get hung up on that, there’s plenty of time to do that later. Moving quickly, you scroll up the chat and stop at a random spot.

Jude: Y/N’s in Paris, come over?

You recognise the date to be earlier in the year, when you were in Paris for fittings and shoots. He’d called you really late that night, and he’d told you that he loved and missed you, and that he wished you were at the apartment with him. Basically, he’d lied to you because Coralie was warming his bed that night.

Fuck them both!

The text thread carries on in a similar fashion: Coralie texts Jude saying that she misses him, he texts her when you’re out of town, and sometimes, on special occasions, she’d send a dirty pic. Or if she’s feeling particularly giving, a video.

Fuck.

You angrily toss the phone to one side, and try to contemplate your next move, but your mind is all over the place, and you can barely formulate a cohesive thought.

What now?

‘I got tired of waiting for you, and got out.’

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the shower water shut.

‘Hm?’

‘In the shower, I waited for you.’

You don’t like the way Jude says that statement, the accusation in his tone.

‘I’m. . .’ what is it that you’re trying to say? ‘Oh.’

‘Are you okay?’

Far from it, actually. ‘Hey, are you. . .’ you pause to think about how you want to phrase the question. ‘Are you cheating on me?’

He didn’t expect you to ask him that question, and he seems taken aback by it—shaken even. ‘What?’

But he doesn’t deny it.

‘Are you cheating on me?’ you repeat, enunciating every word. ‘With Coralie. Are you cheating on me with Coralie?’

You watch as his world slowly unravels, and you can see the invisible wheels turning in his head as he cooks up a lie.

‘Well, are you?’

‘What, cheating? What are you on about?’

‘About the messages on your fucking phone, Jude,’ you grab the phone from the bed and throw it at him. It hits his leg and then lands on the floor, right before his feet. The sound it makes leads you to think you might’ve broken it. ‘I’m talking about the fuck dates when I’m out of town, the nudes and videos she sends you. I saw it all.’

‘You went through my fucking phone?’

‘That’s all you have to say? “You went through my fucking phone?”’ you mimic the way he posed that very stupid question. ‘Give me a fucking break, Jude. Yeah, I went through your phone, but you’re deflecting.’

‘I’m not deflecting.’

‘Yeah, you are!’

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’

‘Are. You. Cheating?’

It’s insulting at this point. You’d much rather have him lie to you, it would send you over the edge, but this? He keeps deflecting, there’s no flattery, no lame excuses. . . His blatant lack of effort hurts more than the actual cheating, it’s like he doesn’t even care to save your relationship.

‘Y/N, I’m just trying to de-escalate the situation.’

‘De-escalate what, exactly? Jude, I don’t need you to de-escalate anything, what I need from you is the fucking truth!’ And if you could scream at the top of your lungs with no repercussions, you would. ‘When did it start?’

‘When did what start?’

‘Your affair.’

‘It’s not an affair.’

As if that fucking matters. ‘You keep deflecting!’

‘I’m not!’ he fiercely defends. ‘I just want you to calm down, okay? I just want us to have a normal conversation.’

‘Well, for me to be calm, you’d need to answer my question.’ When a tear escapes from your eye, you quickly swipe it away with the back of your hand. ‘I mean, I know things have been bad between us’ another tear, another swipe ‘lately, but I can’t believe you’d cheat on me.’

And with Coralie, of all people.

Jude sighs, and you can’t place his emotion. It’s kind of hard to place when he’s saying absolutely nothing.

‘Are you just going to stand there?’

‘What? Now you’ve got a problem with me standing?’

‘You know that’s not what I mean.’ This is exhausting, he is exhausting. ‘You’re just standing there saying nothing.’

‘You’re not allowing me to speak.’

‘You’re not really saying much, are you? “Calm down” is not going to cut it.’

‘Well, you keep jumping down my throat.’

‘Blame shifting? Really?’ You sigh, ‘How do you expect me to be calm when you keep shifting the blame and upsetting me?’

‘This is pointless.’ Jude walks over to the bed and takes his seat at the end of it, his muscular back turned to you, head in his hands. ‘You do this every fucking time.’

The words come out muffled.

‘Do what?’

‘Act irrational. It makes it hard to talk to you.’

So according to Jude, voicing your opinions and concerns makes you ‘inconsiderate’ and ‘irrational’.

‘I’m irrational all the time?’

‘Yes.’ After a frustratingly long silence, he lifts his head from his hands and turns to regard you. ‘Look, Y/N, I’m not going to say I’m sorry, ‘cause I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear.’

‘So you’re not sorry?’

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’ He huffs, ‘I thought it was my turn to speak.’

So you bite your tongue and allow him the space to state his case.

‘Coralie was. . . a mistake,’ he starts once he’s sure you won’t kick off again. ‘A big mistake and something I regret, and if I could take it all back, I would. There’s no excuse for what I did, and my actions are unforgivable, but baby, I meant what I said earlier when I said I loved you and want to do right by you.’

I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months, he’d told you, but starting tonight, I promise to be better.

The revelation of Jude’s affair gives his words a whole new meaning. And to think that for the longest time, you believed that you were the issue in your relationship, that your career picking up and you constantly having to be out of the city was the root of your issues.

‘We were fighting all the time.’

‘I know.’

‘And when I’d take the blame, you’d let me.’

‘And I’m so sorry. I really am so sorry.’ Jude reaches a hand out to you, and you don’t push it away, you let him take your hand into his. ‘It’s something I regret every day.’

After a long silence, you have to ask, ‘How did it even start?’

‘Babe, please don’t–’

‘No, I want to know,’ you cut him off.

He’s apprehensive, but to avoid another argument, he tells you how six months ago, so in December, when you were out of town after a big argument between you, Coralie had come to the apartment to help him with something. For whatever reason, they started drinking wine, and one thing quickly led to another, and the next thing he knew, they were fucking.

He insists that he felt awful after the act, but that the affair continued because he ‘honestly didn’t have the balls to end it,’ and he feared that Coralie, the woman scorned, would run to tell you about it.

‘And then it sort of got out of hand,’ he continues. ‘Whenever we’d fight or I’d be frustrated with something at work, I’d turn to Coralie.’

‘Why?’

‘‘Cause a lot of the time, you weren’t there.’

So your budding career was part of the issue, your lack of availability led him to turn to Coralie for comfort.

‘You don’t have a functioning hand?’

With a wry smile, he responds, ‘It’s not the same, and you know it.’

You don’t find the humour in what he’s just said.

‘Too soon?’

‘Way too soon.’

‘Sorry,’ he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit. ‘It wasn’t just the sex, it was the connection.’

‘Connection?’ you pull your hand from his. ‘You act like I’m never home.’

‘Y/N, be honest.’

‘About what?’ You feel yourself getting worked up all over again, ‘Jude, if you’re going to accuse me, at least make it make sense. I make it a point to not be gone for more than three days in a week.’

‘I know, but–’

‘And don’t act like you’re not the one always encouraging me to take all these jobs across the world.’

And if you really think about it, in the last six months, he’d been more encouraging than ever of your career.

‘So don’t give me that connection crap,’ you conclude.

‘Why is your voice raising again?’

‘‘Cause you’re really pissing me off, and you’re shifting all the blame to me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are!’ tears spring back into your eyes. ‘Just admit that you’re a cheater, and that you lack self-control, and that you’re unprofessional, sleeping with the team’s assistant.’

‘Fucking hell. . .’

‘It’s not fair that you’re making this all my fault, and I’m not going to stand around for it.’

‘Y/N–’

‘No, Jude!’

You’re suddenly interrupted by a light knock sounding at the door. When Jude gets up to fetch your food, you slide off of the bed to take the hotel robe to cover yourself with. You hear him thank the person at the door as you crawl back onto the bed, and moments later, he comes back into the room pushing the room service trolley.

‘Where do you want me to put this?’

‘I’m not hungry anymore.’

Jude doesn’t respond to that, he simply abandons the cart and joins you at the bed, closing the distance between you.

‘Don’t.’

‘“Don’t” what?’

‘Sit close to me.’

‘I’m not touching you.’

‘I know but. . .’

How do you tell him that sitting in such close proximity to him clouds your judgement and makes it hard for you to be mad at him?

‘You know, I could always tell she had a thing for you,’ you sigh as you turn away from him, thinking of all the times Coralie had shown interest in Jude. ‘I always just dismissed it as a harmless crush.’

He doesn’t say anything, but then again, what is there to say?

‘And, like, tonight, she kept asking me about you.’ In fact, she was very pushy in her inquisition. ‘So curious about the details of our relationship. Our sex life. She used the word boring to describe it.’

‘I swear she means nothing to me.’

‘Does she know that? Does she know she means nothing to you?’

‘Yes, of course she does.’

‘I doubt it.’ You turn back to Jude. ‘How are you going to end this?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Yeah, I don’t.’

This is all a mess. All of it is a big, stinky mess and a scandal like this could be detrimental to both your careers should it come out.

‘Y/N, I’m really sorry and I regret it.’ There is sincerity in his voice, in his eyes. ‘And if you leave me, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘What’s not true?’

‘That I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.’

If it was true, he wouldn’t have cheated on you with the team’s assistant.

‘It is though.’

‘Whatever,’ you allow yourself to fall back onto the bed, and with a soft grunt, you say, ‘Well, this is a mess.’

‘A big one,’ Jude lies down next to you, and weaves his fingers with yours.

‘I’m so mad at you.’

‘I know.’

‘In fact, I think I hate you.’

His grip on your hand tightens, and you think it might be a pained reflex. ‘I know.’

‘And I don’t know if I could ever move on from this.’

‘Please try to.’

You turn your head so that the two of you are lying face to face. ‘So what now?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits.

And you’re right there with him. You can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm. You wouldn’t put it past Coralie to run to the tabloids to share the story of her affair with Jude just for her 15 minutes of fame.

But it hurts your head to think about that.

‘I’m tired.’

‘Me too.’ And on cue, Jude yawns obnoxiously loudly. ‘We should sleep.’

‘Yeah.’

So you get under the covers, and try to pretend that your entire world isn’t falling apart. You close your eyes and try to force yourself to sleep, but there’s so much going on in your mind.

Tomorrow is a new day, and who knows what it will bring you? Jude says he’s sorry, and maybe you’re an idiot, but you actually believe him. And as for Coralie? Well, that’s a subject for another day.

///

‘I guess I’ll see you when you get back to Madrid.’

It’s the morning after, and when you went to bed last night, you weren’t sure what to expect of your morning exchange, but this isn’t it. Things are somewhat awkward between you, but you’re also being cordial and some version of normal in your interactions, which is nice.

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

This morning, Jude joined you for an early breakfast in your suite. During the breakfast, you mostly talked about possible vacation spots for the summer, and revised the previous day’s events. With all the arguments happening, you didn’t really get to celebrate the fact that Jude had won his first UCL.

‘Are you filming today?’

And now he’s standing across from you, dressed and ready to join the rest of the team down at the hotel’s lobby for their flight back to Madrid.

‘Yeah, but only later.’ You smile, ‘I can’t believe I agreed to this.’

Jude laughs. ‘My very own Kim Kardashian.’

‘You know me,’ you tease.

There’s actually something you want to tell him, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to.

‘Is everything okay?’

His simple question is a reminder that you can never truly hide things from him, he’s just so good at reading you.

‘I’m all good,’ you assure him. ‘I’m just going to miss you, is all.’

He flashes you a bright smile. ‘It’s only a few hours.’

‘I know.’ You walk into him, right into his tall and strong frame, and wrap your arms around his muscular torso. ‘I’m, like, really going to miss you.’

‘Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me right now.’

You chuckle. ‘I’m not. I promise you I’m not.’

‘Okay,’ he presses a kiss to the top of your head. ‘Okay.’

You don’t immediately release him, you’re not ready to, but he’s got to go��duty calls.

‘Text me when you land.’

‘Yeah.’

With a kiss to the lips, and an ‘I love you’ murmured against them, he’s gone.

///

An hour later.

The timer you have set starts going off.

Your heart is hammering against your chest as you reach for the Clearblue home pregnancy test. After Jude had left, you had called the hotel’s front desk to request a pregnancy test, if they had one. Within 15 minutes, there was a woman at your door to deliver it.

With a shaking hand, you reach for the plastic stick.

‘Holy fucking. . .’

You can’t believe your eyes.

‘I’m pregnant.’

///

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham scenario #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fanfiction

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jynxpsiche · 8 months

Note

Not Tangerine already planning on fathering reader's baby as his won, cause hey, the baby also has blue eyes so he can totally pass of as their son.

Also imagine if the real dad ever shows up and tries come back into the baby's life and Tangerine is all conflicted cause he loves the kid as if it's his own son :/

OH MY GOD THANK U SO MUCH ANON FOR REQUESTING THIS! LITERALLY CHEF KISS! We love a jealous Tangerine <3

Unwanted texts

💌. Summary: unanswered texts from her, lead Tangerine to meet someone he already despised…

…Tangerine meets the baby’s biological father for the first time.

💌. Warning: SWEARING. LIKE A LOT! Jealous Tangerine, female reader, canon gore. English is not my first language! I don’t know many British slangs!

c’mon babe

I just wanna meet the baby

be there for them, y’know?

pls answer me

It’s been already a couple of days and sometimes, during different hours of the day and night, your phone would ding with notifications…from him.

Your ex boyfriend.

The biological father of your precious baby.

The whole situation pissed you off. Firstly, when he found out about your pregnancy, he decided to leave without an explanation and leave you alone. Then he had the nerve to message you after god knows how many years.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

But obviously you couldn’t ask for any type of help from Tangerine.

He was quite the protective type, especially if the main cause was a shitty ex-boyfriend.

Surely he would have gone feral if he found out about your ex’s sudden texts. That’s why you decided to keep the thing for yourself and just…ghost him.

But who would have known that you would end up calming down a rather irate Tangerine?

However, it’s important to start from the beginning.

It was a day off for Tan, which meant that he would have spent the entire day with you and his little one. But since it was still too early to get up, for now he simply drank in your warmth and cuddled your body closer to his, without waking you up.

The curly man was affectionate only with his girl and his baby, neither to his brother he showed this side of his. He wasn’t ashamed of it, he just had a reputation to defend.

His chin was placed on your head while you were all nuzzled in the crook of his neck. His strong and bulky arms were tightly wrapped around your waist, not allowing you to leave. Not that you wanted to.

Only your soft breaths echoed through the room. But the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the ping of a notification. The sound made him grimace, but not waking up from his slumber.

Then another ping, closely followed by another and another one.

Now Tangerine was fully awake, his half-closed eyes glaring at the device on your nightstand. When he noticed no more ding’s came from your phone, he softly pecked your forehead before trying to fall asleep again.

But then again. A new message.

Groaning softly, Tan lifted himself from the bed, before pecking your forehead again and assured that you didn’t wake up.

He was not standing on your side of the bed, the device on your nightstand calling for him to check what had interrupted his sleep.

With a furrowed and irritated expression, Tangerine unlocked your phone, noticing new messages unopened. They had been sent just a couple of minutes ago.

He quickly glanced at your sleeping figure, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. His expression furrowed more when he saw the contact’s name. X.

Who the fuck was that?

But he surely was took by anger when he read the multiple messages he sent you.

He wasn’t only a dickhead, but he was also the biological father of his son.

His bloodshot eyes read every line and every word of every message he dared to sent you. His fingers gradually tightening their grip around the device.

The another ding. Another message.

I know ur reading the texts

ur online

u finally have the courage to read what I’ve been sending you

u stopped ghosting me huh?

God you’re such a bitch sometimes…

His vision darkened at the last text he sent, nostrils fuming with rage.

I want to see the kid

Meet me here

Xx xx xx, xx

“Tan? You good?” Your sleepy and raspy voice reached his ears and immediately he turned towards you, his furious expression never leaving his face.

You noticed, of course. Slowly you rose from your spot on the comfy bed and lazily dragged herself up to his tense figure, wrapping her delicate arms around his waist.

A soft kiss on his back.

“What is making you so tense?” You whispered against his skin, your hands gently rubbing his sides. Tan slightly crocked his head in your direction, his brows still furrowed. A sigh left his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He instead asked with a low tone laced with rage. “Why did you hide it from me?” His tone showed how he strongly demanded an answer.

“I could have handle it. I simply didn’t answer his texts to show him how an insignificant being like him should be six feet under. To show him how he was a nobody to me anymore.” Your tone was flat, laced with venom, finally expressing all your suppressed rage.

His expression immediately softened at your words, his brows relaxing and the wrinkles on his forehead disappearing. The tails of his mouth slightly raised in an almost visible smile.

But you noticed it.

When he turned in your direction, his hands on your waist, his lips left a soft peck on your forehead. His face was calm and so close to yours.

“I’m goin’ to take care of him. Don’ worry.” He whispered, his soothing voice sending you in a sleepy mood. A light yawn left your mouth. He chuckled at your reaction.

“Now go to sleep love.”

After you fell into another peaceful but deep slumber, Tangerine got to work.

With Lem’s help (after calling him for twenty minuets straight, the poor man was sleeping) he managed to find the phone location and so the location of the fucker.

It was now 3:45 am and Tan was alone in a desert neighbourhood. Silence was his only company at the moment.

He stood still in front of an apartment complex, his eyes fixed on a specific window while the cigarette in his hand slowly burnt.

With a flick he tossed the small nicotine stick and put it out with a stomp of his foot. His lips were curled into an annoyed curl.

Silently, he climbed the fire escape with big steps and in a blink of an eye his shadow was printed in front of the covered window, blinds hiding the inside.

But a faint light from behind them immediately caught his attention, a sadistic grin creeping on his moustache.

His hand grabbed the gun from his pocket and he shot the window’s lock, allowing him to access to the apartment.

Frantic, disconnected noises echoed from inside. Tangerine knew the fucker heard him.

Only when he entered he was met with a younger, dull man, his face pale and his eyes wide from fear. “Who…who the fuck are you?!” He half shouted, his voice cracking a bit.

The man wanted to show his composure so bad, show him how collected and tough he was. But in reality, he was shitting in his pants.

With great strides, Tangerine approached the trembling man, his pistol clearly visible. “‘s not important, is it? Wha’ is important is why you fuckin’ harassing my love with your insipid messages.” He spat out in a hard tone, his rigid stare piercing the man’s soul.

The man’s eyes frantically wandered around, he is searching something to defend himself thought Tan. Quick pants from the man often broke the silence in the room.

He took a step back, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His body language was visibly betraying him. “Just…the fuck you want from me?!” He continued in a fake authoritative voice.

Tangerine held his face high, communicating how he was in control. Slowly his arm raised and he pointed the gun in the man’s forehead.

“I want you to delete her number, to forget about her and the baby and to never contact her again.” He stated with calm rage. His tone extremely sharp.

When the man was the pistol pointed at his head, his confident mask fell, his eyes filled with tears and his still standing posture crouched on himself. Shamelessly he nodded his head at every request, his voice dead in the back of his throat.

Suddenly, Tangerine shot the man in the leg and he stumbled back. A cry came out from his mouth.

“This’s your last warnin’.”

#bullet train 2022 #tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #lemon bullet train #bullet train #lemon x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #dadtangerine

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

Text

Hi! I'm still figuring the difference between messages/inbox tbh but as long as you send in the request I'll get to it. I'm trying to keep all requests anonymous when posted so sometimes I'll message a link to whoever sent it. If it's anonymous I might start replying to the message so the sender is notified (assuming that works)

thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy <;3 (last disclaimer- I'm British so my only context for 1940s America is from movies and anecdotes)

Date Nights Trigger warnings for?nothing v v lighthearted fluff? Bucky Barnes x F reader Oneshot 1500 words fluff & comfort 18+ MDNI

Bucky tells you what your dates would've been like in the 40s.

"I'm tellin' you, Buck" Y/N beams, "if it's got food and candles, it counts as a date night."

Barnes is still tugging at his boots in the door way, looking apologetic as ever, like him being late off a Quin-Jet is something he could've prevented.

Her eyes roll, "It's fine- you text me to let me know you where behind schedule, the pizza has been here for ten minutes, and- you've finally got your boots off-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, dipping her back dramatically like hoping that the corny gesture might add to the romance.

The feeling of her laughter against his lips makes him smile so hard that his cheeks ache, and then they're eating and drinking red wine that is too good to have with stuffed crusts from Albie's.

and that's when his mind wonders again,

to dance halls and evening walks in formal jackets and what it might be like to push her on a rope swing in a pretty sun-dress-

"what are you day dreaming about?" Y/N chuckles, quirking a brow at the pinkness in his cheeks.

"…date nights" is the reply he settles on after a minute, pressing a kiss against her cheek before settling back onto the couch.

"wow" she says, laughing again, "that's impressive even for you, sweetheart, can you even get sweeter than fantasising about date night while you're literally havin' a date night?"

He rolls his eyes, before melting down into her lap. Smiling almost smuggly as she recieves him more than eagerly, discarding her wine glass to card through his hair with her fingers.

"Wait" she says teasingly, "Before you get all this fussin'- the person you were with in this daydream was me wasn't it? because if it was Steve your puppy dog eyes are goin' to be about 12% less effective"

"88% is still pretty good" he says playfully, before shaking his head in response to her mock look of hurt, "of course it was you, darlin' it just that back in my day-"

"Back in my day?" Y/N mimics, beaming down at him like he's the best thing she's ever seen, "Did you really just say that, outloud?"

Her teasing is tempered with unwavering affection, but still it makes him laugh, a true soft chuckle bursting through his chest when he realises how it sounds.

"Still" he murmurs, feigning grouchiness, "goin' on a date meant somethin' different back then, it was more of an event..."

"Oh, yeah?" Y/N presses, seeing the trace of nostalgia in his eyes, "tell me about it?"

He blinks at her, before looking away, genuinely bashful again;

"You don't wanna hear me dronin' on about ancient history, Sugar-"

"Actually" she objects, "After missin' you for 2 days because you've been galivanting across Russia, I think that's exactly what I want."

He paws at his jaw before sighing, surrendering to the arm your holding him by snuggling into your front.

"Well, they didn't usually include this much touchin' for a start"

"Is that a complaint?" Y/N quips, raising a brow in genuine curiosity.

"No- never-" he's quick to tell her, "I just don't really know where to start, doll. It's all real different now."

She just smiles down at him again, letting her thumb brush his temple as his eyes flutter shut.

"What would our first date have been like, d'ya think?" she asks, "and don't just rattle off some Grate-Gatsby story, I know you and Rodgers didn't eat Caviar in tuxedos when you took girls out for the night"

"God" he scoffs dreamily, smile firmly on his face now, "Gatsby was more my ma's era, darlin'… I'd have probably taken you out for a walk first, asked you when I could pick you up and spent a couple of hours gettin' myself ready… I'd have brought flowers, -I might've had to pick them from the garden-" he allows, "-but I'd have brought ya' something, and then I'd knock for ya'…"

"And would I be wearin' one of those pin-up style dresses, victory curls and red lipstick style?"

"No" he snorts, "All the dames back then wore sweat pants"

"You're gettin' sassy in your old age" Y/N is quick to tease, "I meant for a walk… since that's where you said you'd be takin' me… is that the kinda thing ladies got all dolled up for back then?"

He's grinning like a fool as he hums, picturing exactly the kind of thing she might've been wearing.

"It'd probably have been some kind of dress" he allows, shyly at first "somethin' nice but not, not the whole nine yards unless you wanted me to be fightin' all the other men in town away all night."

It's her turn to laugh then, it swims through his head like music, making his chest flutter happily.

"We'd probably spend a while just talkin', darlin', and I'd have asked you for a second date before I took ya' home."

"Is that when you'd have asked me if I had any friends for Steve?"

He chokes on a breath as he realises that's exactly when he'd have done that.

"and I'd have said "sure, but don't be late"… and then, you'd have arrived together at least 10 minutes after we'd arranged, but- you'd have been so charmin' that I wouldn't have minded one bit."

"Maybe" he murmurs, not wanting to tell her just how well she's got him figured out.

"And where would this double date be?"

"Probably dancing" he says surely, "I got tired of trying to take girls to the pictures with Rodgers. He could never stay out of trouble."

"He still hasn't figured that out"

He grins again, eyes still shut but as her hands go back to soothing his muscles, she notices that they're definitely relaxing.

"You'd have been more dressed up for dancing- but so would I, it'd be full uniform, sugar" he murmurs, "and you might've even found some stocking with seams if you'd thought I was worth the trouble…"

"Oh, you're definitely worth the trouble" she whispers, loving the dreamy quality his voice has taken on, it seems so sweet, how content he is just talking about all this, "I'd have done my hair too, and put on that lipstick"

He smiles at her description, picturing it so vividly in his mind that he could reach out and touch her lips and his fingers would come away red.

"And my pretty friend would be takin' care of Steve…" she tells him decisively, "so what would we be doing?"

"I'd get us drinks, doll…" he says, "the band would be playing, not through speakers like now, but they'd have a singer, and a whole set up, we'd ditch our glasses and I'd ask you to dance… there were always so many people there, sugar, the room was so warm- and we'd be laughin' and I'd pretend that I didn't… but if it was you in my arms I'd have forgotten all about Steve by the time the music stopped."

The fingers in his hair are like magic, drawing every facet of tension from his body as she untangles the strands with ease. He hadn't even notice how tense he'd been before. The mission had been quick and easy and without complication until the end, when Tony's "un-freezable" engine had frozen, needing 30 minutes to warm back up before they could head home. He'd been wracked with guilt for the entire flight, hating having to tell you he was going to be late for date night. The date night he'd been looking forward too all week.

"I'd have taken you for a bite on the way back to your place" he continues, clinging to the fantasy like a blanket in the cold, "I'd have wanted more time with ya'- so I'd have insisted on a diner instead of a hot-dog stand or somethin'… I wouldn't have let you drink to much, we'd have gotten cokes in the glass bottles- I swear, it tasted so much better than it does now, even with the rationing-"

"Is that when I'd steal your hat and put it on over my pretty curled hair?" she asks cheekily.

"hat?" he asks, opening his eyes to look at her curiously,

"You said you'd be in uniform- I've seen the pictures."

"Well, yeah, but-"He blinks, still not understanding "Why would you take it, doll?"

"Isn't it like cowboys?" Y/N presses warmly, still carding through his hair

"Cowboys?" Bucky echoes, confused.

"Mhmm" she hums in confirmation, "plus, if I ran away with your hat, you'd definitely follow me home wouldn't ya?"

"I'd have walked you home anyway, m-maybe even kissed ya' at the door if I was feelin' brave" he stammers, still caught up in the mental image of the most beautiful girl in the world wearing an outfit that would've put Marilyn Monroe to shame and his hat.

"Well, yeah" she agrees, "but this way you'd have to chase me inside."

Suddenly, a flush fills his cheeks as the imagined dress vanishes, leaving him with a fantasy that does more than make his face hot.

"It's your birthday in March" Y/N says coolly, "I'll see what I can do".

Masterlist

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sarahpaulsonsoftie · 10 months

Text

(Not such a) Bad Idea

Larissa Weems X reader-

Songfic based on bad idea by girl in red, loosely. Reader is a final year university student and often frequents the Weathervane for their impeccable coffee (it’s just for the free Wi-Fi). Larissa is the principal of Nevermore academy and often frequents the Weathervane for their impeccable coffee (it’s just for the peace and quiet).

Two dumb gays in love and Marilyn meddles.

Huge thank you to @h-doodles who majorly helped me with the plotline with this one. Honestly cannot thank you enough, I hope it meets your expectations :) <3

It was a typical Thursday Morning for you, early enough for the Weathervane to be open, which meant you could claim a booth and work on your thesis statement. Typically, the weathervane was a quite café but for some reason, today it was packed and there was no seating available elsewhere.

Just as you had frequented the café, there was also an extremely tall lady, with ocean blue eyes and always wearing pristine clothing. You would often catch her eyes and she would smile at you, which would make you feel like you were going to faint. God, to see that smile in the morning would give you enough motivation to get through the day, and you would yearn for it long after she was gone.

Almost as if your thoughts had summoned her, in she stepped, noticing how busy it was and she approached the counter, giving her order. Her order is placed in front of her, and you notice her eyes wander around the café and eventually her eyes lock with yours.

You do your best to hide the fact you were staring by turning your focus onto your laptop, a flush growing on your cheeks.

“Hello.” You hear a British accent say and you look up, almost fainting because the woman who you had just been staring at has approached you. Oh my god, she’s British. “Is there any chance I could share a booth with you? Its quite busy in here today.”

“Oh- Yeah, of course, I don’t mind!” You say, probably too enthaustically, but she doesn’t comment and instead you decide to offer up your name “I’m Y/N.” You smile.

The woman smiles wider at you, “Larissa.” She returns, and you feel your face flush. Oh my god, even her name is ethereal. You grin as you turn back and begin to type away.

Moment’s pass, before your eyes raise to see Larissa watching you curiously, and you feel yourself blushing. Larissa takes a sip of her drink before nodding her head to your laptop.

“What are you working on?” Larissa enquires, as her eyes crinkle with her smile. You nearly stop breathing at the realization that she’s speaking to you.

“Me? Oh, uhm, nothing interesting, just my thesis statement for Uni.” You smile and Larissa rolls her eyes lightly with a smirk.

“Of course, it’s not interesting, otherwise you wouldn’t be staring at me every time I come in.” Larissa teases and you feel your ears grow hot, and your eyes grow wide in shock.

“Oh, sorry! I mean no offence!” You say urgently, realizing you’re probably embarrassing yourself even. You try to focus back on your laptop, hoping the floor will swallow you up. Larissa lightly pushes your laptop so its half closed.

“Oh, believe me, it’s quite the compliment actually.” She states with a smile before chuckling. “Gosh, its going to sound rather silly but sometimes, I hope to see you staring to figure out if I’ve made the right outfit choice.”

You’re certain if you blush anymore, you will faint. “Oh, I bet you’d still look good in a trash bag.” You manage to say before you can stop yourself and Larissa chuckles, and you smile yourself.

“Well, Y/N, thank you for that wonderful insight. I’m sure my wardrobe will thank you.” Larissa smiles before checking her watch. “I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Goodluck with your thesis, Y/N.”

Larissa stands to leave and begins to turn away and looks at you again, “You’ll be here tomorrow?” She asks and all you can do is nod.

Friday morning couldn’t have come quicker for you, and you excitedly sit down in your booth, jittering with excitement as you see Larissa enter. You lock eyes with her, and she smiles at you from across the café. You open your laptop and at least try to pretend that you are focused on something other than her.

Larissa grabs her order and sits opposite you in your booth, and you smile at each other.

“Morning.” You smile, looking up from your laptop and Larissa is wearing a sage green dress with a golden chain necklace, complete with a golden watch and you swear you can faint. “I suppose you didn’t feel like wearing a trash bag today, huh?” You joke, your face flushing.

Larissa chuckles lightly and she has you enchanted by the sound. She takes a sip from a drink as she raises her brow at you.

“Oh please, you’re too nice to me.” Larissa states and you take a sip of your own coffee before you close your laptop. Larissa looks at you questioningly, “Off for the day?”

“Oh, no. I’m gonna be here for a while but there’s no point in pretending anything else has my attention when you’re sitting in front of me.” You grin, you have no idea where the confidence has come from, but you decide that since Larissa has decided to sit with you for a second time, it’s the confidence you need.

Larissa chuckles again and smirks at you again. “Careful, you might convince me to never leave.”

You grin at her cheekily, you’re sure your cheeks are flushed but you decide to ignore and begin to speak, “you say that as if it’s a bad thing. Perhaps I don’t want you to.” You say, and Larissa smiles before taking another sip.

“You never told me what your thesis was on.” She states and shuffles somewhat close to you, and you look down at your laptop before looking back up at her.

“Like I said yesterday, nothing too interesting. But I’m currently writing about Rene Descartes influence on modern philosophy, seeing as some consider him the father of modern philosophy.” You say and roll your eyes.

“Ah, and this does not interest you?” Larissa questions, her hands finding themselves onto the table.

“It’s not so much that it doesn't interest me, but I am not too keen on modern philosophies, I know, I know, they paved the way for society today, especially with the way he connected geometry and Algebra, but I suppose at heart, I’m more of an ancient Greek gal.” You say with a light grin, and Larissa looks intently at you, a light smile on her lips. “Sorry, I’m boring you.” You say, and Larissa’s hand reaches out to touch your arm.

“No, I find it quite refreshing how passionate you are.” Larissa states and her hand doesn’t move from your arm, you grin up at her.

“Soo, what about you? What do you do?” You ask and Larissa smiles a tight smile before looking up at you.

“I’m the principal of Nevermore academy.” She says proudly and she watches as your eyebrows furrow together, and she removes her hand from your arm, anticipating some sort of backlash.

“Nevermore? I don’t think I’ve—Oh! Nevermore, the academy for outcasts? Wait, sorry, is outcast the right word? I dunno if I got that right, erm but yeah, I’m sorry if that’s offensive! But also, principal? That’s awesome!” You say, and watch as Larissa breathes a sigh of relief, and you eye her curiously.

“Yes, outcast is the correct term. Although, some would not consider it ‘awesome’, but I suppose that’s their problem.” Larissa states and you look at her.

“Some people just like hating people.” You state, “Like how some people hate me cause I’m gay, but I think that sort of hate just makes you more accepting. But you being the principal of Nevermore academy is awesome.” You smile comfortingly, as you place your hand hesitantly onto Larissa’s.

Larissa checks her watch and frowns before looking at you. “I’m sorry, darling but its time for me to go back to the academy.” Larissa says before standing, “May I see your phone?” She asks and you nod, handing her your unlocked phone, she types in something before handing it back to you with a smile.

“You have my number now, message me if you get bored with your thesis. I hope I can help with the boredom.” Larissa smiles, hesitating slightly before placing a kiss on your cheek. She then begins to leave, looking over her shoulder before waving with a smile.

Okay, so she called you darling, and then kissed your cheek, and THEN gave you, her number. You can die happily now.

You submit your thesis statement draft Friday evening and take out your phone to find the contact Larissa saved. You click onto it and begin to type out a message.

‘I submitted my thesis draft.’ You type and send almost immediately, excited to finally have a reason to message Larissa.

You see the read icon almost immediately and then the typing icon. You stay on the chat and watch intently as the typing icon appears and disappears three times before the message comes through.

‘Does this mean I won’t see your beautiful face in the morning now?’ Is the response and you squeal, squeal. Squeal at the response. You begin to type out your response.

‘No, luckily for you, and unluckily for me, it was only the draft, I still have to submit the real thing ☹’ You type back ‘Plenty of boredom on my part still, and many mornings left in the weathervane.’

‘I suppose you’re not too busy to attend the Harvest festival with me next weekend?’ Is what Larissa says and you swear you feel as if you can faint, this woman is too much and you love it.

‘only if you promise I can win you a prize.’ You respond and there is a grin on your face.

The weekend and week pass quite quickly and eventually the day of the harvest festival arrives. You and Larissa had been in the Weathervane nearly every single morning, except for Sunday, because you decided to take the day to have a break, due to Larissa’s encouragement.

You are dressed already, after much changing and tweaking but you decided on your final outfit change that it would have to do otherwise you would drive yourself crazy.

You pull out your phone and begin to type out a message to Larissa ‘hey, did you want to meet out front?’

You place your shoes on and feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You look to see Larissa has messaged ‘Nonsense, I’m outside yours, we can walk there together.’

Your stomach does butterflies as you almost sprint to your front door and open it and see Larissa standing there holding two cups of coffee. You shut your door as you look up at her and nearly choke on your own breath.

She’s wearing a light green dress that cuts off just off above her knee, hugging her in all the right places, and a matching jacket, her hair pinned up in its usual pristine style.

“Hi.” You say, nervously shuffling on your feet and Larissa smiles lightly before stepping closer and handing you your coffee before kissing you on your cheek.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She smiles, as she pulls back. Your cheeks feel hot, and you look up at her through your eyelashes. “You look absolutely divine.”

“Me?” You manage to say, before looking down at your feet, “What about you?” You ask.

Larissa’s hand cups underneath your chin, as she brings your eyes up to meet hers, a smirk playing on her lips “Where’s the shyness come from, darling? Did I make the right outfit choice?”

“You look like a goddess.” You say, and Larissa grins down at you. You move your eyes away from hers and Larissa lets go of your chin.

“A goddess? That’s a new one.” She smiles and takes your hand into hers as you begin to walk. “Is that from all your university study? Is that where you’ve learnt to sweet talk?”

“Oh, no, it’s not sweet talk if it’s the truth.” You smile shyly up at Larissa and she grins at you, before taking a sip of her own coffee.

It’s a few hours into the night and you and Larissa have been endlessly flirting, lingering touches, longing looks.

You manage to catch a glimpse of a game booth that would let you win prizes, and you grab Larissa’s hand and excitedly pull her towards it, and you look back at her with a grin.

“I believe I promised to win you a prize.” You say and Larissa’s arm wraps around your shoulder.

“You don’t have spend so much time trying to win me a prize, when you’re already here next to me.” Larissa states and you look at her, and bite your lip, trying to ignore the heat that flushed throughout your body.

“I promised.” You repeat and Larissa’s eyes soften as she lets you wander off to the stall. She watches as you speak to the man running the booth and laugh along with him, and you look back towards her with a grin. She’s standing a distance away from you, not wanting to approach, content in watching your excitement.

She watches as the man hands you the throwing balls and you throw the first one, knocking down nearly half off the cans down. She watches as you grin and look back towards her and Larissa cannot help the yearn in her heart.

Your second throw leaves only one can left, and she watches how your tongue sticks out in concentration on your last throw and Larissa grins as you get the last can on the last throw, you jump excitedly and the man running the booth allows you to pick out your prize.

You throw another glance towards Larissa with a smile as you pick out your prize, her prize, and hide it behind your back as you make your way back towards her.

“That was impressive.” Larissa grins and you look up at her with a huge smile. You move your hands from behind your back, showing two matching bear keychains.

“I picked this cause, even if I’m not with you, or you’re not with me, you’ll see it and be reminded of me.” You say and hold out one to her, keeping the other for yourself.

Larissa doesn’t say anything as she takes the keychain from your hand and stares at for a moment before her hand is on your cheek and crashing your lips together.

You respond to the kiss immediately, and Larissa’s hands find your hips before she pulls away and rests her forehead against yours.

“I think we should go back to yours.” She says, slightly out of breath and you nod in agreement, speechless over this woman.

When you wake the next morning, Larissa’s arms are wrapped around your waist and you smile softly before checking the time. 07:04am. You shuffle so you’re facing Larissa and she looks even more beautiful than you could have imagined. Her hair is undone from it’s usual style, laying bare into the pillows underneath it, her face is bare from any makeup and you’re close enough to see every freckle that has graced her face.

Larissa stirs slightly before opening her eyes and looking at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” She says, her voice laced in sleep. Her hand reaches up to your cheek and she places a light kiss to your lips. “Do you know what the time is?”

“Oh, its just passed 7.” You say, leaning into Larissa’s touch. Larissa’s eyes widen in shock before she’s making her way out your bed quickly, speeding to pick up her clothes that are strewn about from the previous. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a meeting with the mayor at 8! Did you see where I put my phone?” She asks and you take it from the nightstand and hand it to her. “Thank you.”

There is a slight nervousness to her nature that you shrug off due to her being late, you get out of the bed and watch as she gets dressed quickly, amazed at how she can pull herself together so quickly.

“Where are you meeting him?” You ask Larissa, standing in front behind her as she uses your mirror to fix her hair into its usual style. She turns back to look at you, her hands pausing their movements.

“At a café in Burlington, I left my car at the academy, so I’ll have to get a taxi.” Larissa says, stepping closer to you. “I’ll message you.” She says, before kissing your cheek and leaving.

Days pass and you have yet to hear anything back from Larissa. You had left her a message, in which she had just read and not responded. You take the hint, no matter how much it hurts, and you do not attempt to message her.

It’s Wednesday morning and you’re sitting in your usual booth. You notice how Larissa hasn’t come in during the mornings anymore. You sigh lightly as you take out your flash drive and spare a glance to the bear keychain you had attached to it.

A shadow darkens your laptop and you feel hope swell in your chest, at the possibility of it being Larissa but as you see another figure, a lady in which you hadn’t seen before at this time of the morning, who had red hair and was wearing glasses, along with a baby blue cardigan over a summery dress. You smile lightly.

“Hi.” She says, almost nervously. “May I sit here?” She asks, and you look around the café and notice hoe the seating is unusually full. You nod and smile. “I’m Marilyn.”

“Y/N.” You return, with a shy smile. You try to focus on your work but notice the lady, Marilyn, staring at you. You bring your eyes up to meet hers and she smiles softly.

“What are you working on, Y/N?” Marilyn asks and you look at your laptop. Déjà vu from the first time you and Larissa spoke. You frown lightly and look back towards her.

“Just my thesis for Uni.” You return, shortly. You don’t mean to come across as rude but you know that the last time you had been nice to someone sitting with you at the booth, you had a one night stand, and she avoided you since.

Yet, your heart still yearned for. Marilyn’s eyebrows furrow together as she watches you together, throwing a glance at your bear keychain.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you seem quite upset.” Marilyn states and you bite the inside of your cheeks. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but since I’m just a stranger, it might be nice to talk about.” Marilyn shrugs lightly, taking a sip of her drink, and you notice it in a to go cup.

You sigh, contemplating and decide that it would be nice to talk about it. “I, uh, met someone. I thought we were getting along great, we went to the harvest festival together, she kissed me, and then we went back to mine together. I haven’t heard from her since, haven’t seen her since even though she usually comes here in the morning.” You admit, and Marilyn looks at you comfortingly.

“I have a friend, who’s in somewhat of a similar situation.” Marilyn states, “Well, not exactly the same, kind of the opposite, and she’s the avoider. But she did so for a reason.”

You close your laptop and look at Marilyn whose hands are resting on the table and Marilyn smiles softly, looking at you with warm eyes.

“What reason would that be?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink, before avoiding her eyes.

“Well, see the person she was seeing was quite a bit younger than her, and after they got together, she just felt insecure about her age, about the difference in the stages of their lives. I mean, my friend has her career and knows that she wants to stay in her job for the rest of her life, but she confessed to me that the person she was seeing hasn’t even finished studying yet. She’s scared that this person won’t wanna be with her once she realizes the difference.” Marilyn says and you watch her, your eyes feel as if they’re growing wet. You don’t say anything immediately, noticing the similarities.

“Well, has she asked the person she’s seeing? Cause, you know, the woman I was seeing was quite the bit older than me and that was never a problem for me.” You shrug before sighing again. “Guess she just wanted some fun. It was a bad idea.”

Marilyn nods along, listening to what you say before checking her phone for the time. “I’ve gotta go now, will you be here tomorrow?" She asks and you nod.

A week passes and you and Marilyn become quite close friends, often giving each other separate advice. It’s evening time for as you type away on your laptop, its nearing closing time but you have just one more argument to write before you can leave.

You hear the door to the café open and you look up, seeing Larissa enter. Almost immediately, her eyes are locking with yours and you look back at your laptop, saving the file and closing it up before you get up to leave.

You make it halfway to the exit before you hear your name being called. “Y/N!” Larissa says, taking long strides, and you look back towards her, moving back slightly as she stands in front of you.

“Oh, hi.” You say, before pulling out your phone, pretending to check the time. “I’ve got to go, but it was nice seeing you.” You say, with a fake smile.

You turn around and leave the café, making sure you do not glance back, yet you yearn to, to turn around and you hope that Larissa will call out your name, but your heart drops as you walk down the street, and she still hasn’t called out your name.

You feel used. You feel sad and used. Did what you have mean nothing to you?

Unbeknownst to you, Larissa watches you leave, her hands gripping onto the keychain you had won for her, her cheeks growing wet as she realizes how much she has hurt you.

The weekend arrives and Marilyn invites you out to a bar, just for a friendly drink she had said. You enter the bar, which lighting is low and you notice Marilyn is at the bar, grabbing drinks and you approach her with a small grin.

“Hi, Marilyn.” You smile and Marilyn grins at you, looking up at you from over her glasses. You notice her taking two drinks from the bartender and thanking him, you furrow your eyebrows at her in confusion as Marilyn smiles.

“Hi, Y/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited another one of my friends.” Marilyn smirks, and hands you one of the drinks she has ordered. It’s a glass of red wine and you smile at her taking a sip.

“That’s fine, any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” You smile, and Marilyn grins as she leads you to a table, your eyes are more focused on the bar, and you almost bump into Marilyn as she stops, grinning like a fool as she looks at you.

You move your eyes to the table and to your absolute surprise, Larissa is sitting there is a low-cut dress and her usual golden chain. She stands once she sees you. “Y/N.” She says and you look at her.

“Hi, Larissa.” You say, slightly tense, and Marilyn places her drink on the table. She shuffles slightly before speaking.

“I see you two have already met, which is great because I need the bathroom.” She grins and she rushes away.

“Wait, Marilyn!” You call after her, and she ignores you, as she walks through a crowd. You look back to Larissa and swallow. Jesus, even when you’re mad at her, she still has the ability to make you speechless. You frown as you connect the dots. “You’re the friend Marilyn was telling me about?” You ask, and Larissa steps closer to you. You don’t back away this time, and Larissa takes this a win.

“So that means, you are also the friend that Marilyn was telling me about.” Larissa says and her eyes soften. Her hands find yours slowly, in fear of you pulling away. You don’t and Larissa breathes a sigh of relief before speaking, “I never wanted to use you for fun, Y/N. I just—What I felt- what I feel- is very real and I was scared you’d think I was too old for you.”

You step closer to Larissa, looking up at her through your eyelashes. “I never would have thought that.” You say softly, and Larissa removes her hands from yours, placing them onto your hips. “I was, I am, falling for you, Larissa. You hurt me.” You say, and your cheeks grow hot as Larissa’s grip on you tightens.

“I am sorry, sweetheart. It was never my intention. But after I left yours in a hurry, I thought, I thought, you wouldn’t want to see me because of the workload I have, and I though you might’ve wanted more excitement.” Larissa says, her face coming closer to yours, “But, I have to admit that I am falling- No, I am in love with you, I’m in love with the excitement that radiates from you, the shyness that have when you see me, the passion you have for university, and the I love you.” Larissa confesses, her breath tickiling your lips.

You breath hitches as you close your eyes, before opening them again to see Larissa’s ocean blue eyes staring into your soul. “I’m in love with you too. I love hoe passionate you are about your career, I love how much you care about your students, I love the way you always make me feel so nervous.” You say and Larissa brings your lips together, in a soft, caring, loving, passionate kiss.

You eventually pull away and rest your foreheads together. In the distance you hear Marilyn yell. You both look over towards her as she’s grinning madly before she shouts, “I did it!”

You and Larissa look at each other before giggling.

Fin

#larissa weems x reader #wednesday #larissa weems imagine #larrisa weems #omg these bitches gay #fluff #fluffy asf #nearly died writing this #platonic marilyn thornhill x reader #marilyn thornhill #marilyn is not laurel

279 notes · View notes

mcflymemes · 8 months

Text

PROMPTS FROM THE PARENT TRAP * assorted dialogue taken from the script, adjust as necessary

we've got a big, big day ahead of us.

now the question is, how do i get it out?

you must be new.

i would say you need some serious help.

now that's my kind of woman.

we traveled six thousand miles for... this?

it's rather picturesque, wouldn't you say?

i'll be fine. see you in eight weeks.

i'm positive i'd remember you.

sorry, wish i could, but i'm allergic.

sure. i'll take a whack at it.

why's everyone staring?

want me to deck her for you?

i'm so tired. i'm crawling back into bed and sleeping until lunch.

save yourself the aggravation. it's really disgusting.

you'll thank us for this. you'll see.

i feel so bad for you.

any of your pictures ruined?

i love oreos. at home, i eat them with peanut butter.

most people find that totally disgusting.

it's scary the way nobody stays together anymore.

will you stop thinking about your stomach at a time like this?

oh man, this is beyond coincidence. this is beyond imagination.

this is so freaky.

if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

that's the way true love works. history's filled with stories of lovers parted by some silly misunderstanding.

i have a brilliant, beyond brilliant idea.

oh, right. sorry, i'm just a little nervous.

you sure you know what you're doing?

oh god, i hope she likes me. please like me.

you look fantastic. what did you do to your hair?

i just love how everyone drives on the wrong side here.

now you're even talking like an american.

i'm making a memory.

i can't believe it's you.

i'm sorry, it's just... i've missed you so much.

can you believe it? it seems like it's been forever.

i didn't realize you were so beautiful.

i found a stowaway in your suitcase.

can't you manage without me?

you don't think it's too over-the-top?

come on, let's see what all the fuss is about...

i like things exactly the way they are, thank you.

now let's see what disaster awaits us.

you can't avoid the subject forever.

we kind of hit it off immediately.

i knew you were going to ask me all these questions one day.

it just didn't work out.

get into these arms, you little punk.

what happened to you? something's changed. did you get taller?

now you sound like your old self.

i made cornbread and chili.

i'm just so happy to be home.

i can't put my finger on it, but something about you has definitely changed.

when you're done, come on down. there's someone i want you to meet.

sorry, did i get you wet?

somebody grab that, please.

we've got a major problem.

are you nuts?

this is an emergency.

you've got to get back here to help me.

there's something really important i want to talk to you about.

you do an absolutely marvelous british accent.

i'm trying to tell you something!

why's everybody acting so nutty around here?

i'm afraid you're kind of missing the point.

let's discuss this calmly and rationally...

you are unbelievably out of line.

this is fantastic wine, by the way.

are you okay? would you like me to come with you?

why didn't you tell me it was you all along?

i've never been so happy in my entire life.

i'm in such major trouble here.

you're perfect for each other.

may your life be far less complicated than mine.

i can't believe it. you haven't changed at all.

i think i have to get dressed for dinner.

sometime, if we're ever really alone, maybe we could talk about... what happened between us.

you didn't come after me.

it's the wine we drank at our wedding. i now have every bottle ever made.

can we open one?

you're the only one i'd drink it with.

you don't always have to be so brave, you know.

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confiscatedpeaches · 8 months

Note

can i request william brat taming reader?? afab plss and i LOVE your writing!! tysm!!

ofc!! thank you so much for the complement! I love the thought of William brat taming, I bet he'd be really good at it. (Also this lowkey turned into a really long fic lmao so I AM going to write a part 2 tomorrow aaaah)

Minors DNI, TW: bdsm dom/sub bratty!reader, reader is wearing a collar, use of restraints

Afton comes home from work and it has NOT been a good day.

You knew the signs; the sound of his car door slamming, his shoes practically stomping onto the pavement below, and swearing as he fumbled for his keys. Today was not a good day at work for Mr. Afton. He was positively furious about something, and you knew he was going to take all of his frustration out on you. Of all the days you could have chosen to be a brat, this should not have been one of them.

You look into the living room and find him pacing furiously, muttering something to himself about "Henry" and "those god-damned parents". Noticing you out of the corner of his eye, he turns to look at you.

"You. Come over here right now."

You fold your arms. Why should you come over, when it's so adorable to watch him pace his way into a hole in the rug? Absolutely not. Part of you loved when he was like this, the angrier he got, the more fun he would have with you later.

"Awe my little whore thinks she's in charge. Get over here, now."

You should have listened. Really, you should have. But you just couldn't help your bratty ass now could you. Instead, you decide to commit the worst sin according to your Mr. Afton, you stick out your tongue.

He scoffed, his face getting redder. His head cocked to the side.

"You're feeling brave today aren't you love? Keep it up and see what happens."

God, you loved how his accent became thicker with rage. Sometimes you could barely understand the man. Watching him unravel into a mess of words and animalistic sounds drove you absolutely mad. Seeing him lose himself in you was such a thrill. You really, really should give in now, before this became much worse.

"Oh? What are you gonna do to me Mr. Afton? Are you gonna punish me?" You mocked.

He scowled and crossed his arms. You could practically see steam rising from out his ears.

"Yes, I am actually. Now get over here and let me spank you for being such a naughty little bunny."

Even after he raised his voice, you continue to refuse.

"Do I have to come and get you myself darling?"

A grin spread across your face. Was he challenging you? Oh yes, he was definitely challenging you. You were going to make him work for this. Excitement bubbles within you.

"I'd love to see you try, catch me if you can!"

You dash down the corridor and turn down one of the side halls. You hear a very loud British man begin raving and screaming behind you

"Oh you little---!

Laughter fills your ears. Your laughter, of course, but also Will's. He was laughing manically. It dawns on you that you have fucked up, big time. It was one thing for him to simply get mad and dominate you, but for him to start laughing? That's when you knew he had something truly terrible planned for you. You had to hide and wait for him to calm down, asap.

His footsteps were getting louder, closer. Turning down yet another corridor (his house is weirdly arranged, and you often find yourself lost in it), you flick on the lights and run into the basement. He has so much junk in there, there is no way he'd be able to find you if you tucked yourself away in there well enough.

Sitting in the back corner, you find the perfect place. You manage to hide yourself behind an animatronic you haven't seen him work on in ages. Holding your breath, you wait.

His footsteps stop at the top of the basement stairs. Shit, he must have seen you run into there. His ragged breath and laughter echo down the stairs, reverberating on the basement walls. He has really lost it this time.

Then, he does something unexpected. He takes a few steps down the stairs, before shutting the door behind him and flicking off the lights.

He has you trapped. You're so unfamiliar with the basement that there is no way you'd be able to navigate your way out of there without making a sound, or god forbid, bumping into him.

"Come out come out wherever you are." He sings.

Dear lord, he was feeling absolutely villainous. You knew he could be sadistic, but you've never seen him like this. You heard him shuffle, what could he be doing? Is he searching for you? Fear and arousal pool inside you.

"Aww come on little bunny, I thought you were being brave."

You could feel your heart beating in your ears. You didn't know how long you could hold or hide your breath, especially with how hot and bothered you were getting.

"Little bunny, where are you? I know you're in here. If you come out now I pinkie promise not to punish you.... too harshly."

That liar, you knew this was a fake-out. He isn't stupid enough to believe that would do the trick. You would wait him out, see who could last longer. A growing part of you wanted to submit, face the consequences, and end the torture early, but the rest of you was stubborn and wanted to see how far you could take this. You were already in deep shit, why not make it worse?

"Sweetheart... I can see you, you know."

What? There's no way, it's almost pitch black in here. Can this motherfucker see in the dark or something?!

"You're hiding behind that animatronic, I can see your feet. I can hear your breathing too love. Come out now, be a good girl."

Shit. He had you dead-to-rights. All of the stubbornness deflated out of you like a popped balloon. He won, you lost, and he knows it. You hate how wet this is making you. You wanted to win this time, but there's a reason he's the dom and you're the brat. He's just so much cleverer and smarter than you. You stood no real chance.

"Don't you want to be a good girl for Mr. Afton? Really now, I can see you curled up back there. Crawl out like the pathetic little loser you are. I'm not coming to get you this time."

The urge to submit builds within you. You know you shouldn't make this any worse for yourself. Reluctantly, you slide out from your secure hiding place. A light illuminates your figure. You see him sitting on the second to last step of the staircase, flashlight in hand.

"Ah, there you are. Come over here, now."

Before you can resist, you find yourself walking towards him. You were too tired to fight anymore.

"Good girl, now get on your knees."

You obey. His hand thrusts towards you and grabs you by your collar.

"Gotch'ya you little bitch! How dare you disrespect me?! You stupid little whore, there's at least a dozen animatronics down here, I just guessed you were hiding behind one! It's time to face the consequences doll."

(Part 2 coming tomorrow -- am too tired to write more tonight.)

#william afton x reader #william afton smut #william afton x you #william afton #fnaf smut

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hockeyshmockey · 1 year

Text

Daniel Ricciardo- Met Monday

summary: when two famous people become lost for words around each other. Daniel Ricciardo x fem!oc

warnings: brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety!

“How are you?” Sarah asked her client, who was taking deep breaths in a heavy, intricate gown in the back seat of a SUV.

“Just trying not to vomit,” Jane tried to smile at her assistant in a way that was reassuring, but she was sure it came across as forced as it felt.

“You can do this!” Sarah encouraged. “The carpet will only take around 15 minutes, and then it’s just interviews. And you’re scheduled with Emma, you love interviewing with her.”

“You’re right,” Jane tried to breath. She had been in this industry since she was 16, but sometimes it never got easier. Of course, the Met Gala was unlike anything she had ever experience before. The actress had been to Cannes, the Oscars, so many award shows she couldn’t count, but Anna Wintour’s evening was THE event.

When Jane had gotten the call from Valentino, she had been stunned. Though she had done a campaign with the brand the year before, she never would have guessed they would have invited her to the event. But here she was, in a custom designed gown, getting ready to walk one of the most extravagant carpets in the world.

“Yeah, we got this,” Jane took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt the car slow, and the sounds outside crescendo as they approached the venue. As the brunette opened her eyes, she met Sarah’s concerned gaze. Giving the woman a more confident smile, Jane looked out the window as their driver hopped out and walked around to the back door.

Here we go, the woman thought as she climbed out and pasted on a smile. She waved as she walked past the wall of fans to where the carpet began. Like Sarah had guessed, once Jane was on the carpet and posing, time flew. She stopped for photos with some others in Valentino, including Pedro Pascal who had listened with a grin as the girl gushed about The Last of Us.

Jane’s grin turned softer as she reached the top of the stairs and saw Sarah waiting for her next to a familiar brunette.

“Oh here we go!” Emma Chamberlain let out her familiar laugh as Jane made her way towards the younger girl. “Guys it’s my girl Jane Richards, from the great outback!”

Jane laughed as she pulled Emma into a little side cuddle before standing in front of her and the camera. “I’m only here so you’ll send me coffee.”

“Fair point,” Emma shrugged. “So, Jane tell us all about the fit!”

“So this is Valentino,” Jane grinned as she ran her hands down her Valentino Pink Creation. “The team really let me dive into this. I loved the idea of doing a pantsuit because I am a whore for a pantsuit, and then they wanted me in a cape, and Marvel hasn’t called yet so I thought this would be my only chance to be in a cape.”

Emma laughed along with the woman as she asked more typical questions before turning to the juicy part of the interview, as she spotted her secondary victim in the background. “Now,” Emma turned to the camera. “As you guys know, Jane and I are besties, and we know deep and dirty secrets about each other.”

“Oh god,” Jane whispered, wondering what the brunette was up to.

“One of Jane’s guilty pleasures is F1 racing,” Emma turned back to Jane. “You were at the Vegas GP preparations last year, you went to multiple races, you’re a huge fan!”

“Oh yes,” Jane nodded. “I grew up in Australia but my family is British so our house was always watching the races. And then when Ricciardo started racing for Red Bull, we had a hometown racer that I was able to watch in real time, it was so cool.”

“Ah yes, Ricciardo,” Emma nodded. “Famously, you have admitted while under the influence of the puppy interview, that he is your celebrity crush.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Jane blushed as she giggled, knowing her confession had over 11 million views on Youtube.

“Well, as much as I hate to do this, which I don’t,” Emma grinned. “Let’s get him over here! Hi Daniel!”

Jane choked on her own breath as she looked over her shoulder to see a head of curly hair walk up to her little corner with Emma. “Oh my god,” Jane coughed as Sarah started to walk over.

“Arms up,” a familiar twang said as tattooed hands grabbed her arms and guided them over her head. “Can’t admit I’ve had this reaction before.”

“Oh my god,” Jane patted her eyes as she reached for the bottle of water Sarah offered. “I am so sorry I-”

“No worries,” Daniel Ricciardo laughed as he came to stand by her. “I was just-”

“This is so fun,” Emma cackled. “Sorry J, didn’t mean to almost kill you.”

Jane glared at Emma as the producer got them another microphone. “Sorry to crash,” the brunette tried to say quietly as they waited for Emma. “I’m really, I mean, I’m a huge fan like-”

“Alright lovebirds,” Emma cut in with a smile. “We’re going to play a quick game of Australian trivia with two of our favorite Aussies.”

“Do you want to hold this or-” Daniel fumbled the microphone as Jane moved closer to him.

“No it’s ok I think,” she tried to play it cool. “We can be team mates.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel laughed as they turned to Emma who had 10 questions ready to go.

No one was surprised when the rest of the Vogue interview was filled with laughs, memes and sneaky looks between Jane and Daniel. As Emma said goodbye to them, Jane grabbed Daniel’s arm and made a head nod to a corner away from the cameras.

Daniel was confused, but happy that the woman in front of him wanted to keep speaking with him. He knew after tonight he would have texts from all of his friends giving him so much shit for the cluster he made of his first chat with the woman, but she seemed just as flustered.

“So, first off, fuck McLaren,” Jane laughed nervously as she looked into Daniel’s eyes as he laughed with her.

“Thank you for the solidarity,” Daniel smiled that signature beam that Jane mirrored.

“I just felt it was important to tell you, that when I was in the car on the way here, on the verge of an anxiety attack, I thought on your quote about enjoying the butterflies, and it really calmed me down. And I think it is so admirable the way you can be yourself with the way you were treated last season and-”

“Go to dinner with me,” Daniel blurted out, cutting the rambling blushing woman off. “I’m sorry, but I would hit myself if I didn’t get to talk about this with you when eight hundred cameras aren’t tracking us and I can get myself together enough to flirt with you.”

“Oh,” Jane looked at him wide eyed. “You want to flirt with me?”

“Haven’t you seen the memes that came out after your puppy interview of me admitting you’re my biggest celebrity crush,” Daniel winked. “I feel like I owe you a meal that doesn’t cost a few grand a plate.”

“I’m more of a burger and chips type of girl,” Jane smiled softly.

“My type of girl,” Daniel grinned.

The next day, the f1 gossip pages were filled with clips of Daniel and Jane’s interview. Emma Chamberlain would later get a huge flower arrangement and wine from two Australians for forcing them together.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #Formula 1 #Formula One #formula1 #formula 1 imagines #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagines #Formula One Driver #imagine #fluff #daniel ricciardo x oc

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lowkeyrobin · 2 months

Note

hey! (just wanna say I really love your writing and especially the ones on mental health)

could I ask for more of the reactions to an Australian accent, but with the cricket crew instead? (those who are okay with x reader ofc)

tysm!!! have a wonderful day!

ah omg thank you 🫶🫶🫶 I've been working really hard esp on those ones + the fact I've always kinda struggled w mental health stuff so I rlly pour my heart out into those ; and he's of course!! sorry if I misunderstood you on that last one by the way LMAO ; gonna keep this as a oneshot tho because it was way easier than a preference format for some reason ; also I wish we got more freddie, tommy, tubbo & ranboo pics while we could 😔🙏

HANDSOME BROS ; australian accent

summary ; youre the only aussie in a group of british kids (and an american)

warnings ; language, lots of ball jokes (sorry tommy)

genre ; fluff

word count ; 1.4k

masterlist

Showing up for Tubbathon 2024 was a wild one.

Having your hand duct taped to Tommy's was also a whole thing in itself. At least you weren't working with Ranboo, who had no idea how to cook, unlike their poor partner Freddie. Recipe For Disaster was probably a horrible idea to join.

You and Tommy, Green Team, versus Ranboo and Freddie, Orange Team.

You'd never really talked on stream before. You either communicated through Minecraft signs or in-game chats. If you did speak, however, you'd often use a voice changer to make you seem a little more understandable, as you knew your accent was a bit difficult to understand sometimes.

You'd also met with your friends in real life before, of course, but you made sure the entire trip you strained your voice to sound a little more understandable.

But, now cooking with one of your long-time friends, the big guy TommyInnit himself, you didn't seem as worried or insecure when you spoke. I mean, you'd barely spoken, but you were in a comfortable environment - Tubbo's house - and were accompanied by friends you'd known for a long time now.

The stream had started and Tubbo had explained your rules, leaving the two groups to get to cooking.

"Hey, mate, can you hold the bowl while I stir the eggs?" You kindly ask Tommy, wriggling a whisk out of the jar between the stations.

The blonde blinks in silence, staring at you, "Your accent went 0 to 100 very quickly, Y/n/n" He giggles.

"Wait, what?" You glance about, feeling a little nervous as you plop the whisk into the measuring cup, needing to stir the eggs.

"Not in a bad way! Like, I never noticed your fuckin' accent was so, like, heavy before? You didn't sound like that last time we met up, or talked" He shrugs as he explains himself.

"Oh" You shrug, watching as he secures his free hand around the handle of the glass measuring cup. You begin to whisk the eggs, poking at the yolks to make it go a little bit faster. "I mean, I usually use a little voice changer to make me a little more understandable"

"Ohhhhh, wait, that makes sense" He nods, "Ow! Calm down, I'm not trying to get surgery on my wrist now!" He quickly pulls his hand away, feeling something pop.

"Shit, I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

He bites his tongue, nodding as you reach for his hand. "I'm good"

You gently grab his wrist, quickly and lightly kneading the area for him.

Ranboo looks up, seeing you two distracted in your green aprons. "They're taking a massage therapy break already" they comment, tapping Freddie on the shoulder.

"C'mon, man up, Tommy! You'll be okay" Freddie lightly smiles, cracking a few eggs over the measuring cup, which they'd just struggled to find.

"Dude, I just had surgery on my crowned jewels, I don't think I will!"

"Good God, help me now" You chuckle

Ranboo and Freddie go silent for a moment before the boy with the red hair speaks up.

"You weren't kidding about the voice changer, were you?"

You shake your head no, "Why would I lie about that, mate?"

The two shrug, hearing Tubbo fake yell at them for cheating since they were conversing with you. The four of you jokingly plan a rebellion that you'd put into place for later, deciding to focus on the food right now.

"Tommy, Tommy, the plate, not the floor! If you drop that I'll actually kill you"

"It's on the damn plate!"

Tommy quickly sets the pan down to help you fold the guacamole together, using his one hand to hold the bowl while you rushingly mix it all up. From the avocados to the lemon juice, you got it to a nice consistency, and, with a struggle, get a dab of it on the paper plate you were given next to the burrito.

"I think he's gonna like it either way, considering most of what he eats, he orders." You shrug, setting the bowl of guacamole down.

Tommy lightly laughs, "Yeah, that's true"

You were finished before the timer, luckily, however, Freddie and Ranboo were still working, using each hand to do their own tasks to work a little faster.

"Tubbo, can you understand me with my accent this thick?" You shout into the other room, purposely making your voice and accent sound a bit thicker to try and mess wirh him.

It's silence until he answers, like he needed to translate your words. "Barely!"

You and Tommy laugh, chatting away while the other group works.

"What's Australia even like? Just like... giant spiders and kangaroos?"

"Holy shit"

"I'm serious! It's not like I'm going anytime soon"

"Well, it's not that. It's like the UK but much warmer, and yeah, kinda scarier. It's like a real-life Better Minecraft mod"

"You guys have armored skeletons attacking you??" Tommy laughs as he teases you.

"I hate you!" You laugh

"I love how you say 'you', it sounds so dumb"

"It sounds like how you Brits say it!" You smile, using your free hand to try and fight him in a playful manner.

"Dumb in a nice way! Dumb in a nice way!" He shouts, trying to use his free hand to protect himself from the cat fight. "They weren't lying when they said you Aussies fight like wild animals, what's next, you gonna kick the shit out of me?" He asks, egging you on.

"I'm gonna kick you in the crown jewels if you don't shut up!" You joke, making him scream in terror, probably killing the viewers' ears as well.

He yelps, falling back as he drags you down with him, having slipped on himself.

"Tommy!"

"Ow!"

"Jesus Christ, they've broken each other's backs off that floor, I heard it" Freddie lightly laughs, holding the paper plate up for Ranboo so they could put the food on it. "I think Y/n's dead"

"Tubbo! We need the ambulance!" Ranboo laughs, "Get Eryn back here, they actually can't get up! The tied hands have impaired them tremendously"

"Tommy, just stand up!"

"My balls hurt!"

"Then let me stand up, I can't when you're holding your dick together!"

Eryn quickly rushes over, helping the both of you stand up slash getting Tommy to release his tied hand from his crotch. You help him up and pat him on the shoulder with your free hand as Tubbo wraps up the time.

In the end, your groups nearly tied, you and Tommy one point behind Freddie and Ranboo. Honestly, they did deserve the win.

"I still can't believe you fooled us with the voice changer, even changing your voice in real life. I swear, you sound totally different," Freddie lightly chuckles, freeing himself from the apron.

"In a good way, though" Ranboo adds, "Your accent is really fucking cool, trust me"

You lightly smile, freeing yourself from Tommy's sweaty hands. "Thanks- ow, holy shit!"

"You think that hurt?" The blonde teases, having ripped the rest of the duct tape of your hands.

"Piss off"

After the stream ended, Tubbo turned on some music while you guys cleaned up. He and Eryn were sorting out the lights, cameras, and microphone while the four of you cleaned up the kitchen. You decided to clean each other's messes, trying to make it a little more enjoyable, which none of you minded.

The music, picked my Tubbo himself, was an early 2000s hip hop mix, titled something like 'Greatest 2000s Hip Hop Hits' or something. And of course, Ranboo and Tommy were getting down to it, mostly leaving you and Freddie to do the cleaning while you laughed at them singing and dancing along.

Tommy was bouncing around, not focused on cleaning whatsoever as he tugs on your hand, wanting you to join in.

"Y/n, Freddie, cmon!"

"This isn't High School Musical, dude" You reply

"You deserve a break!" Ranboo shouts, pulling Freddie into whatever fucked up dance trapezoid you guys had going on.

You sigh and set down the cups you were washing and turn the water off. You spray the water from your hands on Freddie, starting a war as you join their little dance party.

Freddie gasps and smiles, throwing the little bit of water in the measuring cup at you in retaliation.

"Australian versus Brit! Who will win!?" Tommy shouts with a little laugh.

"Hopefully not the American"

You fake shudder and nod. "Yeah, I agree with that, Ranboo"

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #cricket crew #cricket crew x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader

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venusthepirate · 1 year

Text

like any unloved thing part two : the other woman

Author’s note : here we go ! I listened to the other woman by Lana del Rey on repeat while writing this. Her songs just fit so well with Fawn’s character. I hope you enjoy this ! I'll try to post once a week, maybe sometimes it'll take me longer because of college, but I promise to post regularly ^^

please tell me what you thought !!

Part one \ ao3

masterlist : @avocado-writing @little-sunflower-bug @evangelineflowers @humbug5 @yume904 @sarcastic-sourwolf

Fawn remembers perfectly the first time she met him. More accurately, the first time he hired her. First meetings are everything after all. So, she wasn’t exactly surprised when her handler told her she had a new client, and that he wanted to meet her first.

“Sure”, she replied, easily, balancing her phone on one shoulder, pressed against her ear, as she busied herself with washing a plate. “Where does he want to meet ?”

It’s not the most unusual thing, for clients to want to meet her first. They probable want to… Assess her, and what their money is going to be spent on, which she can understand.

Her handler had given her the name of the hotel, the one where they always meet after that. She already knew the place, and how expensive it was. So, she’d resorted to dress up a bit, with a nice enough dress, without doing too much : this was just a first meeting, after all.

The room this time had been the seventh. She’d knocked before letting herself in.

He had been sitting on one of the velvet chairs, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. From the first glance she had of him, she could tell he was tall. His hair was dark, slicked back, his moustache perfectly trimmed. He wore navy dress pants and a light blue shirt, the top buttons undone at the collar and sleeves rolled back around his elbows. At first, he looked like all the rich, handsome men who had hired her in the past, but then Fawn spied on the tattoos on his arms, the garnish rings on his fingers. Not quite, then.

She’d met his eyes, then. She had been startled, in spite of herself, by the blue.

“Hi”, she said. “I’m Fawn.”

One of his eyebrows had quirked up, almost as if he was surprised.

“Fawn”, he repeated. He had a British accent, voice smooth. “You can call me Orion.”

You can call me Orion was a bit of cryptic answer. Something told her it wasn’t his real name. People usually said “I’m Orion”, or “my name is Orion”. “You can call me”, though, it wasn’t exactly the same.

“Sure. Well, nice to meet you, then”, she replied, trying not to appear too thrown off.

“Oh, yeah, you can sit, if you want”, he said, waving at the seats in the room.

Fawn nodded, sitting down in one of the comfy chairs, facing him. He took a sip of his drink, his rings clinking against the glass.

“Is Fawn your real name ?” He asked, looking at her.

She shrugged. “Is Orion ?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked… Amused.

“Fair point”, he said. “Did the other woman tell you why you’re here, or…”

She frowned. That didn’t sound exactly good. She really hoped it wasn’t a weird fetish or something. God knew how many of those people had.

“No, not really”, she told him, cautiously.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, rubbed at the back of his neck. He looked less assured now. “So, I have what could be considered as a very… fucking time consuming and stressful job.” He chuckled, as if there was a joke in here somewhere. “Look, I just don’t have the time for all the relationship bullshit, and also I don’t really want a relationship, but it’d be nice to, you know, have someone to confide in, the fuckin’… Comfort, affection, whatever you want to call it.”

Fawn was a bit taken aback by his rambling. Also, that wasn’t really what she was expecting.

“So you want me to give you… Affection, then ?”

“Yep”, he said, downing the rest of his drink in one go, head thrown back.

“No sex ?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need you for that”, he replied, almost in a scoff.

Fawn didn’t get embarrassed about her job anymore. She used to, back when she first started. She would get ashamed, wouldn’t like when people spoke of it directly. It was as much a taboo for her as it was for everyone. But this was in the past, though. Still, it absolutely pissed her off when people, even more so when they were fucking clients, get all condescending and haughty about it.

She knew a good lot of her clients think it. Some might pity her, some downright looked down on her. They could think what they wanted, as long as they didn’t speak it.

“Look, you’re hiring a hooker, so if you can’t get over what I do for a living, I think it’s best if we don’t do this”, she told him, bluntly.

He seemed taken aback.

“That’s not…” He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry.” She waited for some kind of elaboration. He raked a hand through his hair, looking away. “I just… I already have fucking hook-ups, but they just want… Sex. It’s just sex, and I just want something that is not that.”

She nodded, slowly.

“Alright. Sorry about that.”

He batted a hand at her.

“You’re fine”, he told her dismissively. “So, are you okay with this, then ?”

“Sure. Not everyday someone hires me for something other than sex, you know, but okay.”

“What, am I the first client who doesn’t want to fuck you ?” He had asked, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Honey, everyone wants to fuck me”, she had told him.

Now, it’s been one months or so since Fawn last saw him, when he told her he was going to Bolivia. The days got colder and shorter. There’s always a bowl of tangerines on the counter of her kitchen, nowadays. She has to admit, they’re very good fruits. She likes the joke of it, too, even though she doesn’t have anyone to share it with.

She’s working her day-job, in a small coffee shop, something cozy, a bit hidden in a corner. She likes that it’s never overpacked with people : only regulars come here. She likes the free drinks, too. Her whole day working here is spent making herself chai lattes and other cinnamon-based drinks, serving the rare clients, and fiddling with the playlist. Today, she settles on some jazz, sat behind the counter as she watches the few people sat inside, and the rest of the world walking by the windows.

She doesn’t make a habit of answering her phone when she’s on a shift, but the day is so slow that when it rings from where she put it, in the pocket of her apron, she doesn’t really think about it when answering.

“Your client Tangerine wants to know if you’re available tonight”, her handler tells her in way of greeting.

Oh. So, he’s back in town.

“I think I already have a client tonight”, Fawn replies.

There’s some conversation on the other side, but she can’t make out what’s being said. She must have him on the line.

“He says he’ll pay double”, her handler finally speaks again.

Double.

Right. Shit.

“Alright”, she sighs. It’s actually better than what she had envisioned her night to go, but she just hopes he won’t make her cancel on other clients as a habit. She can’t really say no to a double pay, though.

“Room 9, this time”, and the line disconnects.

Fawn stares at her phone for a moment after that, until one of the customers comes to ask for a refill. She smiles, slipping her phone back in her pocket, and busies herself with making the drink, something with coffee and a lot of caramel syrup.

When she finally leaves the coffee shop, the night has already set outside. She pulls her fur coat tighter around her. She’s glad she settled on a long skirt instead of a short one, but she’s kind of regretting not choosing pants for today. She decides on heading to the hotel now ; she doesn’t feel like making a detour to stop at her apartment.

The hall is packed when she arrives, much more than the last time she was there. Probably because it’s a bit early, and of the cold weather. She stays rooted in the entrance, overwhelmed with the smell of hot chocolate in the air and the heat of the room. It’s a comforting scent.

She’s glad for her outfit : she looks less like an outsider than last time. The girl from a month ago isn’t here when she approaches the reception desk. It’s a man. He gives her a quick glance, up and down, and then hands her the card key dismissively. As she rides the elevator, she wonders if he guessed why she was here. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was used to girls like her coming in here to see clients.

The room is plunged in the dark when she comes in, but this time, there’s no light coming from other rooms. She frowns, setting her bag done on the couch and looking around.

“Tangerine ?” She calls out, cautiously.

“Here”, a voice says, behind her.

She whirls around, startled, heart missing a beat. He’s leaning against a wall behind her. She can’t make out his face.

“Jesus”, she hisses, pressing a hand against her chest. “Why are you standing in the dark like that ? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry”, he murmurs, his head hung low. There’s a slur in his voice.

Fawn frowns.

“Are you drunk ?” She asks.

He inches away from the wall with a hum, raising a hand to show her the glass he’s holding.

She takes a step back when he comes closer. She doesn’t trust people, and she trust them even less when they’re inhibited. She never accepts drunk clients, and he is not going to be the exception.

“I think it’s best if I come back later, alright ?” She tells him, grabbing her bag from where she had put in on the couch and inching towards the door.

“No, wait, wait, fuck, fuckin’ hell”, he curses, stumbling on his feet. There is panic in his voice, and that makes her stop. She watches as he sinks onto to the couch, defeated, and buries his head into his hands.

She stays rooted in place, halfway between the door and the living-room. But she doesn’t leave, in spite of herself.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong ?” She asks him, the words leaving her mouth before she can stop herself. Her feet take her further back inside, and she flicks the lights on. He nearly flinches.

His arm is in a sling, the wrapping crinkling the fabric of his shirt. She hadn’t noticed in in the dark. There are dark bruises underneath his eyes, and his hair is a mess of curls falling on his face, so different from the way he usually pulls them back.

He looks utterly disheveled, and lost.

She sets her bag down again, and slowly approaches him, standing in front of him. His head is hung low, and she can see the way his shoulders rise and fall heavily. She brushes her palm against the side of his face, and when he doesn’t pull away from her touch, she gently angles his face up so that she can look at him.

“You’re a mess”, Fawn tells him, bluntly.

He lets out a snort, but doesn’t say anything in return.

“What happened to you ?” She murmurs, brushing the curls out of his face. He closes his eyes, looking pained, but leans against her hand. His face is daunted, and Fawn can see the tiredness in his features.

“Just…”, he starts, breaking off. “Please, don’t go.”

He hangs his head down, hiding again, pressing his forehead against her ribcage. She curls her fingers around the hair at his nape, brushing them back and forth on his skin. His shoulders shudder, and the next breath he takes sounds rattled against the silence of the room.

He doesn’t answer her question, but she doesn’t really expect him to. He’s never really confided in her, and he isn’t going to start now. Allowing her to see him this way, to give him the physical comfort he so craves, is already making him vulnerable enough. Talking and putting into words would make it another special brand of real.

Whatever it is that he does, whatever prevents him from being able to get affection from someone else, someone he doesn’t have to pay for, seems dangerous. No one would have that many scars from just… Sitting a desk job. Fawn had wondered if maybe he was in the army at some point, but it would be something hard to miss. Former soldiers are easily noticed.

She doesn’t want to know what caused those injuries. But she can’t help but ask.

She’s heard stories, though, about girls being told too much from shady clients. It never ends well for them. She doesn’t want to be a part of them, doesn’t want to become a mere story used to warn others.

She can’t help but be curious, though. Curiosity killed the cat, and whatnot.

“C’mon”, she murmurs. “Let’s get you to bed, alright ?”

She helps him stand up, and he goes obediently, following her into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed when she tells him to sit. She unbuttons his shirt for him, the skin of his chest warm every time her fingers brush against it.

It’s weird, undressing someone just for the sake of undressing them. She’s not used to the simple… Domesticity of it.

When she finally manages to get the shirt off him, careful not to disturb the sling holding his wounded arm, he collapses forward against her, pressing his face into her shoulder. She holds him back, one hand holding the side of his head, the other curling around his shoulders to settle on his hair. She feels him take a deep, ragged inhale. There’s something wetting her top, where his face is buried into it. She doesn’t say anything.

His shoulders shake, and she shushes him, gently, caressing his hair.

He feels… fragile, beneath her. Like he’s breaking apart in her touch, and she’s desperately trying to keep the pieces of him together. Tangerine’s usually solid, warm, almost like something unmovable. Now, it’s almost like he’s disintegrating into dust and she’s grappling for him to keep him from scattering in the air.

She doesn’t like the way it makes her feel.

She feels close to tears. She blinks them away, staring up at the ceiling. Tangerine may not be used to be touched the way she touches him, but she isn’t used to touch someone the way she touches him either. To care for someone is something… Foreign. Like an old reflex that you thought you had forgotten, only to realize it hadn’t.

The loneliness inside her chest suddenly hurts, as if someone just gripped her heart and carved a hole in her ribcage. She swallows around the sudden lump in her throat.

Fawn doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s lonely. She always is. It’d be difficult not to be, in her line of work. The clients want her body, and other people just wouldn’t understand, so she just… Keeps them at arm’s length.

She feels like the other woman in that song, sometimes. The clients, once they leave, they go back to their families and their homes. Fawn, though, well. She goes home to no one, and nothing. At the end of the day, she’s alone.

Sex is easy. She knows what the clients want : they don’t expect any sort of feelings involved in it. Sometimes they want the illusion of it, but it’s just what it is : an illusion. She doesn’t really care about them, she’s not paid to do so.

Comfort and affection are… Something else. It requires a certain amount of vulnerability, even from her. The lines get blurry.

And with Tangerine… She feels a sort of kinship. He’s like her, in a way. Lonely.

***

When she wakes up, the next morning, the bed is empty. She finds Tangerine outside on the balcony, smoking. He’s still naked from the waist up. She wonders, briefly, how he managed to light his cigarette with one arm.

She slides the patio doors open and steps outside to join him.

It’s still early : the sun is barely peeking out. The air is chilly, her breath forming a little puff of condensation, but at least it helps fully waking her up.

She comes to stand next to him. He doesn’t say anything, simply takes another drag, the smoke twirling above his head.

Wordlessly, she extends her hand for the cigarette. He passes it to her, glancing at her, before looking away quickly.

She takes a drag, letting the hot smoke settle in her lungs.

“I’m sorry about yesterday”, he finally murmurs, shuffling a bit on his feet.

She looks at him for a moment, the cigarette hanging from her fingers. He doesn’t look back, but he must feel the weight of her eyes on him.

She sighs, taking another drag, and turns away to stare at the city. The sky is painted in a pale pink, the clouds almost golden. It’s a beautiful sight.

“It’s okay”, she finally replies, quietly. “Just… I don’t want my clients to be drunk when they hire me, alright ?”

He glances at her. She doesn’t flinch away from his gaze, and he nods. She hands him back the cigarette, their fingers brushing, and watches the way his throat moves as he swallows.

“Drunk father ?” He asks.

The question surprises her. She has half a mind not to answer him.

“Addict brother”, she replies, eventually, quiet. The admission floats between them, heavy. She doesn’t look at him, throat suddenly dry and choked up.

She’s never said it aloud before.

“My father was a drunk”, Tangerine tells her. “Still fucking loved him, all that… bullshit, you know. My brother, though, he kinda hates him. Maybe because he’s the eldest or shit.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to her about himself.

Fawn turns away so he doesn’t see her expression.

They lapse into silence, until she feels like she can speak again, without her voice doing anything embarrassing like wobbling and breaking.

“How was Bolivia ?” She asks.

She regrets asking immediately when she sees the way the line of his shoulders tenses. He lets out a chuckle, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. There’s no humor behind the sound.

“Fuckin’ terrible”, he says, after a moment. He flicks the cigarette off the edge of the balcony and rakes a hand through his hair. Fawn reaches for him to grasp his hand. He stills, looking at her as if surprised, and immediately relaxes against her touch. His fingers are cold. She drops a kiss against his knuckles.

“C’mon”, she tells him. “It’s freezing, let’s go back inside.”

She takes them back inside the bed, tucking the sheets around them both. He curls up next to her, breath shaky. She simply holds his hand, until he falls back asleep.

She watches him for a moment. His face is lax, in his sleep, soft, no tension or pain. She wonders how he is with his brother. She wonders if his brother looks like him, or if he acts the same way as he does.

The thought of brothers steers her to her own, so she closes her eyes and tries to think of something else. She won’t be able to fall back asleep, but she can get a little more rest.

When the clock starts inching towards ten a.m., she carefully extricates from him, making sure not to wake him. She pulls her skirt back on, adjusting it around her waist, and shrugs her cardigan on, buttoning it.

Tangerine starts stirring awake when she starts pulling her boots on.

“You leaving ?” He grumbles, voice laced with sleep.

“Yeah, I have a shift at eleven”, she replies, finishing zipping up her right boot.

“A shift ? He repeats.

“I work in a café.”

She probably shouldn’t have shared any more personal information.

“Oh”, Tangerine says, sounding surprised.

She hears him shuffle in the bed, and when she turns back towards him, he’s pulling a stack of bills from God knows where.

“Here”, he tells her, handing her a part of it. Just by eyeballing it, she can see that it’s way more than double.

“That’s way more than my usual rates”, she says.

He shrugs, unbothered.

“Look, I don’t want your… Pity, or whatever this is”, she insists, trying to hand him back the money.

He frowns.

“It’s not.”

She shakes her head, incredulous.

“It’s too much”, she repeats.

“Jesus, it’s not fucking pity”, he sighs. “You don’t take drunk clients. I was fucking drunk. Take it, alright ? Just let me… Apologize with fucking money.”

She snorts, in spite of herself. She eyes him for a while, before giving up and stuffing the bills inside her bag. He grins, for the first time since she came in the room. She’s glad for it.

“Alright, take care of yourself, alright ?” She tells him. He opens his mouth to answer, but she cuts him before he can say a word. “I don’t know what the fuck you do for a living, and I don’t want to know, but be careful.”

His grin widens.

“Is that concern ?” He asks, sounding like the cat that got the cream.

She rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue.

“Just concern about losing my source of income”, she retorts, shaking her bag full of money for emphasis.

“Wouldn’t want that to happen”, he nods, sagely, still smiling.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x oc #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #lemon and tangerine #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #bullet train fic #aaron taylor johnson

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ginevralinton · 3 months

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Have a very quick Chess-Husbands-Julian-POV-Ramble-Thing that I don't have the energy to think of a title for or to edit

(sorry for any mistakes in this)

No Getting Feelings had been part of the contract, right from the beginning. He’d set it out, clear and simple: No Feelings, No Commitment, and No Special Treatment.

He hadn’t been worried about himself, obviously. Let’s be honest, this was Julian Fawcett, former MP (disgraced), whose cold, decrepit heart had (literally) given up on him, getting it off with an actual caveman, who sometimes chased squirrels like a dog.

No Getting Feelings – perfectly easy for him, perhaps a bit harder for Robin who got attached to the moon and mice and various people who’d long been sucked off (perhaps in more than one way, Julian hadn’t got round to asking yet), but all in all, not too difficult because the caveman was, well, a caveman, who’d seen everything, lost most things, and dismissed Christmas, weddings, government, and canapes as silly fads. (There really was no convincing him on the merits of bite-sized, caviar crostini or a devilled egg – would leave me starving – yes, that’s the point, all the more room for the wine-dinner – would rather eat bum – I’m sure you would).

Really, the whole thing had just been a formality, a little precaution – look, Julian had been caught out before. And yeah, he was dead, but that didn’t mean other dead people couldn’t make you after-life into hell – or, you know, a precursor to hell, if this was purgatory. He’d just said it, because that’s what you – he – did when anything like this started anyway. No Feelings, No Special Treatment, No Commitment – the big three – and sure, there were a few others (No Sleeping in My Bed – broken after two weeks; No Suggestive Looks in Company – dismissed after a month or so, because honestly, some people were dense) – but it was important to get those three in straight off.

And look, Julian had intended to keep to the contact – but, well, you know, it was like the Great British public always said, like what the BBC, and every journalist were always reminding everyone: never trust a word a politician says.

In his defence, he really hadn’t thought it would require any effort to stick to the rules. He really hadn’t considered that games of chess, finding the same things funny, doing some actual stargazing, and dipping into a few too many deep-tragic-conversations might actually dredge something up in him besides his basic need to get off.

Still, stranger things have happened – men on the moon, The Green Party getting seats, that time in Amsterdam with the contortionist – becoming a ghost. All of that to say, yes, it did come as a bit of a shock when half-way through some god-awful Music Club, Julian had found himself not wincing at Pat rendition of Fernando, but looking over at Robin, who was absolutely into the performance, like he was with most music, come to think of it, because let it be said, the caveman’s taste was anything that made a kind-of-vaguely-musical-sound, and yes, Julian was trying to refine this a bit, but back to the point. He was looking over at Robin, all in his element, and then, he was having this warm, gooey feeling, the kind of feeling that could only be compared to a menu trying to tempt you into getting the caramel brownie sundae over the cheese board or the expresso with a shot of whatever liquor was on offer – except, well, this time, Julian was swayed.

Alright, so it wasn’t that simple and he’d be doing some creative photoshopping of the truth if he was to suggest it was all mushy-lovey-dovey from that moment on. Yes, he had a good few oh-god-oh-god-oh-god moments, two months of trying to avoid Robin (easier than you’d think, living in the same house and all), a false declaration of being sick-to-death-or-whatever-the-already-dead-equivalent-was of chess, and then a simple demand of what is your big problem now?, a whole bunch of rambling and walking in literal and verbal circles, and an actual crackling of lightening, a clap of thunder, a moment of forgetting they were dead and seeking shelter in the old gatehouse – four-walls, a bed, dry at least, even though it didn’t matter anymore – a brief conversation and then it was all settled in their own way – and no, Julian would not be making any further comment at this time – because no, it wasn’t that kind of story, or that one – and look, if you were to fall into the after-life with a bottle of something decent – or even not, at this point – then he’d probably tell you.

All that to say this: this thing – him and the caveman – had not been part of the plan – had not been part of the deal at all, but he should have known better really, because say what you like about Julian Fawcett, former-MP (disgraced), but know, if you ever need someone without any scruples to break a contract, he’s your man.

#bbc ghosts #my writing #fanfic?#kind of #idk what this is really #chess husbands #julian fawcett #robin #possibly awful oh well have it anyway

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chicgeekgirl89 · 9 days

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Chapter 3 Available Now!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Carlos is an IDIOT. He’s never listening to his sisters again. He’s never texting again. He’s going to become a monk and live a life of solitude.

He stares at the photo on his screen that is decidedly not Deacon from the bar. Deacon’s eyes didn’t sparkle like that, his smile didn’t look like literal sunshine, and his hair definitely wasn’t perfectly tousled in a way that makes Carlos’ fingers itch to run through it.

This guy looks vaguely familiar, but the name T.K. doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe he’s seen him at the grocery store? Or they go to the same coffee shop?

However he does or doesn’t know him, Carlos ha never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. His fingers fly as he types out an apology.

Carlos

[8:53pm] Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

Not Bar Guy

[8:53pm] No worries.

Did Deacon give him a fake number? Carlos gets up and searches his mail bin for the cocktail napkin he’d brought home from the bar. The number is still legible and Carlos’ eyes scan it quickly. 512…

Carlos checks the number he’d typed into his messages. 212.

Whoops.

How had that happened? Where the hell is the 212 area code even from? Definitely not Austin. Carlos sighs and shakes his head. Whatever. It’s done. He’ll just…text the right number and try again.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

He flops back onto his sofa, his head a little swimmy from the whiskey. What a fucking mess. He lets his eyes slide shut. Maybe he’ll just go to sleep and when he wakes up this will all have been an alcohol induced nightmare.

His phone buzzes and he reluctantly opens his eyes to find another text message.

Not Bar Guy

[9:02pm] I definitely would remember kissing someone like you. I hope Deacon appreciated it.

He jerks upright, his heart pounding. Is this guy, T.K., is he…flirting?

Something about the words and the screen and the whiskey and the calming sound of British bakers in the background emboldens him and he types back.

Carlos

[9:03pm] I like to think he did. I’m a pretty good kisser.

Not Bar Guy

[9:04pm] I’m sure you are. Did he give as good as he got?

Carlos huffs out a breath of surprise, the pounding in his heart easing into a more relaxed sense of fun.

Carlos

[9:04pm] He was all right.

Not Bar Guy

[9:05pm] Just all right? That was a pretty hot pic for just all right.

He flushes. Yes. Okay. He’d been trying to make a little bit of a point. And maybe it was a tiny bit desperate. But he doesn’t want this guy, T.K., to know that.

Before he can formulate a good response another text comes through.

Not Bar Guy

[9:06pm] Just saying, you look like you deserve a little more than that.

Carlos snorts as he types back.

Carlos

[9:06pm] You’ve decided that from one picture?

Not Bar Guy

[9:06pm] What can I say? I call ‘em like I see ‘em. It’s a very convincing picture.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Thanks. Yours is pretty good too.

Not Bar Guy- T.K.

[9:07pm] Just pretty good? Ouch.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Ah I knew I could see a sensitive ego in those green eyes. How would you like me to describe it?

Not Bar Guy- T.K.

[9:08pm] Charming, captivating, endearing…

Carlos

[9:08pm] Pushy? Forward?

Not Bar Guy- T.K.

[9:08pm] Forward? Says the guy who sent a thirst trap to a complete stranger…

Carlos

[9:09pm] I thought you were Deacon!

T.K. doesn’t respond for long enough that Carlos wonders if he’s finally gotten tired of the conversation. It’s crazy how disappointed that makes him. He’s just about to call it a night and go to bed when his phone lights up once more.

Not Bar Guy- T.K.

[9:15pm] Sorry, call came in. Gotta go. This was fun though. We should do it again sometime.

A call? Carlos frowns and pulls T.K.’s picture up again, zooming in. He’d been so surprised and embarrassed he hadn’t even noticed the AFD logo on his shirt. This guy is local? Even though his number is clearly from somewhere else?

That’s probably why he looks vaguely familiar. They’ve likely been on some of the same calls. Big ones, obviously, otherwise he would have gotten a more decent look at the guy. There’s no way he would have forgotten those sea green eyes if they’d ever locked on his in person before.

The whiskey is making him sleepy, pulling his eyes downward so he drags himself upstairs and readies for bed.

If T.K.’s picture is the last thing he looks at before he closes his eyes…well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Carlos arrives for his shift the next day in a good mood. A really good mood.

“Morning,” he says, setting a coffee from the place down the block on Lexi’s desk.

“Morning,” she says, looking up in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Carlos says, sitting down at his desk and booting up the desktop.

She eyes him suspiciously. “You look perky. More perky than usual.”

Carlos shrugs. “I had dinner with my sisters last night. We had a good time.”

“Mmm….no,” Lexi says. “This isn’t sisters happy. This is something else.”

“Okay, well if you figure it out, let me know,” he tells her. He pulls up his email and then tries to keep his voice casual, as if he hasn’t been planning his next words since the moment he woke up. “Hey, you don’t happen to know a firefighter named T.K. do you?”

It’s the first time he’s said T.K.’s name out loud and it makes his heart flutter. The letters feel familiar in his mouth and send sparks through his stomach. It’s stupid, but this is the feeling he was trying to convey to his sisters last night. Which is dumb. Because he literally knows nothing about this guy.

“T.K.? As in Strand?” Lexi asks.

“Um, yeah?” Carlos hedges. How many T.K.’s can there be in the AFD?

“Isn’t that the firefighter that got shot a couple months ago?” she asks. “Out of the 126?”

Oh. Oh.

That’s why he looked familiar. His picture had been on every news network, the talk of the department for over a week. Firefighter shot on duty. Crazy stuff.

“Right,” he says. “Now I remember.”

“I think his dad’s captain of that station,” Lexi says. “Why are you asking?”

“His name came up when I was out with a couple of the guys,” Carlos lies. “I couldn’t place him and thought you might remember.”

“That whole house was killed in that big explosion too, remember?”

“Right,” Carlos says, remembering it all too well. He knows people who’d gone to the scene that night and found total devastation. It was awful.

He waits for Lexi to go back to her work and then Carlos does something he promised himself he would never, ever do. He runs a background check for personal reasons.

T.K. stands for Tyler Kennedy. Carlos thinks of the picture he saved to his phone. T.K. is definitely a better fit. It’s fun and cute. Tyler Kennedy is…a little too stuffy for that rumpled hair and cheeky grin.

The shooting pops up obviously, but it’s not the only thing. Carlos clicks on a file from six months ago. T.K. was brought in for drunk and disorderly as well as assault and battery, but he blew a point zero and no charges were pressed. Huh. Interesting.

He clicks on the report of the shooting. It’s grim. Carlos feels sick as his eyes scan the words. Point blank range to the chest, a kid was involved…T.K. is damn lucky he survived.

He can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. They head out on patrol and he can’t help secretly hoping they’ll get rolled to a fire call somewhere. Then he realizes how stupid that is. Fire is a twenty-four hour shift. If T.K. was on last night, he’s probably off the rest of today.

Carlos hits the gym after work and then the grocery store. Usually cooking puts him in a good headspace, but tonight he’s a million miles away. He can’t stop thinking about their conversation. Or the shooting. Is T.K. okay? Does he have permanent damage? He’s obviously back at work since he went out on a call last night, so does that mean he’s okay now?

This is so stupid, he doesn’t even know the guy. He shouldn’t care this much. It’s just, the thought of that beautiful face no longer being in the world isn’t sitting well with him.

He settles into bed intent on reading, trying to take his mind off of things. But his eyes keep drifting to his phone.

He should not do this. You don’t text random strangers out of the blue. That’s not normal. It’s not okay.

He picks up his phone and then almost drops it when it buzzes in his hand.

T.K.

[9:13pm] So. Did you get in touch with “Deacon”?

Carlos stares at his phone like it’s some kind of poisonous snake. Did he make this happen? What are the chances T.K. would text him at the exact moment he’d made up his mind to do the same?

Carlos

[9:14pm] What’s with the quotes?

T.K.

[9:14pm] I’m not convinced Deacon is a real person.

Carlos

[9:14pm] You think I kissed an imaginary man in a bar?

T.K.

[9:15pm] Alcohol can make you believe a lot of things…

Carlos

[9:15pm] I’d had one beer!

T.K.

[9:15pm] You’re avoiding the question.

Carlos

[9:16pm] I was at work all day today. There wasn’t time.

T.K.

[9:17pm] No time like the present. Do you want help? I’m very good with words.

Carlos snorts and types quickly.

Carlos

[9:17pm:] I’m not going to text him. That ship has sailed.

T.K.

[9:17pm] Good.

Carlos

[9:18pm] Good?

T.K.

[9:18pm] I feel a sense of responsibility now that I’ve seen your abs. Those deserve to be protected from the average Deacons of the world.

Okay this guy is straight up flirting. They’re about three texts away from a booty call. Which is not something Carlos does. But the shiver dancing up and down his spine whispers at him to make an exception.

He decides to change the subject before he does something stupid.

Carlos

[9:19pm] So you’re AFD?

T.K.

[9:20pm] Yep.

Carlos

[9:20pm] But you’re not from here.

T.K.

[9:21pm] Not even a little.

Over the next half hour Carlos learns that T.K. came with his dad from New York to rebuild the 126. And not just New York, but like New York, New York. The kind of New York that Carlos has only seen in movies and on TV.

Even through the phone Carlos can tell it wasn’t an easy move. T.K. seems to be glossing over the finer details, but he does talk about his dad’s cancer and how hard it was to leave his mom.

Carlos can’t even imagine uprooting his entire life to move to somewhere so different. His family is here. His entire life is here.

Carlos

[9:47pm] That must have been really hard. To leave your whole life behind.

T.K.

9:48pm: I needed the change. My dad saw it. There was nothing left for me there. But yeah. It wasn’t easy. Why does everyone here smile all the time? What’s with all the friendliness?

Carlos

[9:50pm] Well you never know when you might need to borrow somebody’s tractor or an extra pair of hands for calving season. You have to be nice to your neighbors so they’ll return the favor.

T.K.

[9:51pm] Ah, see. I knew that niceness didn’t come honestly. It’s all a ruse.

Carlos

[9:51pm] You got us.

Carlos glances at the clock and sighs.

Carlos

[9:52pm] Hey sorry, I have an early shift again tomorrow. I should probably call it a night.

T.K.

[9:52pm] A shift? At the…hospital? Coal mine? Car wash?

Carlos

[9:52pm] Those might be easier. I’m APD.

T.K.

[9:53pm] Wow you really withheld the evidence on that one officer.

Carlos

[9:53pm] Well I can’t tell you everything all at once. Where’s the fun in that?

T.K.

[9:54pm] I look forward to continuing to play detective.

Carlos sets his phone down and heads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and pauses. He’s smiling. A lovesick, dreamy smile. The sight makes him laugh at himself. He’s an idiot.

#Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Thirst Trap Thursday #911lsfic #911 Lone Star

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shitpostingkats · 6 months

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Since I think you have met most of the Ignis now- what's your thoughts on them so far? They are like one of my favorite things in Vrains so I wanna hear your thoughts :DDD

BOY ARE YOU IN LUCK BECAUSE I HAVE MANY MANY THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THEM! :D

For anyone who isn't op, these rambles will include SPOILERS up to the end of season two of yugioh vrains. If ye wish to not know, scroll past quickly.

Okay SO:

Ai- Little little guy. I freaking love him so much. Yugioh has pretty consistently done a Dark =/= Bad and Light =/= Good, (more on that later) and Ai is such a freaking good entry into that. Ai is the dark ignis and he's the most human of them all, messy and lazy and silly. And he's like the only one of them who has ANY non-cyberse, non-Lost Incident life experience like!!!! Of course he talks like a comments section! Of course he has free will and self awareness and the first thing he did to prove this was "exerting his free will" by rolling his eye(s)! And OH MY GOD him and Yusaku. The relationship each ignis has with their lost child is SO important to me. Ai and Yusaku are, on the surface, the most different, but where they agree is their sense of surety and their sense of freedom. Ai and Yusaku have the exact same confidence in themselves. In Yusaku, it's the self confidence of knowing he's done everything he can and is smart enough to be prepared for anything. When Ai tells him "just get lucky!" and Yusaku goes "No, I'm not going to get lucky, but I'm going to win anyway." And that's SO fascinating because Ai has that same self confidence, but essentially learned it from Yusaku, that survival response of 'I am good enough that this will work'. Yusaku taught Ai everything about asserting yourself, and it's buried beneath layers and layer of different experiences, but fundamentally they're the same, the same trauma of 'I will be better. I will be enough by myself, because I am in this alone.' and then they find they are both strong but they're stronger together and it makes me want to BITE SOMETHING.

(Readmore because this got long whoops)

Flame- Why is he britsh??? Theo isn't british. He was not made in britain nor was anyone on the project british. I can only assume he purposefully chose that accent to make himself sound smarter. I love him for it. Flame and Theo are tied up in a lot of headcanon for me, most specifically I think Theo is the lost kid who lost the most (barring Spectre, who sometimes lost on purpose) before getting the hang of the game. Thus, his whole rising from the ashes motif. Teddy and Flame are the survival response of spitting out a tooth and getting back up again. They lived through the incident by refusing to stay down, and yet somehow they came out of it as a friendly jock and a silly little nerd guy. The obvious care they have for each other absolutely sends me. Flame's argument against the war is literally "We can coexist with humans. I am coexisting with a human right now, and you cannot stop me." When his home was destroyed the first thing he did was seek out Theodore. I AM GOING INSANE. And of course Theo dropped everything and moved across the country just to help someone he really didn't know before that day ARE YOU KIDDING ME. They are involved in this entire story because they cannot comprehend not helping eachother. Also, again, jock and nerdy solidarity but the dorky guy with the glasses is the jock and the literal being of fire is the nerd.

Lightning- ALSO INSANE ABOUT HIM. JUST IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. Okay so like I said I have only recently finished season 2 and haven't started on 3 yet so we haven't had a whole lot of screentime with Jin so I can only guess on how they impact and inform each other but. OH MAN. I mean, I feel like I have to take a whole section just to talk about his PERFORMANCE. His english voice acting is phenomenal, just the right amount of utterly sinister, tempered with this no-nonsense confidence that feels perfect for his grand speeches of logical thinking. Lightning is terrifying, easily one if not the stand out villain performance in all of yugioh for me. You don't side with him, but the audience can see exactly how he gets from Point A to Point B, and that clarity of reason makes him both easily understandable and terrifying. And his visual aesthetics. Blinding light, scorching brilliance, the exact same electricity that the Lost Incident is so known for. Lighting shares a lot with his progenitor experiment, with both him and Revolver learn from Dr. Kogami's "The ends justify the means" approach. Really, Lightning and Revolver are the real opposed rivals here, except they're both the villain so neither one can narratively win. All they can do is ensure the other loses. And I said we haven't seen too much from Jin yet but that does not stop me from CONNECTING SOME THEMATIC DOTS. The complete and total shutdown of Jin compared to the detatched and pragmatic coldness of Lightning. Their survival instinct is disassociation. Shutting off the panicking part of the brain, and all its human responses, in favor of pure autopilot and a "Whatever It Takes" approach to ensure continued survival. Lightning rejects so much of where he cam from, but is so clearly the product of the Lost Incident, and more specifically, Jin. Of humanity. He's got this great line towards Ai where he berates him for basically screwing around in cyberspace for five years, while the rest of them were being actively targeted. Hunted. Surviving. Ai got new experiences, isn't defined as strongly by his trauma. But Lightning and Jin? Both of them completely froze their development, are still stuck in their survival instincts, and cannot move on from it. And I have a pet theory that may or may not see validation, that the Armatos Legios aren't really Lightning's. I mean, roman gladiator don't really tie into anything else about his aesthetics. No, I think no matter what he pretends, the Armatos are Jin's deck, and Lightning is still using them, after all these years.

Windy- Haha silly little fast talk guy who- THIS SIX INCH TALL LITTLE FELLA STRAIGHT UP KILLED HIS LOST KID. This little whirlygig canonically ended the life of his counterpart, something Lightning himself actually frowned upon. I think about this way too much. Windy isn't pragmatic, he isn't logical, he's the free spirited "fuck around" to Lightning's "find out". Windy does what he wants when he wants, and that's somehow equally as scary as Lightning's calculated cruelty. I am gutted we didn't get to meet or ever find out anything more about his human partner, and I'm pretty sure that's the whole point. There was a kid out there with his own struggles, his own problems, his own ways of dealing with the trauma of the Lost Incident, and we just. We will never get to meet him. Windy's kid is the first casualty in this war, and we never get to even learn his name. Also the ramifications of Windy being so cavalier about killing someone who is in some lights a version of himself, of the casual dehumanization Windy takes, not just to himself, but to his fellow Ignis. When threatening to kill Ai, Lightning had a "Well, it will kill 16% of our population, but it will ensure the safety of 84% of us." Windy has no such calculation. Windy doesn't bat an eye at his own death, or the death of another Ignis. And yet. And yet. And yet. When designing a servant for himself, Windy formed one out of a music note. A treble clef. The symbol for the start of a song. Does it mean something? Probably not. But I am freaking haunted by the idea that this wounded ai escaped a second attack on his world, and started rebuilding, not weapons, or schemes. But a new home, and one with music.

Aqua- You know, the ignis are one of the few artificial intelligences where it kinda makes sense that they have genders. Aqua is a girl because she learned from a girl. Her femininity is a gift, or a memorial. So is her kindness. Aqua is the only ignis who really internalized hope and compassion. She sees truth and she doesn't let it break her, she fights by encouraging choice, by asking for opportunity. Her refusing to tell Earth which way to feel in regards to the question of Humans vs. Ignis is such a poignant moment for me, that here is someone who understands better than anyone, what Lightning feels and how humans act, but rather than share her suspicions, she asks Earth to form his own opinion, not just listen to her as his only source. In general, I just like Earth and Aqua's dynamic so much. Two sweet protectors, two pacifists, represented by plant life and water??? Good good good visual motifs. That said, I definitely think Aqua is a character they could do a lot more with. All the other Ignis are just so weird, so charmingly strange in any conversation, that it feels a bit of a missed opportunity that Aqua seems completely "normal" and well adjusted. I also am saddened we haven't seen Miyu aside from in a coma or in flashbacks, because as I mentioned, I am utterly insane for the ignis/lost kids dynamics. But she got introduced pretty late in season two, so I'm holding out hope that we see more of Aqua (and maybe Miyu!) in season 3. Also, the crystal heart combo was some of my favorite gameplay story telling this season, hands down.

Earth- Pour one out for my guy. They really did that to him. As silly as Spectre's backstory is, it really gets me that he has this deeply unhealthy attachment to literally anyone who offers him a place to belong. And his Ignis is the protector, the caregiver. Earth, who can make flowers bloom with barely a thought, who's "socially awkward" but genuinely kind, comes from the child who just wanted attention and was at home in the forest. The freaking hardest gutpunch of the season for me was when Earth is being ripped apart, and we cut to Spectre, shedding a single tear, and he has no idea why. Also THAT'S A PLOTLINE THAT REALLY EXISTS IN YUGIOH. Earth's death is almost jump-scaringly brutal, from the same series that brought you such fun euphemisms for a character being killed as "sent to the shadow realm" and "retired retired". Yeah, no, here's a character being systematically unmade, then those leftover pieces shoved into one dude's brain. The dub could have downplayed it, but the sheer horror every character gives when Gore has his big reveal, really sells the brutality of Sol Tech towards these ai, and any living being that isn't contributing to their bottom dollar. Ryoken's cold deliverance to Ai and Flame about Earth's fate, even almost making light of the situation, had me 100% down to declare for the ignis because what the hell, you can't just do that. If Ai turns heel next season, I'm not saying I support him, but I get it. Earth's death feels like it rattles the whole narrative, in a way that forced me to be just as distraught and emotionally invested as the characters. That's good storytelling babey.

This got long, and this is barely scratching the surface on some of my thoughts for these silly little computer guys.

Needless to say, I enjoy them <3

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