#redid my blonde | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

Text

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath.

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended.

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?”

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned.

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.”

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements.

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.”

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach.

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply.

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway.

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after.

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet.

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff.

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are.

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy.

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately.

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

3K notes · View notes

lets-get-saucy · 3 months

Text

First Game – Emily Sonnett x Reader x daughter (fluff)

Summary: Emily and your daughter has her first soccer game and is determined to be Emily’s mini-me.

It was early morning, still half asleep you were cuddled into your wife’s side, savoring one of the few Saturday mornings you had with her. Emily’s chest softly moved up and down, her heart beating under your ear. In your half-awake state you could hear noise coming from down the hall but it didn’t register what you were hearing. Ignoring the sounds you buried your face in Emily’s neck hoping to get a little more sleep. That wish was short lived as your bedroom door burst open and tiny footsteps ran in.

“mama, mommy, wake up!” Your four year old, Riley, shouted jumping up on your bed.

“Five more minutes,” Emily groaned, her face burying into your hair causing you to chuckle.

Baby name sat herself on top of you both gently grabbing your face in her small hands, when your eyes remained closed pretending to sleep she gentle shook your face back and forth.

“wake up mommy!”

Sitting up slightly, you wrap your arms around the little girl pulling her down with you as you lay back down, “but it’s so comfy in bed.”

Emily wrapped her arms around the two of you, her eyes still not opening.

“We might just have to stay in bed all day,” Emily sighed.

“Nooo” your daughter squealed trying to wiggle out of your arms. “wake up, wake up, wake up.” Riley jumped up and down on the bed.

Emily faked a groan sitting up, “what’s so important about today anyway, why can we sleep all day?”

Your daughter gasped, offended her mama could ask such a question.

“today’s my first game!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out dramatically.

“How could we forget!” you said, your daughter crossing her arms.

“Come on, we can’t be late” the little girl tried to pull Emily and you out of your bed.

“Woah, baby sauce soccer stars have to get breakfast first,” Emily told baby finally getting out of bed, picking the little girl up in her arms, “what should we have for breakfast?”

“Waffles!”

“Waffles it is!” you rolled your eyes at Emily and her mini-me.

Getting out of bed you placed a kiss to your daughters head and one to Emilys cheek, “Ill join you two down stairs in a few for game day waffles.”

It was a little while later, pre-game waffles consumed, and you were currently standing in the bathroom trying to do Riley’s hair. Typically, she was an easy-going little kid but today she wouldn’t sit still and no matter how many times you redid her hair she wasn’t happy with it.

You were used to the crazy Sonnett pair, always dancing around or laughing. But right now after your third attempt of a ponytail, with your daughter wiggling around singing and trying to dance to the music Emily had put on, you were growing slightly frustrated.

“Baby, I need you to stand still while I do your hair” you said, in a calm voice, brushing Riley’s hair back.

The little girl looked up at you and noticed what you were doing with her hair.

“No, want hair like mama” she pouted seeing the ponytail you were trying to do.

“It is like mamas,” you said, switching tactics and trying to arrange your daughters blonde hair into the signature Sonnett messy bun.

“No it’s not,” the little girl said crossing her arms.

You may have carried and given birth to your daughter but she was practically a clone of Emily. Looking at her through the mirror you were looking at a mini-Emily. Your daughters blonde hair now a mess from where you had let go of it.

“Mama!” you daughter yelled as Emily walked into the bathroom.

“Why isn’t your hair done?” Emily asked your daughter, looking at you questionably.

“Want hair like mama,” Riley explained.

Emily arched an eyebrow looking at you through the mirror.

Throwing your hands up in surrender “I tried, she didn’t like how I did it.”

Emily laughed at your response, before kissing your cheek, wrapping her arms around your waste.

“It’s okay babe, I can do it.” Emily said. “Why don’t you finish getting ready, I’ve got baby sauce.”

You nodded, turning in her arms, placing a kiss to her lips then to the top of your daughters head. The little girl looked up at you with a full grin, dimples popping out.

“I’m gonna be just like mama!”

You chuckled, “of course you are baby.”

Heading to your closet to finish getting yourself ready, you smiled to yourself. Your daughter was the best thing that had happened in your life and even though she was Emilys clone it just made you adore the little girl more.

Half way through changing your outfit you heard music blaring from the bathroom followed by giggles from your two girls. After being married to Emily for many years you were used to her antics which often included music and dancing at the most random times.

“mama you’re silly,” you heard Riley call out.

“I’m not silly!” Emily exaggerates, arguing with her mini-me.

Suddenly a squeal came from the bathroom followed by a clattering a tiny footsteps running into the closet.

“Mommy help me, mamas gonna get me” you daughter ran into you hiding behind your legs with a huge smile on your face.

Emily walks into the closet pretending to look around, “Hmm, have your seen a little girl around here?”

“Nope, don’t think I have” you responded, your daughter giggling from behind you.

Emily moved through the closet looking behind clothes, under shoes, even in drawers much to Riley’s amusement.

“She’s gotta be around her somewhere” Emily said slowly moving closer to where you and your daughter where standing.

“Gottcha!” Emily picked your daughter up spinning her around, carrying her back to your bedroom.

Following behind them you shook your head at the pairs antics.

“Mommy help!” your daughter called out through fits of laughter as Emily started tickling her.

Emily stopped tickling the girl picking her up, “are you going to take it back now?” She asked.

“Never!” your daughter said sticking her tongue out.

Instead of responding, Emily stuck her tongue out back at the little girl.

Walking over to your two girls, you picked Riley up and started walking out of the room.

“Come on you two, we need to leave soon if we’re going to make it to your game on time” you said kissing your Riley’s cheek.

“let’s go, let’s go” your daughter said wiggling out of your arms running to grab her bag, causing you and Emily to laugh.

At the game Emily and you stood on the side of the field watching your daughters team play. Multiple of Emily’s teammates had come out to support your daughter at her first game. Kelley, Rose, and a few others made up Riley’s own personal cheer section.

Even though at this age it wasn’t really about skill or tactics, the women around you were talking to each other about little kid level soccer tactics and what position you daughter will play once she’s older.

Half of the kids on the field were currently just running around not really knowing the rules of soccer yet. Except for your daughter, having been raised partially by and around professional soccer players, the rules of the game were practically ingrained in her from birth.

“Run!” Emily shouted toward your daughter when she got the ball from a kid on the opposing team.

“Go, go, go,” Kelley joined in, encouraging Riley.

Your daughter had a signature Sonnett concentration look on her face as she dribbled the ball down the field. Her messy bun still in place from this morning, bobbing as she ran.

“Come on baby sauce you got this!” Rose yelled from her place beside Emily.

Continuing down the field your daughter noticed none of her teammates were nearby or able to be passed to, the young kids still learning the rules of the game, but there was an opening between players in front of the goal.

You watched as your four year old kicked the ball as hard as she could towards the goal. Holding your breath, you grabbed Emilys arm in anticipation. When the ball hit the back of the neck Everyone around you erupted into cheers, as well as your daughters teammates.

“Yes!” Emily shouted.

“Great job baby sauce!” Rose screamed, giving the girl a thumbs up.

Your daughter jumped in the air in excitement over her first goal before running back over to her teammates as the game continued.

Riley’s team ended up winning but both teams had been given ribbons to celebrate their first game. After pictures had been taken the little girl cam running over to Emily and you.

“I did it! I scored a goal!” she yelled jumping into Emily’s arms.

“You did a great job baby,” you said, giving both girls a hug.

“We’re so proud of you,” Emily said, smiling brightly at your daughter.

“Looks like you two have a future forward on your hands,” Kelley said patting Riley on the head.

“I wanna be just like mama!” Riley told Kelley, her dimples over taking her face.

Rose laughed at this response, “then you better learn all the positions baby sauce.”

Riley nodded as if she was making mental notes on how to become just like Emily one day.

“Should we get ice cream to celebrate?” Emily ask, taking your daughter out of her thoughts.

“Ice cream!” Riley looked over to you knowing you were pretty strict about sweets before dinner, “Can we go mommy?”

“I suppose, it is a special day after all,” you said kissing Riley’s cheek.

Riley turned to Rose and Kelley, “Rosie and Miss Kelley come?”

Kelley took Riley out of Emily’s arms spinning her around, “of course! We have to celebrate with our little super star.”

#emily sonnett #nwsl #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #uswnt #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett imagine #emily sonnett one shot #rose lavelle #kelley o'hara

253 notes · View notes

snowyquokka · 3 months

Text

DRAINED

bf felix x gn reader

cw: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of anxiety, stress, crying, fluff (maybe?), swearing, overworked felix, shitty grammar

wc: 0.6k

a.n - my first attempt at hurt/comfort. did i do well? <3

dont hate me but i think i prefer writing angst rather than anything else

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Felix sighs and all but throws himself on top of you as you sit on the couch. “Hi, baby.” you giggle as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine?” you say as you run your fingers through his soft blonde hair.

“Exhausted, overwhelmed, sad,” he lists against your neck. You always feel bad when he comes home from the studio or after he’s toured. Your boyfriend is constantly tiring himself, working as hard as he possibly can. You wish he would take care of himself once in a while. Felix says that’s what you’re for anyways.

You press a kiss to his temple and hum.

“Why are you sad, love?” He sighs and snuggles closer to you.

“I kept fucking up my part. Redid it five times.” you can feel him pout. Another example of him pushing himself to his limits is when he frustrates himself to the point where nothing satisfies him. He could go hours with many fantastic takes but will insist on retrying it until it’s absolutely perfect.

“I’m sure you did amazing,” Felix squeezes you tighter and inhales deeply.

“‘m sorry,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence. You pull back enough to be able to see his face. He has no makeup on, his freckles on full display. Sometimes when you’re bored you’ll pretend like they’re constellations and connect them in your head.

“Sorry for what, Lix?”

“For bothering you with this kinda stuff. It's not important and I don't want to worry you.” Your heart plummets down to the floor.

“Why wouldn’t it be important to me, love? If you’re upset, I’m upset. Your problems are mine.” you kiss his forehead softly. Felix shifts in your arms so he’s at eye level.

You hold his hands while you watch a single tear stream down his cheek. He immediately wipes it away and displays a small, but not reassuring, smile.

“Thank you,” he sniffles and leans his forehead against yours.

“Of course, Sunshine. I’m always going to be here.”

TWO DAYS LATER

You’re sitting in bed watching a random movie when your phone dings.

my only sunshine <3: im gonna be a little late tonight

my only sunshine <3: im sorry. i love you ❤️

you: its okay baby. let me know when ur on ur way !! i love you too

You sigh and lock your phone. It’s not like you’re mad at him or anything of that sort. It’s just difficult watching him drain himself again and again. No matter what you say, he always goes back to overworking himself.

Tears that you hadn’t noticed were brimming fall down your cheeks. You turn everything off and close your eyes, inhaling Felix’s scent from the pillows.

You wake to the sound of the front door closing and glance at the alarm clock,

5:08am

Fuck. Is he just getting home?

You climb out of bed and wander into the living room where you find your boyfriend sitting with his face in his hands, he immediately notices you. He had turned the small lamp in the corner on, allowing you to take in his disheveled state.

His long blonde hair tousled from his fingers being ran through it. His eyes bloodshot from what seemed like hours of crying and lack of sleep. His hands shake and his leg bounces up and down in an anxious manner.

“Baby?” you whisper with worry laced in your voice prompting Felix’s body to almost automatically rack with sobs. You quickly pull him into you and wrap your arms around his figure, the only sound present in the room being both of your cries blended together.

tags: @godslino

divider: @chaeneuu

228 notes · View notes

katebishopshands · 6 months

Text

But I’m a Cheerleader ! !

(Cheerleader!Kate Bishop/ Reader)

Pt. 1

»»-------------¤-------------««

Your team is good, you know it is. Yet, every year your team is a mere few points from winning the spirit stick at the end of your annual cheer camp.

You’re sure this is your teams year at camp. You and Yelena are captains this year and after a year full of successful competitions under your careful guidance, you’re sure anything is possible. That is until Kate Bishop walks through the gym doors.

Perfect as can be and cocky as hell, and the winner of the spirit stick for the last two years, the rival captain is the bane of your existence. Nothing, not even Kate Bishop will get in your way of that stick….unless?

(Not 18+…..YET)

»»-------------¤-------------««

Your ponytail was too tight, certain parts of your hair tugging on random places of your head. You took your hair down for what was probably the millionth time that morning and redid it. Eventually you ended up in the same spot you started with, a too tight ponytail pulling on your hair. Sighing, you gave up, instead choosing to focus on the spanx that seemed to be riding up your thighs as you stood in the too hot gym.

“Snap out of it!”, a slap to your bare shoulder made you jump, snapping the spandex on your thigh. Yelena smiled and laughed a bit at the look of concern on your face.

“Gotcha! But seriously cut it out”, the blonde dropped her smile into her regular resting face, which was scary enough. She could see the anxiety that you held in your shoulders. The way you fidgeted with your shorts, the way you bit your lip.

“I’m just worried we won’t get it this year” you crossed your arms frowning. For the last five years you had been on the team, not once had you been awarded the ever so coveted Spirit Stick. The stick was to go to the team that showed the morals of what cheer camp was supposed to be. The most spirited, dedicated,creative, and most improved over the course of the week. Initially, you weren’t upset. It was just some tradition that the camp did. That is until you noticed the same team got it year after year.

The Archers were your biggest competition. Coming from the same district you competed at all of the same competition, always coming in neck and neck with placements. You had been running circles around each other for years. And they never failed to get the Spirit Stick, ever.

“Natasha said we’re the best captains she’s seen in years, we’ve got this in the bag” Yelena was oozing with confidence. Blonde braid strewn over her shoulder, arms crossed showing off her biceps. She LOOKED Like a cheer captain.

“I don’t know if that counts Lena, she’s your sister. She HAS to be nice to you”

“That is not true! She said it as my coach…not as my sister” Yelena scoffs at you. You roll your eyes at her before turning around to converse with other team members.

Yelena getting the co captain spot with you was a topic of conversation in what you liked to call the “cheer verse”. Some teams were saying she only got the spot because Natasha is the coach and Yelena is her sister. But they couldn’t be more wrong. You had never met someone with a better work ethic than Yelena. She gave it her all, putting in overtime in the gym to perfect her tumbling, she was one of the strongest bases on the team. You had seen her throw herself on the ground to prevent her flyer from hitting the mat on multiple occasions. She deserved the role.

The conversations flowed freely as you bounced from group to group. More teams started filling in the room, each claiming a spot on the mat before the camp officially started. Some giant speaker blared music in the corner, effectively hyping up the crowd of cheerleaders. The noise level growing exponentially in the gym you stood in. A quick glance over the sea of athletes showed you one thing, The Archers had yet to arrive, and opening ceremony started at 12:30.

You double checked your phone for the time. The clock read 12:15. The team had 15 minutes to show. A surge of excitement coursed through your veins. The team not being in attendance this year meant you actually stood a chance at the spirit stick this year.

After monopolizing the spirit stick for so many years, The Archers had lived in your head rent free for way too long. Rumor had it they had a new captain this year, and part of you wished they sucked. It’d be so nice to watch the once great team crumble to nothing as yours did nothing but rise to the top.

A roar of clapping drags your from your revenge filled thoughts. You turn to face the entry way to the gym, struggling to see anything behind the sea of bows and ponytails that lie infront of you. You weave your way up to the front of the map where you’d have a clear view at the chaos. You manage to snag Yelena in the process, linking arms.

“What the hell is happening?” She looks at you before leaning forward to get a better look.

“Beats me, maybe we’re starting early??” You had five minutes to go, but it wasn’t completely out of the question.

Yelena makes a gagging sound followed by a disgusted “oh my god”.

“What! What’s happening!?” You ask frantically, wondering if maybe someone has already hurled and camp hadn’t even started yet. Yelena yanks your arm down, making you lean forward like her.

It doesn’t take you long to see why Yelena gagged. In the entry way of the gym, stood The Archers. The crowed cheered, the spirit stick being held confidently in the new captains hand. The stick had been decked out in their team colors, purple and black. Your eyes follow down the black nail polished hand and arm that held onto the spirit stick, eventually making eye contact with the holder.

Kate. Bishop.

She was your least favorite person on this planet.

She had joined The Archers at the same time you had joined your team. And ever since then it had been a constant competition between you two. You got your tuck? Kate got her round off tuck. Kate was point for jumps? Oh yours were now hyperextended and you were also center point. Wherever you went, you were both in the others orbit. She was perfect, even if you didn’t want to admit it. If only she wasn’t a cocky son of a bitch, you might admire her a bit.

So Kate Bishop was the new captain, of course she was. Of course she was captain the year you got to be captain.

“Kate Bishop…” Yelena sneers as Kate gives you both a smirk. You could’ve swore Yelena growled at her

Kates blue eyes linger on you a little longer than you would’ve expected. She lets her smirk drop a little into a facial expression you can’t quite put your finger on. You watch as her gaze is pulled from your form. America Chavez, another rival of yours, who you’ve collected from observing the team is the co captain with Kate, jumps the other girl, grabbing the spirit stick and eliciting another roar of cheers from the crowd.

Kate flashes America a dazzling smile and puts her arm around the other girl in a side hug. Their coach, and Coach Nats biggest rival, Clint Barton, shoves his captains aside as he gears the team towards a new spot on the mat. Kate turns her head back in your direction as she follows Barton’s lead, her black ponytail swinging in tandem. She catches your eye again, resulting in you crossing her arms and raising and eyebrow at her. She smiles and bites her lip a little before sending a wink your way.

You stomach drops. Feeling as if you drank TV static. What the fuck. You swallow the spit in your mouth nervously as Kate continues to follow her team. Suddenly your tongue felt too heavy in your mouth and your palms were clammier than you remembered.

“Fuck them, seriously, fuck them” Yelena mutters as she walks back towards Coach Nat at the back of the mat.

“I hate them so much” you join in on the menagerie of negativity in an attempt to push down your weird feelings about Kates wink.

“I swear I want to crush their little skulls into this mat..” Yelena cracks her knuckles to punctuate her feelings. You put your hand on her shoulder, making her look at you face to face.

“I promise. This year is our year. Nothing..and I mean nothing, not even Kate Bishop’s perfect ass can keep us from wining that spirit stick”

»»-------------¤-------------««

“On the doors are your names, please move your junk into your dorms. We’ve got dinner in 30 so make it quick” Natasha stands at the end of the hallway, arms crossed. You groan, and begin dragging your luggage down the dimly lit hallway, searching for your name.

Eventually you found it at the halfway point of the hall. Your name was written on a little megaphone ins sparkly letters, cute.

Taking your key off your neck you unlock your door. The dorm smelled musty, a fine layer of dust piling on the windowsill. Clearly the room had not been cleaned since the sad freshman moved out at the end of the spring semester. It felt like cheer camp.

The doorknob on the left side of the room jiggles, eventually busting open. Yelena falls through it, a big smile plastered on her face.

“Look! We’re neighbors!”

Part of you was sad that you guys weren’t sharing a room, but the other part of you was incredibly grateful. Yelena lived in a constant state of tornado. All of her belongings strewn across the room. Being captain had some perks, such as a single room. Sharing a bathroom for a week with Yelena was doable, but a room might kill you.

You give a smile back to her before gonna to poke your head out of the door that you had left propped open. Another team on the other side of you had begun to move their things in. So you were the bookend of your own team, great. This was a perfect way to make sure everyone was in bed during lights out and doing what they were supposed to be doing. Being well rested and punctual was crucial to your teams success at camp this year.

As you observed the excited girls giggling as they moved in to their new homes for the week, your vision was blocked. Blue eyes and full dark brows crowed your eyesight.

“Oh..hi” you knew the voice. You knew it too well. Kate Bishop was standing a mere few inches away from your face.

“Hello..” you clenched to your jaw. Staring at her stupid perfect face. Beauty marks scattered across it, full lips and lashes. You could’ve gone the entire week without hearing her voice, but of course you literally almost bump heads with her in the first hour.

“Looks like we’re neighbors…” Kate’s arms are crossed. She stands defensively opposite of you.

“I guess so”

She glances you up and down again. And once again that static fuzz feeling fills your gut. Goosebumps prick up on your exposed arms and you feel your cheeks flush a bit.

“Just…try not to be too loud at night..I want to get good sleep this week. Be on top of my game” you break the silence with an awkward blurt. She chuckles a little bit and leans toward you a little. You had never been this close to her. She smelled nice. Like lavender and chai with a hint of her deodorant. Probably some expensive perfume she has.

“I’ll try my best. But honestly..” her eyes make contact with your lips before she looks back up at you,

“I even think at the top of your game, you and your team still won’t win the spirit stick this year..” she chuckles a little bit. The snarky remark you wanted to make dies in your throat. Your fingers making contact with your lips, where Kate was just looking.

America calls for Kate down the hall.

“Coming!!” Kate stands up to her full height and genuinely smiles at you before turning on her heels and making her way towards America. But not before she sent another wink in your direction.

She left you standing in the hallway, blood boiling, hands clenched into fists at your sides and that tv static in your gut. If this was a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of your ears.

You were going to pummel Kate Bishops perky ponytail into the ground and rip the spirit stick out of her cold dead hands….or at-least, you hoped you could..

»»-------------¤-------------««

Omg hi guys!! I thought I’d try something new for this piece?? It’s for sure gonna be multiple parts and I promise you it’s gonna get HOT real soon. So stay tuned, this was just an introduction to the cheerverse

-ET🏹

#hawkeye series #hawkeye show #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #marvel #mcu #kate bishop hawkeye #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop fic #kate bishop mcu #kate bishop au #kate bishop x y/n #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #hawkeye #marvel fandom #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop smut

333 notes · View notes

lxvebelle · 2 months

Note

First big fight with Aaron Warner? With hurt/comfort/angst??👀

AHHHHHH okay so i havent wrote angst yet but HERE IT GOES!!

❪ ★ ❫ 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: aaron warner x fem!reader.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you thought that the two of you could fix it together. turns out it was when he missed your birthday was when it all fell down.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst, crying, use of Y/N, fem!reader, kissing, arguing, breaking up, angst with fluff at the end, aaron warner crying, stress, missing special days.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1530

𝐀/𝐍: redid this too. i feel like i made this too dramatic though😭😭 idk. BUT I LOVR MY MAN HAHGGHDHGAGEGR🫶🫶 also this was my first angst work so DONT GET MAD AT ME FOR THIS BEING TRADHY OKAY

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑.

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃: ✗

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: nahh

it’s been too much. at first, it was just going to bed late, but he still slept with you. then it was not seeing you for a while. then he missed your birthday. your birthday.

you understand that aaron has a lot on his hands, he needs to do his work. but lately, he hasn’t been spending time with you. at all.

yes, juliette and the others are a great company. but it’s nothing compared to the company you have with your boyfriend. or, at least, you used to have. now, you two are in your bedroom. arguing.

you two have never argued, it was mostly just small disagreements that you two immediately fixed. but this—this was a real argument.

“i just—i just feel like you haven’t been spending time with me. like you put your work above me,” you argue, looking at the blond man in front of you. he looks at you with a mix of hurt and frustration.

“love, you have to understand that i have work to do—” he begins, but you cut him off. “and i know that! but you missed my birthday, aaron. my birthday,” you cry, your eyes getting blurry with tears.

aaron sighs and runs a hand down his face. “i know, and that was a mistake. and i’m sorry, angel, but i have to do my work. i have to take care of the reestablishment or it will all come down.”

You blink at him in surprise, before chuckling softly. “right, so, what I’m hearing is: I do love you but my work is more important than you because the reestablishment is more important than my girlfriend?” you ask, looking at him in disbelief.

he looks at you with his eyebrows scrunched up, looking at you with the same expression you have. “no—what—i’m just saying that i have to do my work—wait—no, that’s not what i’m—”

“aaron. if you don’t love me anymore, just say it. don’t slowly push yourself away from me, because that’s much worse than just doing it straight up.”

you’re lying. it’ll hurt either way. this hurts. the argument; aaron not paying attention to you anymore; him missing your birthday. he looks at you with wide eyes.

“what—no, that’s not what i’m saying. i—i have my work to do and—”

“—and i understand that. you have to take care of the reestablishment while i have to take care of north america. it’s just—i tried to make time for you, aaron. i tried to let juliette and nazeera help me with my work so i can spend time with you—but you just want to take care of the reestablishment.”

he gapes at you, looking for words. “what are you saying, love?” you bite your trembling lip. “don’t call me love. let’s—let’s take a break, aaron,” you whisper.

he freezes before words come out of his mouth frantically. “no, no, no, no—wait, love. we can work this out—i’ll make time for you, just—”

you take a deep breath, putting your head down. this is for the best. “you tried doing that, and you just ended up hurting me,” you whisper, looking up at him.

your heart breaks at the sight, but you keep standing. his eyes are filled with tears but none fall, the opposite of you. tears from your eyes fall from your eyes, landing on your cheek.

“love, please. I know you don’t want to do this—I feel it. please, just give me a chance.”

before you could give in, you took a step back and put your head down. “i’m sorry, aaron.” You don’t know why you’re saying sorry. “love, please,” he whispers, looking at you desperately.

you keep your head down as you turn on your heel and walk out of the room.

it’s been a week. a week of you and Aaron not even talking to each other. the only time you look at each other is when he has to pass you the work he did. but you feel him glancing at you, watching from afar.

you moved out of the room you two were sharing and moved in with juliette. she listened to your vent and tears, comforting you when it became too much.

but you’ve changed ever since the two of you—or more like you—broke up. you’ve begun to smile less. you’re starting to have eye bags underneath your eyes and you don’t feel good nowadays.

“Y/N,” juliette says, bringing you out of your daze. “hm?” you hum as you turn to the brunette girl, looking at you with worry. “are you okay?”

you blink at her, looking at you with an expression you know all too well. “yeah, i’m okay. why do you ask?”

“you look terrible,” nazeera butts in. juliette turns to her and frowns but she doesn’t disagree. you sigh and look back down at your papers. “i’m fine, just out of it,” you mutter.

you look at the two girls and smile at them, but that doesn’t clear their worry. instead, that makes them worry more. “alright,” juliette mumbles.

the door knocks and the person behind it waits a moment before opening it the door. In front of it, is a familiar blond. “warner,” juliette says, looking between you and him.

you resist the urge to stare and look down at your papers, going back to work. “i just wanted to hand you some papers,” he says, taking a few steps into the room.

that’s always been him. he doesn’t fully step into the room until you’ve said he could, unless on bad days when he just needs you.

you grit your teeth and scold yourself for thinking like that again.

papers settle down on your desk and you realize that nazeera and juliette left, leaving you alone with aaron.

you make a mental note to yell at them later.

aaron stands there on the side of your desk, not talking or doing anything. “yes?” you ask, looking up at him. not to look into his green eyes. no. of course not.

he stares at you, not blinking. until he finally says, “you have eye bags.” you blink up at him before putting your head down, a blush of embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“yeah, i know.”

“and your hair looks unbrushed.”

“yeah, i know.”

“and you’re sad.”

you don’t answer. “love,” aaron whispers, making your stomach flutter. you don’t do anything. “love, please, at least answer me.”

you blink and look up at him again. you realize how messed up he is, too. his hair is unruly and his tie is unloosed; his suit looks like it was messily put on.

“yes?”

he slowly sits down, as if warning you what he’s doing. you look at him curiously but then look back down to your papers.

“please, look at me,” he asks. you don’t look at him and instead start to write something down on your paper. “love,” he tries again. you don’t look at him.

his hands find your chin and he turns your face to look at him, his jaw clenched. “you can yell at me, scream at me, punch me, slap me—revolt me, but do not; ignore me.”

your eyes widen in surprise and soon the two of you are staring at each other. “my love, i know you’re hurting,” he finally whispers.

“i’m not,” you finally answer. he closes his eyes before opening back up, looking at you. “yes, you are. i feel it. you’re tired and hurting.”

damn his powers of sensing emotions.

“please, let me take care of you. i promise i won’t hurt you again, i swear,” he begins, “i just want to take care of you like we used to. hug you like we used to—kiss you like we used to. it’s only been a week but, god, it has felt like a century. i’d rather die than live like this, without you; please.”

your breath catches in your throat as he looks at you with watery green eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek. “please, i promise, i won’t break your heart again. i’ll spend time with you, i’ll make time for you, i swear,” he goes on, holding your face with his two hands.

“aaron—” you start, but he interrupts. “please, don’t say no to me. i feel like i’m dying, darling. like this world means nothing to me without you—”

“aaron,” you interrupt. he looks at you desperately, visibly wishing you’ll say yes. you decide to break your rule. i mean, how can you say no when he’s saying something like this?

you nod at him, making his breathing stop. “yes,” you assure. “i’ll—i’ll give you another chance,” you whisper. he freezes; before bringing you into a tight embrace.

“oh, god, love. i promise i won’t lose you again. i won’t hurt you. neger again,” he whispers, kissing your head frantically. tears start to swell up in your eyes as his kisses travel down to your lips, kissing you.

you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss, kissing him with an urgency you didn’t know you had in you.

“i love you,” he says in between kisses.

“i love you too,” you respond.

#aaron warner x fem y/n #aaron warner #aaron warner x you #aaron warner x reader #aaron warner x y/n #angst #angst with a happy ending #x reader #aaron x reader #shatter me #fanfic #books #shatter me series #aaron warner fanfic #belles fanfictions💋#asks!⭐️#inbox💌

111 notes · View notes

seokmthw · 1 year

Text

crying eyes | shen ricky

⇢ pairing: insecure!ricky x reader

⇢ warning: angst, fluff, mentions of poor self-esteem but nothing major

⇢ word count: 955

prompt(s): #3 "hey, it's okay to cry" + #5 "you don't have to be so brave with me" + #6 "how long did you think you could hide this?" + #19 "oh sweetheart, come here"

⇢ note: hello to the anon who requested this! i took a bit of a different spin on this one, so i hope it's everything you wanted! i wrote this so quickly and i genuinely don't know how, but i'm pretty proud of it! enjoy~

JOIN MY TAGLIST!

ricky stared at himself in the mirror as he danced, eyes trained on every single move and every single mistake he kept making despite his efforts. he had stayed well after practice, trying his best to perfect every part of his routine for his upcoming show, but just could seem to get the ending right no matter how many times he redid it.

nearing the end, he spun, but instead of landing how he was meant to, he lost his balance. he cursed at himself under his breath, angrily shutting off the music and standing there for a moment in disbelief. he wasn’t quite sure what to do from here, but his frustration was beginning to get the best of him as he worked.

he took a swig of his water before turning the music back on, but skipping to the ending to try and perfect one of his final spins. much to his dismay, he was off-balance again, this time tumbling down to the floor with a thud. he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair messy and sweat dripping down his temples, and all he could say was, “this is so fucking pathetic.”

he quickly rose to his feet, beginning to mutter things under his breath about how horrible he was and how he didn't think he deserved to have this dance solo. unbeknownst to him, you'd been watching him the past few minutes, feeling your heart break each time he beat himself up over making a mistake.

unable to handle seeing him like that anymore, you walked into the room, snagging the boy's attention with your presence almost immediately. he looked tired, the bags underneath of his eyes evident of his hard work over the past few days. you gave him a sad smile, softly telling him, “i thought i might find you here.”

“i was just finishing up,” ricky attempted to lie, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, but it was no use. he knew you'd caught him in the midst of him beginning to break down.

“i know better.”

upon hearing your words, something shifted within the boy’s head and tears began dripping down his cheeks, though he angry wiped them away as soon as they fell, “sorry, i didn’t think this would happen.”

“hey, it’s okay to cry,” you reassured him, stepping forward to get closer to him. ricky hung his head, finding a new interest in his shoe laces the more you approached his figure. more tears fell, but this time, he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“i just don’t understand what i’m doing wrong, y/n,” he managed to sputter out in between his cries, “no matter how hard i word, not matter how many times i try to fix it, i just can't. and i feel like all i’m going to do is let my team down,” by now, his shoulders were shaking with with sobs, and before you knew it, the barrier he had built up was slowly beginning to break down right in front of you.

you were finally in close enough proximity to grab onto one of his trembling hands, “oh sweetheart, come here.”

upon hearing your words, the blonde practically melted into your touch, allowing you to hold him as he let out a noise you'd never heard him make the entire time you'd been dating. he buried his face in your shoulder, balling his fists up into the fabric of your jacket, almost as if he believed you would disappear from his grasp if you didn’t.

you stood like that for a while, allowing your boyfriend to cry as much as he needed to. you sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. you almost felt bad you hadn't detected this sooner, but you knew ricky was capable of putting on a front that was believable, even to you.

“do you want to talk about it? would that help?” you offered, rubbing small circles on his back as a way of comfort, “you don’t have to be so brave with me, you know.”

he nodded, voice muffled against your skin as he spoke, “i know i don’t. it’s just a lot of things bottled up that picked now to explode. the pressure of getting my routine right, of not letting the other members down, and not burdening everyone around me.”

you pulled ricky away momentarily, surveying his face intently. you forced him to meet your gaze, questioning, “how long did you think you could hide this? it’s not healthy to keep all of those emotions to yourself.”

“i don’t- i don’t know, truthfully. i just didn't want anyone to worry about me.”

“you listen to me right now,” your voice was stern, but gentle, “you will never, ever burden me with talking about how you feel.”

“y/n-”

you stuck a hand up to shush him, “i’m not done, mister. you can always come to me, no matter what. and for what it's worth, you are extremely talented and you're severely underestimating that. you put everything into your practice, so just because you keep making mistakes doesn't mean you're bad. got it?”

you could see him fighting off a smile, “yeah, i think so.”

“good. i’m never going anywhere if i have any say in it,” you stood on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips, “no let's get you home so you can rest.”

he nodded, pulling you in for another hug, his chin rested on your shoulder and eyes fluttering closed upon feeling you squeeze him back. he sighed, “thank you for reassuring me. it means more than you know.”

“anything for you, my love.”

269 notes · View notes

natade-art · 10 months

Text

after posting my selection of accidentally-slightly-varied designs for these three i went back and redid these profile portraits. they're a fun exercise in stylization tbh

ID: three profile-view portraits of my Link, Zelda, and Ganon. Link has brown hair now, freckles, and a blue scarf with white striped patterns. Zelda has short blonde hair and big triforce earrings, now also sporting a hood on her white undershirt. Ganon has stylized braids across the back of his head, ending in two long segments of hair which fall over his shoulders. end ID

#specifically noting in id either key design elements 2 me like the triforce earrings or links freckles/scarf #or the hair over ganons shoulder bc ive been determined to keep that thru all the design changes lol #and also newer changes like links darker hair or zeldas new hood or keeping ganons hair up instead of loose #zelda au #zelda #link #ganon

159 notes · View notes

artbybyte · 1 month

Text

I redid my edits, Ren and Strade from btd (fuck you Lawrence fans im tired of his fugly blond ahh/j)

#art #fart #fanart #doodle #btd #boyfriend to death edit #boyfriend to death lawrence #boyfriend to death strade #boyfriend to death #strade btd #btd strade #btd fanart #btd edit #btd2 #btd ren #ren #ren hana #ren btd

48 notes · View notes

honey-dew-woo · 2 years

Note

Request/Idea!

Bradley ”Rooster” Bradshaw x reader fic w/ the reader being Y/F/N ”Baby Ice” Kazansky. She’s Ice Man’s daughter, also a TOP GUN grad. Tension with Maverick cause he’s like her uncle, Penny is close with her like her Aunt, and she graduated with Hangman so they’re besties, which Rooster hates. i would write it myself, but I don’t have time :(

By The Beach Side

At first I was like I don't know how I feel about writing this, but now I'm so down. I didn't like the call sign of Baby Ice just bc I kept signing ice ice baby to myself, so I redid the call sign, don't worry it's still a nod towards Iceman. Also this request made me want to start a Rooster x Iceman's Daughter series 🌚

Masterlist

--------------------------------------

"Y/N Kazansky. And here I thought the bar couldn't fill with anymore hot-shot pilots." Penny's voice rang out as I walked through the Hard Deck's doors.

"Well, they needed the best of the best." I smirked, winking at her before laughing out. I rounded the bar, her meeting me at the exit in a hug. "It's good to see you Aunt Penny."

"You too, kiddo." She pulled out of the hug, holding my shoulders at an arm's length, as she examined my face, tucking my hair behind my ear as I could only return her warm grin. "Now go have some fun." She spoke, patting my shoulder and returning to her bartending duties.

I smirked to myself before walking over to the pool table. "Wow. And here I thought we were special." Hangman spoke, grinning at me from across the pool table, cue stick in hand.

I could only smirk back. "Don't worry. Could always use a second place." I raised both my eyebrows, running my tongue underneath my top row of teeth before biting them together to chew the spearmint gum that rested in my mouth.

"So that's what you're here for?" He mocked smiling as I huffed, rolling my eyes before picking up cue stick of my own, joining the game with my old friend.

<*>

"Who's that?" Phoenix nodded from where she stood at the bar with Payback, Bob, and Rooster.

Bradley stiffened, recognizing the girl as she teased Hangman with ease. "Y/N Kazansky. Admiral Kazansky's daughter." He nodded, grateful for his eyes hiding behind his aviators. The two hadn't spoken since Maverick had pulled his papers from the Naval Academy. Bradley paused, watching the girl hit the cue ball and sink her target in the intended pocket. "Callsign: Blizzard. It's cause she flies exactly like her dad. Ice cold." He finished, taking a sip of his beer.

Phoenix could only smirk as she admired the girl who defeated the cocky blond pilot in his own game of pool. "Was she the one who graduated first in Hangman's class?" Bob spoke, shifting his gaze from the two pilots across the bar to Rooster.

"Yes."

<*>

I glanced over to the bar, seeing Rooster hanging with some other pilots of which I've never met, "Did he play Great Balls of Fire yet?" I asked Hangman, turning to my best friend and former wingman.

"Yeah." He spoke, chalking his pool stick, not even bothering to look at me. I set down my pool stick across the table, causing Coyote and Payback to both offer looks of confusion. I smirked at the two, "What I can't catch up?" I winked, smirking before turning and walking to the bar.

I pulled the aviators off of the color of my shirt, placing them on my face coolly before walking up the bar. "Heya, Bradshaw." I spoke, walking up with a genuine smile on my face. He returned it with ease, quirking an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here Kazansky?" He questioned, watching me as I smiled at him, reaching across the gap between us to grab a beer that Penny slid a little too short.

"Oh ya know, catching up with old friends, getting recalled to Top Gun, same old same old." I tipped the beer towards him along with a nod before moving my head to look at the pilots next to Phoenix, who watched the two of us observantly.

"Who're your friends?" I smiled, glancing between the other female pilot and Rooster.

"This is Phoenix, Payback, and Bob. Guys this is-"

"I'm Blizzard." I smiled, putting my hand out to shake Phoenix's. She smiled at me, taking my hand without hesitation.

"Phoenix, well he just said that." She smiled, jokingly.

I nodded, placing my aviators on my collar before glancing around the bar, a confident smirk just resting on my face. "Must be some hell of a mission if they called all of us in." I remarked, glancing at the other pilots as I placed my hands in my jean pockets. "Especially this idiot." I remarked, still smirking as I felt Hangman place is arm around me.

I sighed, staring at the man next to me as he looked at me and then at Rooster. "Well Bradshaw, hope this one didn't ruffle your feathers too much." He smiled, cockily. I rolled my eyes at the pun, taking his arm off of from around me. He gave me a mock look of hurt before raising his hand for a beer from Penny.

"If everyone here is the best of the best, then who the hell are they gonna get to teach us?" Phoenix asked, not looking at anyone specifically.

"Well, that's an easy question. The real question is which one of you has the balls to follow me lead?" Hangman asked, causing most of us to scoff or roll our eyes.

I took no time in responding, "That's why you came second in the academy, right?" I smiled up at him sweetly, blinking my eyes, as he shut up. Payback burst out laughing, Phoenix along with him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bradley smiling into his beer.

"Well, I think my work here at this reunion is done. I'm gonna head out, have a nice night." I smiled, as they all gave me a farewell. I walked towards the back exit, opting to watch the midnight waves crash on the shore.

I closed my eyes as I breathed in the salty air, wind from the waves hitting my face and pushing my hair back as I leaned against the railing of the Hard Deck's patio. I watched as the waves hit the shore before returning out to sea just to do the same.

I opened my eyes as I felt someone stand next to me, leaning against the railing next to me. Yet, I didn't need to look over to see who it was. "How do you handle it?" I asked, moving my eyes from the ocean and looking down.

"Handle what?" I heard Bradley ask, as I could see him out of the corner of my eye turn to me with a confused face.

I swallowed before answer, looking up from the floor beneath me and back to the ocean before me. "Your dad." I whispered, staring out at the water. "How do you live, without him?" I could barely let out, my voice cracking as I frowned, feeling small tears prick at my eyes.

I turned to Bradley, wiping my eyes as I looked at him. His face held sympathy, and hurt as he opened his mouth to speak. "He's sick again?" He asked, this time turning his whole body towards me as one of his arms lingered on the railing.

Biting back my frown, I could only manage to nod, glancing down at the floor beneath us, taking a breath to steady myself before looking back to Bradley. He sighed out, opening his arms for a hug in which I immediately took his offer on. His arms wrapped around my waist, resting on my hipline on my back as I hugged upwards, my hands resting on the midst of his shoulder blades.

I felt safe in his arms, as if the world around me got a little bit lighter while his arms were wrapped around me. So, I just let it go, crying into his chest as he ran his hands through my hair, just letting me get it out.

The bell on the door from the bar rang out, as, unbeknownst to me, Hangman was walking outside I felt Bradley shake his head at the blonde pilot, who could only offer a small nod in return, along with a sad smile before walking back inside.

I pulled out of hug, recomposing myself as I wiped my eyes before looking back at Rooster, who could only stand before me with a small, sympathetic smile on his face. "Thank you." I murmured, looking up at him.

"Of course." He responded, without hesitance as he stared down at me. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyway that the ice cold pilot Blizzard's gone soft either." He winked at me, smiling in attempts to lighten up the mood.

This caused me to laugh, a sudden stroke of confidence coursing through my veins as I stepped closer to him. I smiled up at my former childhood bestfriend, and threw my arms over his shoulders as I stood on my tip toes, placing my face close to his. "I've gone soft?" I asked, glancing at his soft lips before returning my gaze to his eyes, a smirk evident on my face as I cocked my brow.

His smirk countered mine as he raised both of his brows before responding. He nodded, looking off at the ocean before staring back at me with nothing but confidence on his face. "Yeah, I uh, I think so." He responded, placing his hands on my waist.

This move could only cause the both of us to somehow get closer, the both of us leaning in for a kiss. It felt like a natural second hand, and it felt like forever until I pulled away. "Well, alright then."

#maverick #rooster #hangman #iceman #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x kazansky!reader #topgun #topgunmaverick

1K notes · View notes

jasmines-library · 1 year

Text

Cry, Little Sister.

- - - - -☽───⛧ ༺♰༻ ⛧───☾ - - - -

“Drink it. Be one of us.”

———————————————————————

Summary: You’d lived in Santa Carla all your life and it was boring. That was until you and your brothers discovered that there might be vampires about. When an attempt to kill the lost boys goes awry, and you end up becoming a vampire yourself, things become very messy when you join your brothers -who are vampire hunters- in a second attempt to rid your town of killers where you sacrifice your secret to save your friends, your brothers are not forgiving.

Warnings: Near death experience, blood, violence, killing, vampires, staking.

Word Count: 6.1k

Note: It’s finally here! This was a result of my poll that I posted a few weeks back, I’m sorry it’s taken a while. This is a lot longer that I planned but overall I’m pretty proud of it. Apologies if there are any major mistakes, or the formatting is off, it i was doing this on my phone and it was playing up. I redid it a few times but by that point it was 1am and I couldn’t be asked. Please let me know. I hope you enjoy.

Santa Carla was odd. You’d lived there all your life and yet you still couldn’t shake the weirdness that clung to your skin as you roamed the streets or the strange smell that lingered in the humid summer air. The boardwalk was busy during the day, but it was Santa Carla’s night life that really captured your interest. Everywhere became filled with colourful lights and interesting people and the sound of engines revving that ricocheted down alleyways. They were all unique characters and they appeared to be around your age. They were spritely and even in the few times you’ve encountered them there never seemed to be a dull moment. You never seemed to see them anywhere other than the boardwalk; that was unless you were looking for them intentionally. You’d spoken to them a few times, you’d occasionally bump into them on your break, though not much was ever exchanged between you. It was a rare occasion for them to come into your store. It made sense though, you didn’t think that comic books would potentially interest someone of their physique, but nevertheless here they were, running their fingers across the rows of coloured paper. As they moved, others seemed to slink away; there was an unsaid air around these boys. Your brothers thought they were vampires. You could see their harsh gazes from the other side of the store: firm and unforgiving. They were both in their mid-teens and wore a constant expression of fatigue on their face; a result of staying up too late brainstorming stupid ideas to take the vampires down. You and your brothers spent a long time researching and planning. You knew there had to be an explanation to the hundreds of missing posters plastered on every nook and cranny of the boardwalk. It was fun, sure, but you seeked something else. Your body itched for something different. A release. You knew it wasn’t a waste of time though. Vampires were tricky, they struck when they wanted and when you least expect it. They’re difficult to survive, but not impossible. You just have to be smarter than them. As they crept around the store, you found your hand edging its way towards the vial of holy water you kept tucked in between your belt. One of them, who had wild blond hair and looked almost like Twisted Sister, chucked a handful of 25c comics into the counter. He leaned forwards onto the splintering wood with a grin on his face. As he pulled out a handful of coins and tossed them next to his comics, his friends sauntered over. They were all tall, wild and their eyes twinkled mischievously. You slipped the change into the register and began to package the handful of comics when Twisted Sister had begun to lose interest, and took to wrestling with another blonde who wore a bold patchwork jacket. One of them glanced at the others before taking a long drag from his cigarette. This one wasn’t as tall as some of the others. His hair was bleached to the point it was almost white and it was cut so that his mullet rested just above his shoulders and clung to his neck.

“So. What’s your name doll?” His voice was husky and something about it compelled you to answer.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He drawled, rolling your name around his mouth. “Hm.”

“You gonna tell me yours or…?”

“David.” He breathed, taking another drag. “That’s Paul. Marko. Dwayne.” He gestured to the other three. At the mention of his name, Paul rushed over and scooped up his comics, winking at you. Your fingers traced the rim of the holy water. It was cool to the touch and you could feel the individual rivets of the plastic lid as you circled it. Your hand slid back into your pocket.

“You free tonight?” David asked suddenly, cocking his head. He paused for a minute as though he was trying to find the right words. Or make up the right lie. “I only ask because we were thinking of having a little fun by the boardwalk. You look bored.”

Edgar and Alan edged closer, weaving between the boxes of comics, craning their heads to listen in. You smirked. “I get off at 10.”

“Perfect.” David said smugly. “We’ll see you at 10.” With that, the four of them turned and left, Paul swinging the plastic bag beside him. People scattered away to form a path out of the shop. The whole store seemed to sigh in relief once they were out of sight. It didn’t take long for your brothers to approach with volatile looks set firmly upon their faces.

“What the hell Y/N?!” Edgar slammed his palms on the counter, causing the wood to rattle on its uncertain frame. His face was set in a hard stare, his eyes bore into yours, covered slightly by a loose bunch of hair that spilled over the top of his bandana. “You’re not only conversing with the enemy now, but you’re partying with them too?”

A smile crept onto your face and you shook your head, pulling loose the clear vial and placing it in front of him. “Think smarter. Not harder, little brother. You doubt me too much.”

~~~

By the time you’d finished your shift, and you had managed to convince your brothers to go home, the crowds had died down slightly, though you could still feel the heavy rhythm of the bass that shook the ground coming from the concert on the boardwalk and the screams of thrillseekers on the roller coasters. The smell of food lingered in the air and the soft hues of cracking fires danced around the beach. You found the boys gathered around a fire just besides the pier. Rock music blared from the stereo half buried in the sand as you arrived. Paul and Marko were prancing around, banging their heads to the fast pace of the music, kicking sand around as they went, sometimes aiming it at each other if they felt spiteful. David stood, brooding in the corner, obscured by the light, he seemed deep in concentration. His blue eyes darkened when he saw you approaching. It was Dwayne who welcomed you, moving over from his perch on a log to make space from you. Marko slid in beside you, snatching a joint from Paul before offering it around. You took a drag and passed it on.

“So. Y/N.” Dwayne said. “How long have you been in Santa Carla?”

Someone's arm snaked around your waist, the leather was cool, but the hand that came from it was icy cold and caused your skin to prick up. “I’ve lived here all my life.” You told him simply.

“Uh-huh. And uh,” he furrowed his brow, turning to face you, “how long have you been hunting Vampires?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Marko removed his arm from behind you and pulled out the vial of holy water. “You really think this is gonna stop us?” He pouted mockingly before unscrewing the lid, tipping out the contents into the sand and throwing the bottle back at you with an unexpected force. It landed harshly in your lap. You scrambled back, reaching for the small pocket knife your brothers insisted you keep on you. It wouldn’t do much but maybe delay them for a couple of seconds. Your hands patted around aimlessly for it in your pocket, frantically searching for it until David dangled it in front of your face. Trying to turn and run, your body collided with Dwayne’s chest.

“Leaving so soon?” Looking up, you were met with his golden eyes and bared fangs. He gripped you by the arms tightly, whipping you round and pulling you close to him so you couldn’t move. You struggled pointlessly in his grasp, trying to get away from the wild faces that mocked you. David traced the knife along your jawline.

“Such a pity.”

“You’re such a babe Y/N. It’s a shame you’ll go to waste.” Paul said, circling round you, studying you closely. “I bet you would have fit right in.”

“It’s a shame you stuck with your brothers.” Marko said. “You would have made a powerful ally.”

Something in your mind clicked, and it was almost as though the world had suddenly become clear, as though this was the obvious answer to everything. “So make me.”

You shifted the bottle between the palms of your clammy hands. It felt foreign, yet so right at the same time. The jewels glistened in the light of the fire, distracting you from the crimson liquid that sloshed around inside. David's eyes bore into yours, it made your skin crawl and your body shift uncomfortably. You could feel the other three pairs of eyes on you, soaking in the anticipation of your next move.

“Drink it.” David urged. “Be one of us.”

You twisted the cork from the top of the bottle and watched as the people around you perked up at the smell of it. You placed the cold glass to your lips and without a second thought, took a swig from the bottle.

“Bravo!” David cheered, pulling the bottle away from your lips and taking a sip of it for himself. There was something about that moment that made you feel whole. The thrill you had been wanting, this was it. Your face lit up with a wild grin and Paul slung his arm around your shoulder.

“Welcome to the club.”

It was a strange feeling. The world seemed different, sharper like someone had begun to focus a camera. The rest of the night went by in a blur, you remember partying and music, but not much else besides that. You don’t know how, but soon you were wiped out in your bed.

~~~

“Get up.”

The sun that pierced through the window caused your head to throb and your eyes to burn as you struggled to adjust to it. Alan stood over your bed, a pillow raised in his hands as Edgar tugged open your curtains letting the remainder of the light flood into the room. You groaned and covered your eyes with your arm as the headache increased tenfold.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Alan complained as you sat up slowly. “What the hell were you doing last night?”

“Hmm?” you asked groggily. The light was messing with your head.

“Did you get them?” Edgar asked, rather excitedly.

“No.” You shook your head, fumbling towards your bathroom. Your brothers were close behind. “Give me time. I’ll get to know them.” You stood in the doorway to the bathroom, leaning against the frame. Edgar narrowed his eyes at you and watched you closely. “Can I go?”

His gaze lingered for a moment, but he grunted and turned away tugging his older brother with him. When you closed the bathroom door, turning the lock behind you, you splashed your face with water from the sink. It was cool against your skin and trailed off in little droplets. When you peered up at your face in the mirror, it was paler than usual as though it were winter and not the scolding summer Santa Carla was currently facing. Besides a slight paleness in your skin, you looked fine, though your head was pounding like a constant, droning beat of a drum. You squinted, trying to remember last night's events. Something about it made your skin crawl. You had this gut feeling that something wasn’t going to end well, that someone was going to get hurt. You swallowed thickly. Your brothers were safe. You could protect them if the time came. If you failed.

It took a while, but when you finally left the shelter of your house, the sun had long gone past its peak point in the sky and was dipping below the horizon. How long had you been asleep? It was Saturday, the peak of the summer and so the boardwalk was crammed. The shop was busy and the small fan at the back of the store did nothing against the sweltering heat. Your eyes kept dancing around the room in search of wild blond hair, or the sheen of leather but to your avail, they only glazed across mops of mousy hair and beach wear. One person did catch your eye however. He was young, perhaps your brothers’ age and was browsing the superman comics. His face was soft and adorned with freckles. It was his clothes however that struck you the most. They were sheek and brightly coloured, with odd patterns. Clearly not from around here. You watched as your brothers approached him closely, trying to engage him in conversation. Outside, a group had gathered, pushing and shoving each other wildly. Emerging from behind the desk, you made your way closer to them and the teenage boys.

“Where the hell are you from,” Edgar asked rather unenthusiastically. “Krypton?”

“Phoenix. Actually.” He replied. You stopped in your tracks near them, listening in discretely. Edgar moved, with his hands in his pockets, towards a row of comics. He plucked one from the rack and handed it to the boy. It was a pale blue edition of ‘Vampires Everywhere’.

The boy tutted and tried to hand it back to him. “I don’t like horror comics.”

“You’ll like this one, Mr Phoenix. It could save your life.”

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but the group outside noticed an opening and grabbed a handful of comics, taking off down the street. “Hey!” You cried, running after them. Edgar and Alan were right behind you, abandoning their new companion.

When the night had finally dulled down, you took a stroll along the beach. The sand shifted between your toes as you wandered. You weren’t entirely sure where you wanted to go, you were restless, wanting to be nowhere and everywhere all at once. When you saw the bikes knelt up against the railing however, you paused making your way over to the four boys. “Incoming.” Dwayne’s head snapped up as you approached, alerting everyone else to your presence. His eyes glistened under the moonlight. Paul and Marko were onto you within seconds, guiding you over to where they stood.

“Look who finally decided to show up.” David smirked. He seemed in a better mood tonight. Perhaps he felt less threatened now you were a half.

“I never received an invite.” You said, leaning against the cool metal of the railing.

“You’re welcome anytime, babe.” Paul smirked. You rolled your eyes.

“How you feelin’?” Marko chuffed, watching you closely.

Nodding, you smiled. “Ok.”

David swung his leg over his bike and took a seat. “You up for a ride?”

Out of all the places you expected David to take you, this was not it. It was an old hotel, sunken into the cliffs of Hudson's Bluff. It had clearly been like this for a while, you had heard the stories when you were younger, yet you had always heeded by the keep out signs posted out front. Clearly those didn’t interest the vampires as they whisked you straight down the narrow stairs, lighting barrels with a splint. When the fire cast a warm glow around the cave, you could really study its beauty. In the centre of the room was an old fountain, once a feature of the hotel. Though the room was messy, there was a sort of structure to it, with beams and tunnels leading off into the darkness. There were posters and cassettes strewn all over the room, likely Paul or Marko’s and the odd books neatly filed away. David took his perch on a wheelchair in the centre of the room. What surprised you the most about the space was the young, dark haired girl who made her way out from behind a lace curtain when she heard the rhythm of the guitar. An even smaller boy, no older than 10 clutched the ruffled of her purple skirt.

“Star.” David called out to the girl. She made her way into the room. “Come and join us. This is Y/N. The girl we told you about.”

She nodded at you bluntly, guiding the small boy into the room. His hair reminded you of your brothers, it was dark and fell over his face. To your surprise he came and sat down beside you. “Hi.” He grinned a toothy smile up at you.

You smiled back at him. “Hi.”

The boy cocked his head as though he were trying to purge you of your secrets. “They all seem to really like you.” He blurted. “David told me that-”

“Laddie.” Star interrupted, reprimanding him as you would either of your brothers. “Leave the poor girl alone. I’m sorry.”

“No, No. It’s okay.” You reached out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Y/N.”

“Star.”

There was an awkward silence that passed between you two, despite the fact that the room was filled with laughter and loud music. The small boy, Laddie, had stood up to prance around with Dwayne.

“Can I ask you something?” Star blurted out.

“Sure.”

“You’re a hunter, right?”

“I guess… I was.”

“Then why’d you drink it? Knowing what they are. What we are?”

“I wanted to protect my family, but…” You hesitated, unsure how to phrase how you felt. “When I'm around these people, I feel… whole. Like the excitement I've wanted my whole life has finally happened. When I’m around these people, I feel that.”

Star said nothing, just watched you close. She couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly put themselves through that, yet she seemed to soften a little at the thought that you wanted to protect your brothers. From across the room, David watched from his throne. He watched as you and Star exchanged stories, listening with his keen ears to the way your voice fluctuated when you got excited. He found a smile creeping onto his face. Perhaps you were more than they bargained for.

~~~

Tension was high in the air as the old blue Ford pulled up to the cliff. Sam and Michael had ‘borrowed’ it from their grandpa. The sun was high in the sky and your head was pounding. Your eyes drooped as you fought to keep them open beneath your sunglasses. Each day it grew harder and harder to fight the pull of the moon and the urge to slink away from the sun. Michael, who everyone knew was a half was struggling nearly as much as you. He slumped against the wheel slightly as he drove, his sunglasses firmly covering his eyes. Michael had been turned just after you. The boys had Star lure him in; orders from their sire. Though you weren’t there at the time, they were keen to tell you how he had drunk from the bottle and hung it from the train tracks. It had been a few weeks since Michael turned. And you had gotten to know him and the other vampires very well. A heavy weight sets itself upon your shoulders as you clambered out of the car. With your knowledge of the cave and closeness to the vampires, your brothers had relied on you to devise the ultimate plan. Ironically, they sat squashed in the back with you, refusing to ride next to Michael, claiming that ‘They didn’t ride with Vampires’. You were entirely unsure how your brothers hadn’t caught on. You’d passed your tiredness off as late nights getting to know them. Michael knew differently. Either he’d figured it out himself from the time you spent with the vampires, or your symptoms, or Star had caved and told him when she slipped away for help. As you watched your two brothers fumble away with Sam and their stakes, you slipped your arm under Michael, helping to support his weakened body. You had had the privilege of drinking blood from the bottle as much as you needed, or when the boys insisted. Surprisingly, they were relaxed on your resistance to turn fully. It came up occasionally in all of the time you spent with them; It still surprised them at the outcome of your impulse turning. As the pair of you hobbled after the younger boys, who were keen to threaten Michael, and up the stairs, you could feel the burning sun causing both of your heads to pound and muscles to ache. You could also hear the pounding of your heart and you were sure from how loud it was, your fellow vampire could hear it too. Michael glanced at you sideways. “Y/N?”

“Mmh?” You kept your head down, focusing on the steps in front of you, not daring to meet his eyes.

“They don’t know yet. Do they?”

“Know what?”

“Y/N,” He sighed, “Don’t play that game. You know what I mean. I can clearly see the sun’s effect on you”

You huffed, struggling up the stairs, “No. They don’t know yet,”

“How long?” Michael asked. How long since you were turned.

“Not long before you.” You reached the top and began to make your way through the cave’s entrance, “Don’t say anything.” You pleaded. “Please. They’re already mad enough that i’ve been hanging around with them. The only reason they let me do it was for this moment. They’ll be even madder when they realise that I turned wi-” You stopped yourself before you went too far. Michael already knew too much. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Just try not to get yourself killed,”

Michael nodded reluctantly and not another word was passed between you as you made your way down the narrow steps and into the darkness of the cave.

The younger boys were already inside, poking around in curtains and shifting items. Edgar tugged back a thin curtain to reveal Star. She was wrapped tightly in a thin sheet, burying her face in it.

“Here’s one!” Edgar cried excitedly, gesturing to you and Alan, grappling for one of the wooden stakes at the hilt of his belt. They were as thick and as long as your arm, carved half hastily. They would still do some nasty damage. “Come on, let’s stake her!”

“No!” Michael hurried down the last of the steps, gripping onto a loose vine to help keep himself upright. “Don’t you touch her! You stay away from her!” He lurched forwards out of your grasp, causing you to stumble, and skidded to a halt in front of her, forcing the Frog brother away. He dropped to his knees beside her, desperately trying to rouse her from the sun's pull.

“Come on, vampires have such a rotten temper.” Alan glowered, before retreating, slightly taken aback by the sudden outburst before heading off in the opposite direction. “Y/N!” Alan yelled when you continued to stand in your place. “Help us look, God damnit, you’re supposed to be the expert here.”

There was no need to look. You knew exactly where they were, and soon would your brothers. You headed off in the opposite direction, trying to divert their search to where you were. Your heart dropped when you heard Alan yell once again.

“I feel a draft! I think there’s something up here!”

“Let's check it out!” Edgar said running up the stairs, “ Y/N. Sam. Come on,”

Sam followed closely behind with you shortly after. As your brothers began pushing their way through thick layers of cobwebs, Sam called out something to Mike about being back soon.

The tunnel was claustrophobic. It barely stood over a metre in each direction. Roots and cobwebs dangled limply from the ceiling, and a rotten stench filled the air. The five of you continue to crawl down the tunnel, edging closer to uncertainty. The smell got worse and you knew you weren’t the only one who could smell it because Sam screwed up his face in disgust and asked the obvious question.

“What’s that smell?”

“Vampires, my friend. Vampires,”. Edgar patted him on the back. You dropped down off a ledge into a small, circular pit. It was colder there, and you knew that they were definitely in here somewhere. You all looked around, albeit found nothing. You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

“Looks like a dead end. Let’s head back” you urged, trying to get them to leave before they found the vampires. Maybe if you left now, everyone would make it out alive… or as close to alive as a vampire can be. However, you knew how relentless your brothers were, especially when it came to vampires, so you weren’t surprised when Edgar wanted to keep looking.

“They must have hidden the coffins around here someplace.” Edgar persisted, hovering the lights across the walls.

“There’s nothing here, let’s go guys,” Sam tugged on Alan's sleeve and turned to shuffle back down the tunnel. Then the three boys looked up.

“Jesus!” one of them cried out. You weren’t sure who, you were too busy looking at the figures that hung no more than 10 feet above you, their hair dangling in ribbons by their ears. Sam screamed, only to have his mouth covered shut by one of his friends.

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins!” Sam cried, clinging to the other two boys who were also cowering in fear.

“That’s what this cave is. It’s one giant coffin.” Edgar regained his composure and began hauling himself and his gear up a ladder, beckoning for you and Alan to follow. Sam stayed below, shining a torch on the vampires’ faces. “Right now they’re at their most vulnerable; easy pickings.”

“Remember, we just have to kill the leader,” Sam prompted. You could tell by the way the light wavered in his shaking hands that he was desperate to leave. You swallowed thickly as you placed your foot on the first rung of the ladder. The old wooden frame shifted under your weight. As the three of you climbed, it creaked and groaned softly.

“We don’t know who the easy one is,” Edgar shrugged, pulling himself onto the rocky platform in the cave. It was narrow, barely three feet wide and there was a fairly sheer drop below it. “I guess we’ll just have to kill them all,”

You climbed onto the platform next to Alan, who was wedging free a stake from his pack.

“We’ll start with the little one.” He smirked. “First come, first staked,”

“What was that?” Sam asked, shining the light on Marko’s face. “A little vampire humour? It wasn’t funny.”

The three of you stood face to face with Marko. His eyes were closed and his lips were puckered softly. He was still wearing his patchwork jacket. Like this he looked so peaceful. Your stomach tossed and turned and Edgar hefted the stake that your brother had passed to him between his sweaty palms. Everything moved slowly when he raised the stake aloft and reared his arm back. You could feel your blood pumping in your veins like an echoing alarm, you could hear your heartbeat pounding against your chest, so hard you thought it might burst.

“No!” You caved, rushing forwards and grabbing your brother’s arm, pulling him behind you, which caused the stake that was in mid pursuit to clutter to the ground. The sound echoed throughout the room.

“Y/N! What the hell are you doing?!” Alan hissed. He pulled Edgar beside him, trying to keep his distance from you. He held out one of his weapons. Your breath shuddered. Above you, the four vampires began to stir. Dwayne's eyelashes fluttered slightly. Despite being underground, you could still feel the pull of the sun. It made your whole body want to curl up and shut down on itself. You wondered how it felt for David and the others. You watched as Alan’s gaze flickered up to them and he squared his jaw.

“Leave them alone.” You told them.

“You’re one of them! Aren’t you?” Alan cried at you, once he had finished looking you up and down. He had finally pieced it together. When you failed to say something, he shook his head in disbelief, “My own sister is a shit-sucking vampire. And a Traitor.”

“Stay away from us,” Edgar said coldly, raising a stake towards you.

“Boys…please.” You took a step towards them, only to have Edgar shove his weapon closer to you. “Please. If we leave now, no one has to get hurt. Just..Just put the stake down. I’ll explain, I promise-”

“Okay.” He grunted. Edgar lowered his stake and you lowered your guard, relaxing just a little bit more. And that was all it took, one tiny moment of trust. Quickly, he spun around, Shoving you harshly towards the edge of the platform and raised his weapon once more.

“Goodnight bloodsucker”

A gut wrenching scream ricocheted across the stone walls.

You stumbled backwards, fingers trying in vain to find a grip on the uneven wall. Your footsteps were uneven; all out of beat and losing time. You slipped onto the ground. It was cold and damp beneath your body as you writhed in pain, Rouge tears pooled across your cheeks as you craned your head to spy the offending weapon. The motion made your head swim. It was square, barely as thick as your arm and carved from an aspen tree that once stood in your parents' garden. The four wooden sides sloped together to form a deadly point, now embedded in your stomach, a few inches across from your left hip. You screamed, an agonising, loney scream, but it got lost somewhere between the roaring of the vampires; descending quickly from where they hung, eyes wide and golden with fangs bared, and the screams of the three boys whose eyes were wide with a complexion of shock and terror as they scrambled back down the wooden framework to leave the cave. Your breathing came in quick, short pants as you struggled against the white-hot agony. A figure dropped down next to you as you writhed. A face that was usually so peaceful, hovered into view. His eyes were flecked with gold and were laced with concern and panic.

“Y/N…” Marko breathed, his voice cut clearly through the chaos. He dropped to his knees, hovering over your body, before pressing down onto the red slick that was blossoming between the stake and the threads of your shirt. You groaned in pain. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine. Just stay with me please.” He pleaded, easing you into his arms. When he lifted you, although cautiously, the stake shifted, tugging at your raw, torn skin. A strained whimper escaped your lips and you screwed your eyes up, trying to curl away. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” he hushed, dropping down to the ground of the cave. Paul and Dwayne were quick to rush over to their counterpart. Paul’s eyes were wild, wide and frantic as he reached you. Dwayne’s fangs were still barred, and his hair that was normally so well kept was a mess atop his head. They didn’t care at that moment, seeing you balled up weakly in Marko's arms, something inside of them shifted. The brunette's hands found their way into your hair as you were eased back to the ground, laying across Marko’s chest. When his hands left your hair, you felt them press firmly around the weapon, replacing Marko’s who were now painted with crimson. Although the stake hadn’t gone all the way through, it was close to it. The boys grimaced at your cries of discomfort, faces contorting as though they were the ones feeling your pain too. Paul knelt by your head. He was silent, but took your head gently in his hands, afraid that he might hurt you more. He turned it softly to face him. Your eyes were struggling to stay open as you fought your laboured breathing.

“Y/N?” He questioned. “Hey? Hey. look at me.”

You flitted your eyes up to meet him, They had shifted back to the deep blues of his irises, but the panic on his face still hadn’t melted away.

“Paul?” Your voice was a fraction above a whisper. Ragged and weak. “It hurts.” You whimpered.

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll fix this.”

Blinking slowly, you watched the blonde shift above you. Your eyes felt cumbersome and you suddenly became aware of how tired you were. When black spots began to obscure your vision, you let your eyes flutter shut to blink them away.

“No. No no no. Hey open your eyes, look at us.” Marko panicked.

When your eyes were closed, you felt like you were floating. When your eyes were closed there was no pain. But something was missing. They snapped back open and the whole room seemed to sigh with relief. Above you, someone new had entered the room, David’s face was distraught. And tear stained. His focus shifted from you to the offending stake that still protruded from your gut. His hand ghosted over the top of it.

“We need to take it out.” Paul said.

“No.” When David spoke, it was firm and calm. It mirrored nothing of his expression. “It’s the only thing keeping her from bleeding out. We take it out now and we kill her.”

“We have to do something!” Marko implored. He watched the way your chest staggered up and down. The room was uncomfortably silent for a moment, besides the harsh gasps of your lungs.

“She needs to kill.” Dwayne spoke up.

David nodded solemnly. “We know. But she can’t. We can’t go out there and she’s in no condition to go on her own.”

“Then what the hell are we going to do, David. Huh?” Paul asked. “She’s going to die if we don’t help her.”

They all watched you closely, Your eyes were drooping slowly closed, struggling to hold themselves up. Black spots filled your vision until you could no longer see the blurry shapes of people above you. Your eyes slipped closed again. There was the sound of shuffling and the nauseating smell of more blood mixing with yours. You felt the warm blood ooze down your throat and cool, smooth glass on your lips. When you found enough strength to pry your eyes open, you saw David with the bottle of his blood clutched in his grasp.

“We leave as soon as the sun goes down.”

David left the minute the sun had slipped beyond the horizon. He was bleary eyed and drowsy, but he pulled himself to the nearest part of town to find anyone. The other boys stayed crowded around you. You had gotten worse quickly. The bleeding from the stake had slowed down, however so had your breathing, and your body had paled. You lay limply on Marko’s lap as Paul and Dwayne traced soothing lazy circles on your skin. Their focus never left you. The three of them tried desperately to keep you talking, bringing the glass bottle upto your lips whenever your body wandered a little too far, though eventually the effect of David’s blood began to wear thin and your words turned into little hums and groans of pain. When David finally dragged the struggling man through the entrance to the cave, all bodies perked up. The four vampires helped ease you up, urging you towards the man. Your fingers found flesh.

“That’s it Y/N.” David spoke softly. “Come on, you know what to do.”

You had seen them do it plenary of times. You let your mouth sink into the man’s skin, your teeth piercing the flesh and drawing blood. You swallowed it thickly, it tasted sweeter than you expected. More addicting. As you drank, the fire in your stomach dwindled down to a throb. That was, untill it was forced from your body. Gasping in pain, your hands slipped from the still man in front of you and your body slumped to the ground.

Part 2 • Masterlist

#okay so update. I’ve only just realised that the last part got cut out so uhh it’s back on there now and it’s not just left randomly.#part 2 is on its way #this took me way too long to do #writing #the lost boys #marko #paul #dwayne #David #the lost boys 1987 x reader #the lost boys x reader #lost boys x reader #the lost boys 1987 #near death experience #fan fiction #angst #angsty

188 notes · View notes