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forteafy · 10 months

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Baby Steps | MV1

Summary: You've always been Mercedes golden girl; your life and career have been set out in stone. All it takes is for your ultimate rival to change that all.

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Mild Smut, Childbirth, Angst, Mentions of Jos Verstappen.

26th November; the night of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix should have been the happiest of your life.

Not many people in the world can hold their head up high and say they have won a Formula 1 world championship, let alone three. Ever since your toothy grin and shy comments when first stepping into the paddock, you had been making waves in the motorsport world. Years later, under the attentive eye of Toto Wolff and Mercedes, you had become effortlessly cool and undeniably talented; the core makings of a three-time world champion.

The night of your first win was…you can’t even say a distant memory; the last thing you could vividly remember was linking arms with the golden boy of Mercedes, laughing merrily as you were guided down to the foyer of the extravagant hotel, the entire team with their warm comments and loving attitude ready for their new-found champion. The next day consisted of crouching over the porcelain throne, your insides rejecting any form of substance, the smell of tequila on your skin making you belch more. It was a cruel cycle, but one that every world champion had learnt.

It also hadn’t ceased you from repeating the identical routine the next year; the feeling was so nice, you had to do it twice. Ironically, you had also worn the identical bra and panty set of the first year; not that anybody had seen it. Boys were off limits during the height of your career. This was your choice, of course. PR would have given their overpriced marketing tools to see you on the arm of a successful man, thinking of the faux love story they could spin.

No, in order to be successful, respected; you’d sworn off any romantic relationship. You were not a figure to be held next to a man for beauty. Moreover, you were almost certain that if Toto saw a man within three feet of you, he’d frighten them off, in true fear that anybody would come near his youngest prodigy.

The third year had been set; the routine was laid out in front of you, ready to make mistakes you’d groan and then forget about by the fourth. Instead, you found yourself crouched in the cramped cubicle of the nightclub, a hand over your mouth and nose, attempting to muffle the gulps from your lips. Your eyes had glossed over, intensely focused on the piece of plastic fisted in your palm. Two blue lines, interlapped to create a cross. A plus sign. A positive sign.

You were pregnant.

19th October; a month prior to what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You’d been the personification of a peacock; feathers flexing as you walked through the paddock, your tenth pole position of the year resting comfortably on your shoulders. Heavy pats on your back, a cheeky wink towards the camera of Sky Sports and cheers from the crowds had guided your return to your motorhome, thanking your PR assistant as you slid into the only four walls on the track where there was a form of privacy.

Except there wasn’t. A figure was relaxed into your sofa with a photograph in his hands, eyes trained on your body when you’d entered the room, unknowing of their presence. A grin appeared on his smug face upon seeing you practically skyrocket out of your skin, noting the other person in your sanctuary. He eventually stands up, removing his branded Red Bull cap to place on your sofa.

“You shouldn’t be here, Max.” You scoff, snatching the polaroid out of his fingers, returning the photo to its rightful place; atop of the plush chilli Carlos Sainz had bought you for your birthday. (He’d also bought you a bullet vibrator, trying to remind you of your stubbornness, urging you to relax a little.)

“Nice photograph.” He comments, his blue eyes flickering over to where it now stood, propped up in pride. You sat centre of the track in Abu Dhabi; two younger figures sat between your legs. They both rested a chubby hand on your World Driving Championship trophy, huge grins at the shining object. “Friends of yours?”

“Sisters.” You mumble in return, removing the snapback from your head, balancing it on top of your shelf. The cool air finds the roots of your hair instantly, a wave of relief rolling through your entire body when your hand comes up to soothe your scalp. “Congratulations on…was it P16?” You gloat, hoping your rival would catch the message that you didn’t want him to be there.

Max feels his lips drop and eyebrows meet at the cold reminder of his own qualification result. He knew the season was drawing to a close, quickly at that, and the constant reminder that he would be losing another championship to Mercedes golden girl was the last thing he needed. The smug grin on your lips remains, turning around to slide your arms out of your race suit, letting the top half rest on your hips, sleeves hanging loosely at your legs.

“That’s why I came to see you.” He responds, standing up straighter, arms folded as his eyes train on your own movement. “It makes my losses look miniscule compared to your own.” His own grin has returned now, satisfied with his own response to the situation.

You had been playing this game for months. The first year of your relationship on the grid had been friendly, the second had been hostile. The third had been downright dangerous. It began to get to a point where the grid, the press, everyone had picked up on the relationship between yourself and the Red Bull driver.

“Hey, I’ll do anything to help you forget this will be my third World Championship.” You snap back, turning around to meet his figure, your own arms mimicking, folding against your chest. This time, you take a step closer. “Maybe next year Christian Horner will remember his ‘Precious Little Maxie.’

Max scoffs at the nickname you had given him, eyes noting the step you had taken. He responds, taking his own step. “Trust me. There’s nothing little about me.” His eyes meet yours when he finishes his sentence, and for the first time, Max Verstappen has left you completely and utterly speechless. Mind goes into overdrive, years of hatred are forgotten has his hands fly out, grasping each side of your face, meshing his lips to your own.

Your first thought is to push the swine away, slap him across the face and scream for Toto Wolff to grab him by the collar. Clouded, spaced out; your mind begins to crack, your only thought is how good his lips feel against your own, how soft they feel against your cheek, how sinful they trace against your neck.

Max’s palms had originally rested on your cheek, they had begun their trail, slithering down your sides, grip tightening as they reached your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his body, grinding his crotch against your own, the desperation of his member clearly noticeable.

A gasp emitted from your lips, feeling his teeth begin to nip across the soft skin of your neck, desperately searching for that one spot that would make you crumble. Max’s hands make quick work, one wrapping around your waist in order to keep you secure, the other grasping you fireproofs, race suit and panties in a fluid motion, exposing the sweet centre he had been craving. Nimble fingers trail around your entrance, swiping a finger against your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rewarding him with the most sinful sound he had ever received.

“Max-“ You gasped, mind clouded by lust, how your desire of this man had built from your core the moment you had seen him in person, years ago. “Max, please-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He mumbled, his own hand pulling down his trousers and underwear, rubbing his shaft for preparation. “Do not ruin this fucking moment.”

In a swift motion, Max has you pinned against the wall of your driver room, the cool wall sending a shiver against your skin. You barely have time to register the coolness dancing across you before your mind is overwhelmed by the feeling of his length slipping into your wet folds, and there is truly nothing little about him in that moment, mind sent into overdrive when he brings his lips back to yours.

19th December, twenty-three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You had finally thrown yourself entirely into a distraction; Christmas. You’d flew back to Brackley alongside your teammate, both of you returning to the Mercedes base before retiring for the holidays. There had been no string short of invites flooding into your inbox, asking if you wanted to join them in any festivities. Anything at this point was a wanted distraction from the impending coil growing in your stomach, both figuratively and literally.

And so, you attended a Christmas Market alongside George and Carmen, passing on the mulled wine the two had insisted on trying. You’d gone to see Jack’s Christmas performance alongside Toto and Suzie but declined going to the fish restaurant they had mentioned; (you’d read somewhere in your first week of sheer panic that you could no longer go near fish whilst pregnant.) You’d gone to Lando’s new apartment in London but had seen the scowl on his face when you’d complained about your ‘bad stomach,’ and couldn’t do any heavy lifting of decorations.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve; Lewis had come to your family’s home, presents for your younger siblings, parents and yourself, of course. He’d sat politely, sipped on your mother’s tea, laughed politely at the antics building up towards the big day itself.

Spending time with somebody for three quarters of the year will teach you a lot about them; Lewis knew you like he knew each twist and turn of every track he’d raced along during the years. He knew you laughed with your whole stomach to the point where you had to grab something for support; that before every single race you would have your ‘top secret handshake’ with your race engineer, (you insisted your race would always go more smoothly if you did so, the last time you didn’t had resulted in a DNF.)

What Lewis knew most, was you were a complete and utter sucker for anything with chocolate. He had seen you practically sob when your trainer had found protein brownies that would work in your diet. So why did you decline your mothers’ sweet desserts when offered around the lounge? Why did you seem to hold your breath when the scent of treats was wafted under your nose, almost as if you’d vomit if you came into contact with them?

Carefully, your teammate placed his mug down on the low table, wiggling out of the space between your younger sisters; both were entranced by him. In any other situation, he would have sat there for hours, listening to their oh-so-sweet stories. Instead, he whistled for Roscoe, watching as the dog stooped up from his position by the fire, tottering over towards his owner.

“I’m going to take Roscoe out for a wee.” He nods towards your figure, slouched on the opposite sofa. “You coming?” The way he phrases his question; you can tell it’s not a question, it’s a command. You nod, placing down your own mug, stretching as you pulled yourself away from the leather recliner.

Your sisters were now engrossed by one of the presents Lewis has insisted they had to open early. Your mother and father were running through their guest list for tomorrow; nobody seemed to notice as the two of you slipped on your outerwear, whistling for Roscoe as you stepped through the dining room and onto the porch of the family home you had gifted your parents almost 1 year ago now.

Lewis’ eyes meet yours the moment you had closed the ornate doors. You struggle to meet his gaze; you know he has begun to put the pieces of this metaphorical puzzle together. He barely waits for the sound of the door closing before he starts to speak, the mannerisms he reserves for his teammate in instant appeal.

“Alright. What’s happening then?” He asks almost instantly, motioning for you to walk alongside him, taking the scenic route of the large garden. “You’d never turn down sweet things. You do everything to make your mother smile, why would you turn down her cooking?”

“I’ve just gone off that kind of stuff.” You mumble, not really thinking about what you were saying. You’d later remember to be more careful with your responses. You were not expecting him to piece it together so quickly through his own train of thought.

“Oh, my sister was like that when she was pregnant with-“ He cuts himself off, ceasing his steps when he realises what has escaped his lips. His head snaps back to look at you, and his heart melts. You, his self-assured, sweet teammate, now with tears in your eyes, a visible shake running across your body. He’s not stupid, he’s far from it.

“You’re pregnant.” He almost whispers, seeing how the words are visibly affecting you. Lewis says nothing, instead pulling you straight into his chest, arms engulfing you as he feels your body loosen, silently shaking with held back tears of being reminded of your current situation. “But…how?” He murmurs, loud enough for you to hear. He knew of your dating rule. Even outside of the press, no man ever seemed to be enough to knock you down, let alone knock you up.

You can’t tell him, not now. You couldn’t tell him. You had to tell him.

“Max.” You whisper, barely able to have the name on your lips. Lewis’ brows furrow. He knows in his heart he is right, but he doesn’t want to be.

“Fewtrell?” He responds, referencing to Lando’s oldest friend. You had been to see them recently, after all.

“Verstappen.”

Lewis’ isn’t sure what to say in that moment. Instead, he simply keeps you in his arms, in this moment at least, he can keep you warm, safe. Away from questioning eyes and the stories which will surely follow you until the end of time, until the end of your career. Instead, he asks the one question which you had been blocking out for oh-so-long, that you had been putting off since you threw yourself into these festivities.

“What are you going to do?”

6th January, 41 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You knew what you were going to do.

You knew from the moment you had been called into your first ultrasound scan; by this point, only a few select people knew of the situation. Lewis. Your parents. The delivery driver at Dominoes Pizza whom had given you a strange look when handing over a pizza with no cheese, but three lots of spicy peppers.

Going to your first ultrasound alone had been terrifying; bringing somebody along would have drawn too much attention. You had played a mighty risk by going alone, hoping you wouldn’t be recognised. You didn’t want Mercedes to catch wind of the happenings, instead hoping nobody would openly tweet about your live location.

Your nurse doesn’t recognise you; if she does, she doesn’t show it. She’s polite and kind, makes sure that you haven’t used the bathroom in four hours, something to do with amniotic fluid. The cold jelly on your stomach sends an odd feeling through your body, as if cold cream was balancing on your tummy. There’s a sharp prod, a poke, and then you see the nurse smile.

“Ah, there they are!” She glows.

And there they are. Sat there, in your stomach. A small curve, to anybody else, a completely unidentifiable shape. But to you? The most precious shape that was completely and utterly undeniably yours. How you could have thought that you could go through life without knowing them is beyond you.

That was the moment you knew what you were going to do.

All you had to do now, was tell Toto. No big deal.

23rd February, 89 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“Horner!”

Toto was known to be larger than life, and his voice only proved that theory as he stormed out of his Paddock Office, completely abandoning any information being presented about Pre-Testing in Bahrain. Instead, he’s seeing red, he’s seeing that Horner’s complete and utter dickhead of a driver has knocked up his winner. His current champion. (With no disrespect to Lewis, of course.)

Your teammate had been there, holding your hand when you had broken the news to Toto, your race engineer and your trainer. Your PR assistant was aware of the situation, currently attempting to make a game plan of how to handle the situation. She was adamant you needed to remain in the paddock; you still needed to be a part of the sporting world, even if you weren’t driving.

At first, Toto thought it was Lewis’ baby, ready to bang both of their heads together and reprimand them for not being careful. When it had slipped whose child it was, (Toto was well aware of your rule too, he was just as confused as Lewis had been when he’d first found out.) Toto didn’t care about anything. More importantly, he didn’t care that your pregnancy wasn’t public knowledge.

Toto had stormed into Red Bull’s garage, much to the widened eyes of Christian Horner. Despite being shorter, he instantly holds himself against the Austrian, arms folded, a smirk on his face at the entrance of the unwanted guests.

“How can I help you, Toto?” He smirks, ready for some remark. Instead, Toto leans to Christian’s ear, murmuring something unhearing to the rest of the garage. You can take a guess to what is said however, judging by how pale the Red Bull’s Team Principle had gone. In one swift move, he motions for Toto and yourself to follow him, calling out to his own team.

“Send Max to my office. Now.” His voice is unrevealing, but his skin is growing paler by the minute.

You had never been into a Red Bull garage, and yet now you sat in Horner’s own office, amazed by the fact their colour schemes and trophies could be carried around the world. Mercedes kept theirs at home, sometimes plain and simple was the way to go. You began to wonder if you should bring your trophies to your next races, maybe it would give the team a reminder of what can be achieved.

“Sit.” Horner motions to the couch in the office. You take a seat almost instantly, overwhelmed by the entire situation. Lewis places himself next to you, an arm around your back protectively. Toto refuses to take a command, instead remaining standing, arms folded, a glare of hatred towards Christian.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.” The Red Bull team principal scoffs. “I didn’t tell Max to sleep with your little prodigy.” He may not be showing it, but Christian himself was downright livid with his driver. Max needed to focus; the team needed to focus on gaining back a world championship. Max was scarily focused, but when it came to the women in his life; his mother, his sister, his new little girlfriend Christian had seen in the paddock earlier that day, he would change, they became his focus.

“You need to keep that boy away from my team!” Toto retaliates. He could have gone deeper, he was all but ready to drag Max into the middle of the track and hold him there, letting Lewis drive into him at full force. Before any more threats could be thrown across the office, a door opens, the present grin on Max Verstappen’s face wiped instantly upon seeing Toto, Lewis and yourself.

“Max.” Christian starts, arms folded, the voice he used to reprimand his children now present. He can’t continue his phrasing however, before Toto scoffs, pointing an accusing finger towards the driver.

“You!” He roars, instantly forgetting the plead you had given him half an hour before, longing to keep this news as quiet as you could for as long as possible. “You couldn’t keep away; you have ruined my team! How dare you knock her up!” Toto is only stopped when you jump up from your seat, grabbing both of his arms in an attempt to stop his frantic ranting.

It takes Max a moment to process what has been said, he’s always struggled with quick responding when it’s not on a racetrack. It hits him all at once. Your pregnant. You’d slept together a month ago. Without protection, purely in the heat of the moment. Max Verstappen was going to be a father alongside his arch-rival.

“You’re pregnant?” Max can’t help his questioning, catching your eyes for the first time since entering the room. You can only offer him a nod, unable to form words in that current moment. “And…it’s mine? Are you sure?”

Your blood ran cold, you finally understood the rage that your Team Principle. You turn around, eyes darkened, shaking your head in pure anger. “Who else have I slept with, Max? You want to tell me that?” The audacity of this man. How dare he question you.

“You’re not keeping it, right?” Christian is the first to question. Max’s eyes gloss over, coughing lightly before overtaking the conversation from his own Team Principle. “I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.” His own skin mimics that of Christian; he turns as pale as the white lines of a hard tyre.

“You’re not-“ You cut yourself off, instead opting to keep silent. You had nothing else to say. Max had made his stance on the situation clear. “I don’t need you, Max. I can do this myself.” The entire room watches as you pull away from Lewis and Toto, never once looking at the father of your child.

10st March, 105 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

The Monaco Grand Prix was usually the highlight of your year; champagne podiums, speed boats and the comfort of sleeping in your own bed. However, this time you were not watching it from the screen of your car, nor the comfort of the paddock. You’d opted to remain at your apartment. For a start, the headlines which had been spiralling across the media were growing overwhelming. ‘Mercedes driver pulled out of racing until further notice.’ ‘Max Verstappen breaks up with new girlfriend after only weeks together.’ ‘Valtteri Bottas to pose for nude charity calendar.’

Maybe that last one wasn’t to do with your situation; you were all too aware of how your grid buddy could act in his down time.

Your second worry was the fact that your bump was beginning to grow adamant. It had only been around three months, yet the bump seemed almost ballooning. Every piece of clothing you tried on made you feel like it was more and more obvious. You didn’t want anybody seeing what was happening to your body. Besides, it wasn’t like the pregnancy was an entire secret anymore.

You hadn’t heard from Max since that day in the office. Toto had found you crying an hour later, coaxing you to stop for your own health and the sake of the baby. For the first part of the racing season, your unfilled seat had been passed to George Russell. You’d smiled at each interviewer, telling the world you had an injury which made driving next to impossible at the present time. For each Grand Prix, you’d stayed sat next to Toto, cheering on the silver arrows. Maybe you hadn’t seen Max because you barely set foot outside of the garage.

The news had slowly begun to spread from driver to driver, though each remained loyal and hadn’t told the press of your true reasoning for stepping away. Charles had been around in an instant, helping you to talk through what had been happening. He was your neighbour, after all, he liked to check in when he could. You’d had a visit from Daniel, telling you his best friend was a…well, how he put it, ‘a grade-a cunt,’ for how he had reacted.

There was only one person, however, whom you had wanted to speak to. Sebastian had been a close friend, almost a mentor, during your first batch of Formula 1 seasons. He was also a father himself, maybe he would be able to explain to you Max’s stance on the whole thing.

You knew he was visiting Monaco that weekend for the Grand Prix. When your phone buzzed from your living room, you’d assumed it was him asking for you to come and let you into the complex. What you were not expecting, was the text on your phone from none other than the father of your child.

14:05: Max Verstappen

I don’t know if you have me blocked, I’m hoping you do not. I want to apologise for my reaction. It was a lot. I want to be there, for you and our child.

14:09: You

I appreciate the message. Thank you. My next scan is on Tuesday, after Monaco.

14:11: Max Verstappen

I’d like to be there. Could you send me the details, please?

14th March, 109 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Max Verstappen was not a practical man.

Despite telling him you would meet him at the address you had sent him, he’d shown up to your apartment just before you were set to leave. Standing in the lobby of your apartment complex, a large bouquet of flowers resting in his arms. You could have sworn you’d never seen Max outside of jeans and a Red Bull polo shirt; it was refreshing to see him in crisp shirt and cargo trousers.

“You didn’t have to dress up.” You mumble, looking down to your own outfit; a soft summer dress seemed positively ordinary; hair loose around your shoulders. It was just a scan, after all. It wasn’t as if the two of you would be going on a date; you hated the man stood in front of you. However, a smile is soon nestled on your face when the man offers you the bundle of flowers, offering a warm grin alongside them.

“You look nice.” Max nods, motioning towards the exit of the complex. His car was parked directly outside, as in order to avoid the press whom would undoubtedly be looking for the drivers in Monaco. The flowers decorated your arms, carefully resting them on your lap before adjusting your seatbelt. “Do you need anything?” He looks back to the complex, concerned if you had forgotten something.

“I just need the bathroom.” You mention half-heartedly. Max’s eyes widen, ready to step out of the car and lead you back into the apartment. “Oh-“ You cut yourself off, having to explain the situation. “No, I need a full bladder for the scan, so they can see the baby.” The man nods in understanding, sitting himself in the driver’s seat, looking both ways before beginning to start the route towards clinic.

The car ride between the two of you was unusually peaceful; Max made light conversation, filling you in on the antics of the paddock from that weekend. You can’t hold back the laugh from your lips when he mentions Christian Horner slipping off his high seat when excitedly jumping to his feet. You missed the paddock; you missed the feeling of racing; you especially missed the banter between your friends. You’d have to return, sooner rather than later.

When the two of you pulled into the car park, Max was quick to step out of his seat, opening the car door for you. You offer him a quiet thanks before making your way into the building, side by side. The nurse you had previously seen gives you a smile, delighted to finally see the father of the baby alongside you.

Max had silently followed you into the room; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak, quite the opposite. The man was taking in every piece of information that was being given, silent notes in his mind on each aspect. He’d keep the baby safe; he’d keep you safe, too. Ever now the gentlemen, he helps you to lie down on the seat, your bumped stomach revealed through lifting the skirt of your summer dress.

He can’t help but notice the soft underwear decorating your lower half. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you naked, after all. That’s how you had got here in the first place. His thoughts are soon side-tracked when seeing you wince from the coldness of the jelly and the cramp of the scanning machine. Max’s hand trails, feeling your own resting aside your body. He can’t help but hold onto it, trying to offer you some sort of comfort. Maybe it’s the sudden nerves, but your hand grabs back just as tightly, feeling his thumb rub carefully against your knuckles.

“You okay?” He mumbles, trying to keep a low profile from the nurse. You can only nod, comforted in the way your…rival…was now holding your hand so preciously.

“Now…” The nurse begins. “I wanted to check with you both, you mentioned wanting to find out the gender of your child.” Her question is directed towards you, Max’s eyes darting between the two women in the room. “Of course, if dad doesn’t want to know, he can leave-“

“Oh, no.” Max interrupts, mind racing at a thousand thoughts per minute. “I’d…I want to know too.” He agrees, nodding in synch with you.

“Well, congratulations. You’re having a beautiful baby girl.” The nurse confirms, turning around the screen to you both. The undefinable shape you had seen mere weeks ago had developed, becoming a more shaped being. You could see the baby forming, eyes widening in shock. Your eyes glanced over to Max, his grip tightening on your palm.

You didn’t miss the glossed tears in his eyes. He knew in that very moment that this baby, this moment was…everything to him.

2nd May, 158 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Overnight, Max Verstappen had truly wiggled his way into your inner circle. The two of you had barely said ten civilised words to one another since meeting all those years ago. Now? There was a string of texts almost every morning, asking how you were feeling, to let him know if you needed anything. You had truly begun to push the limits of his patience. The man had showed up your doorstep one morning with a bag of cinnamon pretzels after hearing your cries down the telephone line.

Right now, the two of you were basking in the bliss of your little bundle of joy; there were still a lot of heavy conversations to come, but the first wave of nerves had passed, you were now simply excited to meet the little being growing in your stomach.

The two of you had developed a successful co-parenting system to work your way through the pregnancy; Max had engrossed himself in endless copies of baby books. Daniel had found him one afternoon in his driving room, highlighting a textbook on what the main causes of a baby crying could be. He’d started to keep a calendar of every appointment that he’d attend alongside you, notes on the dates that you’re feeling a particular sickness or swelling. If you won’t bring it up with a doctor, he would.

Max tries to convince himself it’s to keep his baby safe; of course, you need to remain healthy too, but he doesn’t care about you, not in that sense.

It isn’t until he receives a phone call from you one afternoon, pleading for him to come and collect you from a friend’s house; your car had broken down and your Uber application wouldn’t seem to find you a driver that wasn’t half an hour away. Max had shown up at the doorstep ten minutes later, knocking on the door to signal your arrival. When there was no answer, he took his own incitive to investigate the back garden, hearing the light sound of music, chattering adults and giggling children.

The garden is in full swing; you hadn’t mentioned it was a party; an extravagant one at that. He’s taken aback by the decorations, a giant bounce house and the most enormous birthday cake he had ever seen.

His heart almost stops when he sees you.

You, hair framing your face beautifully, a pale pink dress hugging you in the most delicious way. Your attention is focused to the toddler on your hip, your godson. How on earth could you think you were not ready for this? You pulled faces at the young being his giggles screaming through the air. Max had always thought you were pretty, but now he could only see you as a goddess.

He’s convinced himself, after all. He doesn’t care for you. He worships you.

9th June, 196 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“I think we should move in together.”

Max’s attention is drawn up from his phone. Christian and himself had been texting backwards and forwards for the past few days; the driver was trying to rework his schedule so he could at least be with you for a week after the birth. It was getting closer; the world now knew of your pregnancy, the media torn between harsh critics and positive glows.

What they didn’t know was the father of the child was your sworn enemy.

Maybe, enemy was a word you didn’t wish to use anymore. A friend didn’t seem right, either. A mix of late-night conversations, spooning ice cream to one another whilst binging a new Netflix series and picking out a bundle of pink pyjamas had drawn the two of you into an undefinable relationship.

“You know…” You continue. “I want…her to have both her parents about. I don’t want her to grow up in a broken household.” It was true; you’d seen how it could affect people, especially the man who was sat by your side. He understood, completely and utterly. After what he had been through, he wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all his own flesh and blood. His own baby.

“I missed my mother…a lot when I was younger.” He referenced his parents’ separation, how he had barely seen his mother and sister whilst growing up. “I wouldn’t want that for her.” Max rests a hand on your stomach, a soft smile on his face when he looks at you. Even with no makeup, a hoodie which was way too big for you, you were still positively glowing. “Why don’t we have a look tomorrow? Find somewhere around here with enough space for us all.”

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine, but you’re painting the nursery.” You mumble in response. A small laugh emits from both of your lips. However, yours is soon replaced with a sharp wince, a rumble in your stomach. Max, whom still had a hand resting on the bump immediately stops laughing, both of your eye’s meeting in shock.

“Was that-” He cuts himself off when he feels the movement again. It’s a kick. The baby is kicking.

“She’s awake!” You laugh, placing your hand carefully across Max’s. You gently guide it across your stomach, tracing the sharp movement in your stomach. “We must have woken her up. Sorry sweet pea.” You direct the last part of your sentence to the baby in your stomach.

Max gently removes his hand from your stomach, his head tiling closer to your bump. The baby can hear him. She’s in there, nestled and warm, awaiting her welcome into the world.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He mumbles, voice thick from holding back heavy tears. “It’s your Papa.”

He doesn’t miss the small laugh from you, entirely entertained by this whole situation.

“I know I can’t see you yet, but you’re the most beautiful girl I could ever ask for. Just like your mother.” He finishes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. Softly, he lifts himself up, pressing a kiss to your temple, heads resting gently against one another as the next episode of your series began to play.

29th June, 216 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Spa-Francorchamps was the last race on the calendar before the summer break. It was also the last time you would be able to be in the paddock without a baby strapped to your side.

It had been magical, when walking into the Mercedes garage. Cheers had erupted upon seeing their golden girl return to the paddock. Lewis had barely been able to contain himself, pulling you into the tightest hug which could be imagined. Toto had almost started crying, kissing the top of your head and resting a hand on your stomach, declaring the baby as his unborn prodigy.

There had been no end of drivers coming to meet you, too. Charles and Carlos had declared how much they had missed having you around, presenting you with a baby blanket and beanie. Your heart had melted when they explained their mothers had taught them how to knit, both wanting to make a present for you, stitched with love. You’d almost started crying, hormones were in full swing in the third trimester, kissing both on the cheek and thanking them endlessly.

Yuki had walked up to you that afternoon too, presenting a small Tupperware box. He had noticed you’d completely rejected fish, and most of all sushi, so instead had made you a batch which was pregnancy safe. The two of you had tried a piece there and then, declaring it as quite possibly the best thing your tastebuds had found since pregnancy had altered your tastebuds.

Daniel had come to find you, telling you to meet him in his garage, that he had a surprise for you both. Both, meaning you’d probably have to find Max, too.

His garage was only a short walk from where you’d been set up in the Mercedes camp. You’d began to make your way over there, hoping you’d bump into the father of your child on the way. You’d last seen Max that morning, having driven you to the paddock himself. He’d become…fiercely caring since the evening of feeling the baby kick. He’d slept in your bed that night, you are resting against his chest, a form of comfort in the third trimester.

What you hadn’t expected to see, as you turned the corner, was a beautiful girl, hands resting on Max’s waist, her eyes sparkling, lips moving. You couldn’t see Max’s face, his cap hiding any expression, but your heart knew that he’d be smirking, basking in the attention.

Loving the attention of a beautiful girl, one that wasn’t pregnant with his child.

You couldn’t…understand why you had suddenly cared so much about who he was interacting with. When you’d first started this whole…adventure, he’d still been seen in clubs, leaving with different women on his arm every weekend. You’d hit the second trimester; his party and escapades had stopped, his sole attention of women being on you.

Maybe that was it. You’d grown to like the attention of Max. Whether it was as the father of your child or…something else.

Your hormones were truly beginning to overtake you, feeling tears trickling out of your water line. You had to look away at that moment, you couldn’t keep looking at the events unfolding in front of you. Your mind traces back to that morning in Christian Horner’s office, how Max had turned pale, not wanting to be burdened with the birth of his child.

‘I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.’

Maybe he wasn’t. But you were ready to be a mother.

8th August, 255 days since what should have been the-

You couldn’t handle this.

The pain was beginning to seethe through your stomach. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was all wrong, it was happening too quickly.

Since the incident at the paddock, you’d been radio silent towards Max. He wasn’t too sure of how it had come to be. All he had known was you’d taken yourself home from Spa, telling him that you’d needed to fly home to be with your parents before the birth.

One day without a phone call was okay, he suspected it would be due to the time zones. Two was…a little odd. After three, he was frantically packing a suitcase, trying to get hold of anybody who would possibly know your parents’ address. He’d resulted to finding your teammates phone number. After he was met with a string of questions, asking how on earth he had gotten hold of his phone number. When Max had explained you had gone off the grid, Lewis had simply scoffed.

Of course, Lewis had known what had happened. He’d seen you return to grab your bag, eyes glassy as you offered the team a quick goodbye, promising to bring the baby to meet them all as soon as possible.

The driver had been the one to guide you back through the paddock. Despite not racing together for almost six months, he still had your mannerisms sketched into his mind. Eventually, you’d confided in your closest friend, letting the tears fall freely as he guided you back to your Uber, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise that he would be there if you needed anything, if there were any more thoughts or issues.

He had no issue telling Max his thoughts over the telephone. Despite Max’s answers, there was no excuse. ‘You were hormonal. How did he think you felt when seeing Max with another woman, even if it was innocent, she didn’t seem to be in that stance.’

That was the case. It was an ex-girlfriend, she’d been in the paddock that afternoon, seeking out the world champion in an advancement to get them back together. Max had no intention of going there, not when he was during finding something, some gesture to show you of his advancing feelings over the past few months. That was why he had asked Daniel to get you to his garage. He would be able to surprise you, tell you how he was really feeling, how he loved you, and not just for being the mother of his child.

After copious amounts of pleading, Lewis had eventually sent over the address, giving Max a dire warning as to if he upset you again.

The flight to your home had been fast. He couldn’t thank his assistant enough, getting a hire car set for the moment he stepped out of the airport. However, turning up at your home to find your father, arms folded, and eyebrows raised at Max’s sudden appearance. Your father barely said two words, just told Max you had gone into labour.

Max’s blood had run cold upon that realisation. He wasn’t there; he wasn’t there to hold your hand when the pain started, to hold your hair up and get some coolness to your overheating skin. He wasn’t there. Not for his little girl, and not for her mother. Being a Formula One driver in that evening was the most helpful thing in his opinion, arriving at the hospital in record time.

Car thrown carelessly into a parking spot, he’d sprinted into the reception, a nurse resting a hand on his arm when seeing the pure shock registered on his face. He couldn’t get any words out properly, simply repeating your name, that he was the father of your child. He wanted to see you, he wanted to see his baby.

The nurse nodded, motioning for Max to follow him down a corridor. He didn’t like the coldness of the building. You probably felt so alone. Every time he had come with you to a clinic appointment, he’d notice the change in your demeanour, how you felt uncomfortable. You should have opted for a home birth; you would have been calmer. Safer.

Max eventually reached your hospital room, heart breaking at the sounds from the other side of the door. You were in pain. That much was obvious as he opened the door. Your mother wasn’t present. He knew your stubbornness, knowing that you would have wanted to do this without her. Maybe, you’d want to do this without him, too.

His train of thought was interrupted, hearing a voice he had missed oh-so-much for the past three days.

“Max.” You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. The gas wasn’t working, the epidural hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to feel ever piece of this.

The man sprang into action; in an instant, his jacket was removed, revealing his soft t-shirt and trackpants. A seat was pulled up to the head of your bed, Max sitting himself down, one hand running across the top of your head, the other arm resting by your hands, letting you grip into him as deeply as you needed to.

“Shh. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” He mumbles. Soft words of Dutch come from his lips; you’re too far gone to understand his words in English, let alone his native language.

“You- why did you come?” You sob, feeling another contraction wash over your stomach. You can’t help but sob out, overwhelmed by the physical pain of the baby, the emotional pain of Max after seeing him in the paddock with that girl.

“I couldn’t leave the love of my life to meet our baby girl alone, could I?” He responds, leaning upwards to press a soft kiss to your cheek. He can taste the salt from your tears. He swore there and then, you’d never cry again. Not if he was around. You’d stay with him in the paddock, you and his baby girl. He’d make you laugh at every available opportunity. He’d shower you both in gifts; he’d give his girls everything they’d desire. If one day you decided to return to racing, he’d retire there and then to let you peruse his dream.

“Okay, okay. We need to push.” The midwife insists, seeing the pain flush over your cheeks. Max is there, clasping your hands, running a palm across your cheek, promising that oh-so-soon, your baby girl would be here, she would be in your arms, you would be complete.

There’s a sharp scream from you, and then the tiniest cries from the end of the bed.

She was here. Bloody, high pitch screams fill the room as the baby is placed onto your chest.

A wave of relief flushes over you, lying back into the cushions, sobbing in hysteria; your baby girl had been welcomed into the world. Max this time, can’t hold back his own tears, aiding the midwife in cutting the chord, eyes in awe as he watched the midwife gently rub a cloth against her soft skin.

“She’s here.” You whisper, the midwife aiding you in wrapping your daughter in a pink blanket, her wails cooling down, eyes blinking up to her mother. The blue eyes, identical to those of her father.

Her father in question had sat back in his chair, eyes transfixed on the bundle in your arms. What he isn’t expecting is for you to motion your own arms towards him, letting the man cradle his daughter. It’s so…natural. Your heart fills with adoration; how you could ever believe you hated this man was beyond you.

Eventually, the baby is placed into the cradle, deep in slumber. Max hasn’t moved from your side, one arm around your back, both of you transfixed onto the peacefully sleeping child.

“She’s here.” Max repeats for the hundredth time, eyes still focused on the sweet girl. His head turns to you, there’s no better time to say it. “I’m sorry. For not telling you sooner. For not telling you how much I care about you.” He murmurs, hand finding yours, clasping them together.

“Yeah?” You tease, running your free hand through his soft hair, feeling his head press into your touch. His touch subsides, leaning in ever so gently, pressing his lips to your own. It’s soft, it’s unexpected, but it feels so, so right. It’s only interrupted with the soft cries from your baby once again.

“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?” Max laughs, his moment being disrupted by the baby. You can only laugh as he stands up, scooping up the baby into his gentle grasp.

9th August, 1:06am. This was the happiest day of your life.

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 8 months

Text

ENTRY- HER

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem! reader Summary: George reads the letters he wrote about you to himself throughout Hogwarts Warnings: mention of have a b0ner, boobs, tears, hinting to masturbation, the use of Y/n is used a few times, I'm sorry

George bent down on the floor of his bedroom, he looked beneath to bed and pulled out a box that had been left untouched since he and Fred opened up the shop before the war

he sat down and leaned against the side of his bed, opening the box and pulling out the book

he sighed before opening it, turning to the front page, the first day he met you

1 september 1989

Dear diary

it's the first of september, meaning it's the day Me and Fred go to Hogwarts.

Me and Fred couldn't find an empty compartment to sit at, and there was no way we were going to sit with Percy, or Charlie- as his was already full

but we Found one with a boy in our year, Lee. he's cool, he let us sit with us and gave us some candy- which made mine and Fred's nose bleed. I didn't think anybody other than me and Fred would care about jokes and pranks, but i guess I was wrong, cause Lee does too!

the train started moving and we waved to our parents. i think it was about five minutes later when i saw a girl walk past, still holding her bags and stuff, she looked lost

I opened the door and let her inside

she smiled and sat with us, she wasn't that interested in pranks, but she laughed at the stories we told her.

Her name is Y/n, and I have a feeling she's going to stick around for a while.

George smiled and turned to the next page, a year and a bit later.

December 12, 1990

Christmas is coming up soon and our friends are doing a muggle thing Lee told us about- secret santa

not all our friends wanted to do it, but the main ones like Y/n, Angelina, Alicia, then it's me, Fred and Lee, so there's six of us, even

I got Y/n, I still don't know what to get her, there was no money limit or anything like that, but I just don't want to get something too cheap- but that's probably all I can afford

she's a good friend and after the first day of first year, she's stayed by our sides, no one else let her in to sit with on the train but we did, so she stayed

I'm glad she did, she's funny. and as much as she says she hates doing it- she helps me and Fred with pranks a lot, mostly because she's smarter than us

I wonder if she got me for secret santa, the odds of that would be really low, but it's not impossible, i would accept anything she would give me with a smile

George had gotten you some candy from Honeydukes- and you, infact did not get him, instead you had Fred, to which you gave him a bunch of products from Zonko's

George flipped to the next page as he heard noise coming from outside, dinner was probably coming soon and George would have to hurry before he was caught reading these

November 28, 1991

My third year at Hogwarts started a few months ago, the Famous Harry Potter started his first year

my younger brother Ron is his Friend, along with a strange girl, Hermione?

her and Y/n gets along pretty well, i think they go to the library together

speaking of Y/n, we've gotten closer, she would have to be my best friend- other than Fred. Lee is up there but he's been spending quite a bit of time with Alicia, I think there's something going on there, but i don't really know

Y/n decided to try out for the Quidditch team, due to mine and Fred's encouragement, she's really good, she should've been on the team last year, she's a chaser, and she's brilliant!

she's got the latest broom and it goes wicked fast, sometimes in training, we'll just race each other, she always wins though, mostly because I let her but who cares, it's worth it when i see the big smile on her face when she rubs it in

Fred started to tease me about it, saying i'm being soft.

I'm just being nice

October 13, 1992

fourth year started last month, school is getting a bit harder.

Fred Invited Y/n over in the holidays, she stayed at our house for about a week, I was a bit nervous that she would be overwhelmed by our family but she fit in great, Mum loved her and said she should come over for breaks from now on.

so she'll be coming over for christmas this december.

she stayed in Ginny's room, although she snuck into our room to mess around with jokes before she'd actually go to bed, I think mum knew that we did that because she glared at us when we would come down for breakfast the next mornings, she wouldn't say anything, just put her hands on her hips when we yawned

she's really cool, she's really pretty too, i don't think i've ever noticed it before, but she is, and Fred doesn't mind telling her that.

I think he fancies her because they always giggle to themselves

I don't know why but I would always get this pit in my stomach every time I saw them alone together.

He talks about her to me before going to sleep in our dorms, it's starting to piss me off, it was getting annoying because I just want to go to sleep and he'd start talking about something funny she said to him that day and he'd just laugh

i cover my eyes with my pillow every time to try and block him out, though it never really works

George laughed at that entry, looking back on it now, he should've known what the feeling meant

September 5, 1993

we got back from Holidays a few days ago, Y/n couldn't come over because she went over to Italy with her family

she had gotten boobs and the tight low cut shirt she wore to the train station really left little to the imagination, I know I sound weird and like a pervert, I shouldn't think this way about my best friend

but I can barely make eye contact with her anymore without my eyes lowering to her chest.

she's stunning and everything about her makes my heart flutter now.

she also had a slight tan and her hair was longer, she's always playing with it and I can't help the way my mind begins to wonder when i stare at her

she's making my body feel different, the way she bites her lip when concentrating, the way her eyes flutter when she looks up at me to talk

she's using lip gloss too, one that makes her lips look really kissable

I hate to admit it but i sat next to her in class yesterday and my dick decided it was a good time to get a boner, as painful as it was, all i could do was push it down.

she had noticed my uncomfortable state and in her sweet, innocent voice she asked if i was alright

"you ok there, Georgie?" she giggled

I could only nod my head.

and as horrible as it was, later that night, when laying in my bed, I couldn't help but ease the pain to the thought of her.

September 20, 1993

I fancy her, I've completely and utterly fallen in love with her,

it sounds like its just because her body has changed but it's so much more than that

she is kind and funny and sarcastic. and beautiful, like HOT.

too bad she has a boyfriend now, he doesn't deserve her and he wouldn't treat her half as good as I would if I were hers

Fred found out, turns out he never fancied her, but he just cares for her, as friends.

Fred thinks I should tell her, but I can't and I never will

Update- she broke up with him!

George laughed at the update at the end, which was 2 months later and flipped to the next page

December 6, 1994

McGonagall told us about the Yule ball today, a dance

my eyes were fixated on Y/n as she sat down laughing with Angelina across the room as I stood with Fred

Fred told me he liked Angelina a few weeks ago and I'm sure he'll ask her to the ball

Ron got called on to demonstrate the dance and she whistled at him, making him glare at her, to which she laughed

when the class was dismissed, Y/n came up to us and started joking around

I couldn't help but notice the way she has the top buttons of her shirt undone, and her tie a bit loose

it was getting rather chilly and she wasn't even wearing a jumper

I asked her if she was cold and she shook her head with a smile

"I like the cold, George, you should know that" she giggled, nudging me

she was rather short compared to me, the top of her just barely met my shoulder so she always looks up when talking to me

I've also noticed she likes to roll her skirt up, so merlin forbid she bends down to pick something up.

she's also gotten a bit more touchy, not just with me but with the rest of our friend group

her hugs would only happen coming back from breaks and holidays but now she'll hug you almost everyday in the mornings

her hugs have always been nice, but the way I can practically feel her boobs pressing up against me makes it all the better.

December 18, 1994

most people I know already have dates to the ball, Fred had asked Angelina to the ball within the first few days of hearing about it

Y/n has been asked a few times but she's politely declined every one

Fred keeps pressuring me to ask her already and I strictly telling him no, she'd reject me like every other guy whos asked her, and then it would make it weird.

We're also doing another secret santa this year, I got Alicia

Alicia is...nice? she just has a really big flirting problem, and that's not with everyone, just me

she asked me to the Ball a few days ago, and as much as I didn't want to go alone, I still said no

She's not really my type, and as much as i try to make her stop flirting with me, she just keeps doing it, I speak for all of our friend group when I say it's annoying, and I know that because they've all said it

it's nothing against her, but it's just weird

and Y/n doesn't mind talking about it, making jokes and stuff

the only person i have ever felt something for has been Y/n, and I don't want it to be anybody else

George remembers that week like it was all yesterday.

George was sat on the Gryffindor couch, your head in his lap as you told him about your day

"but anyway, why haven't you asked anybody to the ball!?" you sat up, sitting on your knees next to him

"I- I don't know, why haven't you said yes to anybody?" George questioned

"I don't like any of them, barely friends with most of them" you shrugged

"w- well do you? like anybody?" George stuttered

George noticed the small blush rising to your cheeks

"uh- not really" you smiled sheepishly "you?"

George's heartbeat quickened as he grew nervous

does he tell her?

"not really" he responded, copying your words

"you should go with Alicia" you nudged him shoulder, making him roll his eyes

"merlin" he cursed under his breath as you giggled

"only kidding of course..unless you actually want to?" you frowned

"if i wanted to go with her I would've said yes"

you smiled

"it's getting pretty late, i'm going to head to bed" you yawned

George nodded his head

"alright, goodnight"

"night, Georgie" you kissed his cheek before getting up and going to the dormitories

George stared off at the fire as the kiss lingered on his cheek, making his skin feel funny, a good funny

a few days later, Fred pushed George into asking you

"just go talk to her, this is probably your only chance!" Fred whispered before shoving George into you

you stumbled forward and almost bumped into Angie, who had to pause her sentence

you looked back and saw George

"sorry" he apologised

you grinned and gave him a hug "it's fine!"

Angelina saw Fred look at her from behind and walked over to him, leaving you with George

you stared up at George to see what he wanted but he only looked back at you nervously

"is there something you wanted, George?" you chuckled

"I want a date to the ball" he sighs, finally saying it, knowing that Fred would kick his ass if he didn't

"I'm sure Alicia will take you" you smirked

George licked his lips and thought of what to say

"no- no ok um...do you want to go with me? no! I would love if you would accompany me- wait ok. I really want you to go with me to the ball...I- I uh-"

December 20, 1994

I asked her to the ball, after what feels like forever being in love with her, I asked her

Fred pushed me into doing it

so I did, I sounded like a complete fool and I wish I could've said it better, word it so I didn't sound so stupid

maybe if I did that, she would've said yes

better yet- I had also admitted that I loved her, that I have for a long time. I had gotten so nervous that I outed myself

she just stood there in surprise before I ran off in complete and utter embarrassment

December 25, 1994

I went with her, it turns out that she was going to say yes but I ran away before she could've said anything

she told me she loved me too, and she made me the happiest man in all of Hogwarts

it was the Ball a few hours ago, you should've seen her, she was stunning- a type of stunning that when you see her, you can't say anything out of shock on how beautiful she is (which I did)

I can't describe the feeling I get when I'm with her- or see her, but it's overwhelming

i feel faint now every time I see her

she told me she would go with me the day after I had asked her in that stupid way. that was when she told me she loved me

she actually loves me.

I don't know how I can manage to make her love me but I'm grateful- and cautious

what if I mess up?

but that doesn't matter, we're not together

Update: jan 5- I asked her out, she said Yes!

February 19, 1996

Valentines day was 5 days ago, Y/n was obviously my Valentine and we had a great day, I took her to that tea shop in Hogsmeade she's been talking about for a while, if was very...pink and not the type of romantic that I like.

but she enjoyed it so I loved it.

we've been dating for a little over a year and it's great, I am absolutely in love with her and I think she is too

she's mad at me right now though

Today, at Quidditch, I beat up Draco Malfoy for bad mouthing, making Umbridge ban Me, Harry and Fred from the team, which is total bullshit!

anyway, I didn't get badly injured, Malfoy can't punch for the life of him

I only got a cut on my lip but Y/n yelled at me when walking back to the castle

I told her I don't really care I got kicked off but she still told me off, she's cute when she's mad

and I can't be mad at her for worrying about me, especially when she said I looked hot when beating Malfoy up

she let that slip from her mouth and hit my arm when I laughed at her

Merlin I love her, and I never want that to change, so just so you know. you are an idiot if you EVER LEAVE HER.

Fred and I are finalising our plan on leaving Hogwarts to start the shop up

Y/n knows about it, I've reassured her that we'll see each other, but I'm still worried she'll break up with me so I can focus on the shop

but right now I have to make it up to her for getting in a fight so.

April 21, 1996

she told me she wants to break up, she said it wasn't because of us, but because she wants to focus on our futures

I refused, it's the day before me and Fred leave.

I don't want to leave her, it feels like I only just got her and screw anyone who will try to take her away.

I told her I didn't want that and then it turned into a fight

she said she only wants what's best for us, but she is the best for me, and I will try to be the best for her

she left my dorm and I don't know where she went, but I want to see her, to tell her it will work.

I knew this was going to happen, but i didn't want it to.

Update- I found her and I begged her to stay with me, I told her that she should come live with me and Fred when she graduates and she didn't know what to say, she said she'll think about it

June 26, 1996

she moved in with us, she decided to stay with me and live with me, all her things are here now and she's in the bathroom right now, going through it and putting things in there, I couldn't be more happy.

I have the girl of my dreams to wake up beside me and go to sleep in my arms, forever

"George! dinner!" He heard Fred yell out before the door opened

"George..." he heard Fred sigh sadly

George felt the tears start to prickle in his eyes as he thought of you and how much he loved you

"I told her not to go...why didn't she listen?" George asked as his tears met the page from a few years prior, before the war

the same war that took you away from him

Fred walked into the room and sat next to his twin

"come on, I told you not to find this" Fred said, taking the book away.

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

it's been a while! i'm sorryyyyy

#george weasley x fem #george weasley #oliver phelps #x fem!reader #imagines #oneshot #harry potter universe #george weasley imagine #fred weasley #yule ball #harry potter imagines

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estrellami-1 · 9 months

Text

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Just then Eddie walks in, raising his brows at the veritable mountain of food Steve and Eleven are putting together. “What’s all this?”

Steve smiles warmly at him. “Hey, Eds,” he says, which is certainly an experience. He’s spoken roughly twice with the guy—in his memory—but Steve’s three chapters—nay, three books ahead. Eddie is Frodo, about to embark on his first journey, and Steve is Bilbo, or even Gandalf: someone who’s done this all before, whose eyes carry the weight of worlds.

Speaking of, Steve’s eyes dim slightly the longer Eddie takes to answer, so he waves his fingers at Steve, trying to ignore the swoop in his stomach when Steve’s smile brightens again. “So… what’s this?”

“Dinner,” Eleven answers. “We are making sandwiches.”

Eddie nods, because sure. Why not. “Okay.”

“How’s the song coming?” Steve asks, and the swoop returns, because not only is Steve asking, but he’s asking about Metallica, and Eddie’s gay, metal little heart can’t take it.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, grinning. “It’s so good, oh my god. I mean, it’s gonna take a bit to learn, but it’s gonna be the most metal solo I’ve ever done.”

Steve’s smile dims again. Probably because he’s remembering what happened last time, i.e., Eddie’s death. Eddie pushes down the queasy feeling.

“Eddie,” Eleven says.

“Yeah?”

She turns to face him. Her eyes are more serious than any twelve-year-old’s eyes have any right to be. “You will be okay,” she says. Then, apropos of nothing, “And I can move things with my mind.”

Eddie blinks at that. Apparently his face is doing something, because Steve chimes in. “She can.”

“I can show you,” she volunteers.

“Anything but the utensils,” Steve says in a distracted voice, like this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. Eddie wants to laugh hysterically, or maybe cry. Smoking a joint seems like the best third option, except all his stuff is at home. Fuck.

Then she does, lifts a whole cutting board—complete with tomatoes— and moves it over to him. He resists the impulse to snatch a piece and eat it. He doesn’t even like tomatoes, what the fuck, brain.

Steve’s watching with an amused little smile, like he can somehow read Eddie’s mind. That legitimately wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen today, so Eddie does his best to stop thinking about it, because he doesn’t think he can deal with more than one real-life superpower right now.

“I need that back, El,” Steve murmurs, and she grins at him before zipping it back over, stopping it just before it hits his face. He nods, brows raised, impressed. “Nice control. Put it down and go wipe your nose, please.”

She does, Steve watching her as she goes, fond little grin on his face. “She’s a good kid.”

“She can move things with her mind.”

“Yeah. Honestly, that’s one of the easier things to get used to. Y’know one of the craziest things, to me?”

“Do I want to know?” Eddie asks hesitantly.

Steve just grins at him. “Jonathan Byers has this baseball bat that he sticks a bunch of nails in.”

Eddie blinks at him. “What the actual fuck.”

Steve nods. “I took it, sometime back during the first year. Actually,” he thinks about it, “what month are we in?”

“Um. October.”

Steve winces. “Great. October…”

“Um. Twenty-fourth.”

Steve hums and thinks. “In about… less than a week, actually, I think—I don’t really know, the concussion messed up my days—oh, hey!” He suddenly says excitedly, then raises his voice. “Rob!”

Robin pops her head in a moment later. “What’s up?”

He grins at her. “No concussions!”

She stares. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. “Holy shit!” She says. “No concussions!”

“No memory loss!”

“No hearing loss!”

“No eyesight problems!”

She freezes. “Steve. You were having vision issues?”

“Um. Not anymore?”

She groans. “Since when?”

“Um…” he thinks, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Billy, I think. At least that’s the first time I really noticed it.”

She sighs. “I’m going to murder you.”

“Are not.”

“In cold blood.”

“Are not.”

“Nancy’ll help.”

Steve considers this. “She might. She’d be good at it.”

They both pause for a moment, then Robin turns to leave. “I’m gonna go make sure Jon doesn’t give you a concussion this time.”

“Have him make the nail bat, too!” Steve calls as she leaves.

“What,” Eddie says desperately, “the fuck.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

#stranger things #if I should stay #pre steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #el hopper #Robin Buckley #platonic stobin #steve and el #el just wants to help #Eddie’s doing his best not to freak out every other second #he’s trying yall #starambles

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kat-sribbles · 10 months

Text

FOB lost media help

Hey guys, so I need some help with finding a few lost things that is FOB related. Ever since covid, I have been trying to find the FIRST fob show and its been a struggle ever since then. Me and two other mutuals had made a Master document of all fob related stuff, including lost media stuff. And we need some help finding a few videos and MP3 files.

First video were looking for:

The very first FOB show was held at Cortelyou Commons at DePaul University on October 9th, 2001. We know this because of two video on youtube that were uploaded onto a channel called ForgeAgain. I did some digging and found out that the guy who posted those videos is the owner of Forge Again records and is the bass player for Stillwell (they were one of the other bands that played that night as well)

we got into contact with the guy via instagram, he told us that the guy who played drums at the time, Ben Rose, called him and ask to put them on last minute onto the lineup, a week before the show (this is why there are no promotional flyers because of that). They were the first to play the show, sadly the guy who filmed the other bands that night didn’t film them bc they were bad (which I don’t mind, this is lost fob history were talking about here). He then tells us that in the Oral History of TTTYG by AP magazine, and to look in there, and this is what i found:

Second video:

The second video is actually their second show, and this show is important since this is the show where they got their name from. They opened for The Killing Tree at a small southern illinois college, they didn’t know what to call themselves yet until the end of the show. This was also mentioned in the oral history too:

Third video(s):

These videos i’m gonna mention are kinda lost (?) since there is footage slightly in The Story video on youtube. Fob play three shows at Fireside Bowl.

-March 5th, 2002

-April 24th, 2002

-July 3rd, 2002

We know these shows happened since theres some clips of it in The Story and its documented on an archived website for shows at Fireside Bowl. Were looking for any fireside bowl footage from any of these dates.

Fourth thing:

This last one is kinda insane and might be near impossible to find. while i was reading the AP article, patrick mentions how he gave demos to joe by giving him a link to his MP3.com page. Joe says that it was just patrick singing and just playing acoustic, thats it.

We have tried looking on a site that someone archived for all MP3.com files before the site went completely defunct. The problem is that we have no clue what username patrick used on the site. We’ve looked and used every possible name we could to find these mp3 files, but nothing.

There is also a missing mp3 page that fob had, we know this bc on the back of the Project Rocket split CD, they put a link to their mp3 page and it was called mp3.com/fall_out_boy

This all the types of fob lost media that were in the search for!

if you know ANYTHING at all or have information about any of these, Please DM me!

Thanks so much!!

#pete wentz #fall out boy #patrick stump #joe trohman #andy hurley #so much for stardust #arma angelus #take this to your grave #chris gutierrez #lost media

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cycle-hit · 2 months

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kotoko's timeline based on moon phases

(in chronological order)

minute 1:00 in harrow, the first glimpse of a moon phase:

waning crescent, comes right before a new moon.

1:54 in harrow, the second glimpse of a moon phase:

still a waning crescent. the events we see in those 54 seconds happen within a week of each other!

3:01 in harrow, the third and final time we see a moon phase:

full moon! its been quite a bit since 1:54, where she beat up that guy in the alleyway and sat emo in front of her bulletin board of crime. between that point and 3:01 (her getting information and killing the kidnapper), it's likely been two weeks assuming the crescent we see at 1:54 is at the end of its phase.

0:56 in deep cover, the first glimpse of a moon phase:

waning crescent, again! you have a pattern, kotoko. its been 2 weeks since the ending of harrow/the beginning of deep cover, assuming more cycles of the moon havent passed. i assume she was probably busy with court proceedings in those two weeks.

1:41 in deep cover, the second glimpse of a moon phase:

still a waning crescent! at this point in time, kotoko has finished hunting down all the criminals on her bulletin board in at least a week since 0:56.

1:51 in deep cover, the third glimpse of a moon phase:

last/third quarter, right after the waning crescent at 1:41! (as stated above, its been a week) at this point in time kotoko is seen in the park + in the city with lucky.

2:28 in deep cover, the fourth and final glimpse of a moon phase:

full moon, once more from the top! this passage of time is the largest one so far. its been roughly at least three weeks between the point in time we see kotoko walk off from lucky in the city and whatever event is happening at the end of deep cover.

in total for harrow, all the events took place over the course of 3 weeks.

in total for deep cover, all the events including the 2 weeks between her mvs happen over the course of 6 weeks, or a month and two weeks. excluding the 2 weeks between her mvs, its been 4 weeks/a month.

in total for BOTH harrow and deep cover, the mvs in their entirety cover 9 entire weeks, or two months + a week.

of course, this is all assuming that the moon phases actually correlate to time passing and arent just symbolism, as well as assuming that no extra cycles have passed.

i can also give a very rough guess of the months- in harrow the sticky notes on her map mention that through the 7th to 31st of a month shes investigating what's presumably the warehouse. this rules out february, november and september for harrow. based on the fact theres also flower on the streets without them beginning to wither, its likely not autumn or winter as well. plus, there is one (1) green tree in harrow

that leaves us at summer or spring! personally for harrow my vote is that it takes place in spring just bc i think itd fit her "newly born" thing. yknow. the season of "new life". summer in harrow would also make a lot more sense though, especially since in deep cover you can argue that the trees here

are starting to take on yellowish or red hues, plus two trees there are barren! signaling that deep cover may take place in autumn. if we use this theory, it means "harrow" likely took place in the entirety of august. this would also fit for the two flowers here that i can identify-

pink roses and longiflorum hybrids lilies. pink roses bloom early-spring to late fall (meaning theyd still be blooming in the summer, which fits since there seems to be unbloomed parts of it if that isnt a tulip), while longiflorum hybrid lilies bloom mid to late summer. its entirely possible the tiny white flowers could go against this evidence by blooming in like. winter or something but i physically cant tell what those are.

so, harrow's in the entirety of august most likely, while deep cover spans september to october!

#THIS TOOK SO MUCH TIME AND SO MUCH MATH AND IT ISNT EVEN THE MAIN THEORY I WANTED TO POST TONIGHT #IM SOOOOOOOOO. anyways if you notice any mistakes in my math feel free to call me out. im bad at math #KOTOKO YUZURIHA MADE ME DO MATH. I HOPE SHE EXPLODES.#milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #yuzuriha kotoko #milgram theory #milgram analysis

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outerbankies · 8 months

Note

so I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep, and I'll watch you forget me like I used to feel you breathe..." for the prompts

new light: last kiss

new light masterlist a/n: thank you for sending this in!! the 2k prompt celly slooowly trucks along. this takes place in part 9 of the og series!

When Rafe told Topper that Ward had called him home, he should’ve expected this exact scenario.

And yet, it’s still somehow a surprise when Topper and Kelce pull up to Tannyhill on Friday evening, mere hours since Rafe even pulled in himself. It was an exhausting drive home, and an even more exhausting talking-to from his father afterward. Add onto that that he hadn’t been sleeping much at all in the past week, and Rafe felt like half-dead climbing into Topper’s Jeep.

“Lodge?” Topper had asked.

Rafe had shrugged, looking away with intention before he could see the look his friends exchanged between themselves. But the view out the window was no better when Topper drove right by your house.

You were everywhere here.

Rafe knew coming home would be taxing. But it was like he could feel you in the stubborn humidity still hanging around in October almost as clearly as he had felt you in California only a week ago. In June, you’d insisted on leaving a window open to sleep because you missed the sound of cicadas in the summer, and Rafe would wake up sweating buckets to find you sleeping peacefully to his side, bodies pressed so closely together he could feel your chest moving when you breathed.

And it was he could hear your laughter in the sound of the ocean waves crashing on his drive right by the water, all the way out to Figure 8. The salt in the air, the chaotic noises of the marina.

After a few drinks, Rafe figures he’ll probably be able to see your outline walking through town.

Topper’s whistle is shrill in his ear, and Rafe really needs to do a better job pretending he’s alright if he’s going to make it through this weekend without spilling anything.

“Dude. What’s with you?” Rafe is asked. Even Kelce, never not known to fill an awkward silence, is looking at him silently from across the table.

“Nothing,” Rafe decides sipping down the rest of his IPA until its foam. Wordless eye contact with Charlie at the bar, and another one’s coming.

“Old man give it to you pretty good today?” Kelce asks.

“Kinda,” Rafe answers. He can’t really remember at this point. It was a lot of the same; a lot about you. His distraction, his hindrance. His everything.

“Alright then. So… shots?” Topper asks hesitantly. Rafe shrugs, his go-to for the night he supposes, and Kelce nods emphatically; Topper’s taking that as good enough, venturing to the bar. Rafe watches him try and fail to cut through a pack of tourists with no luck. Tourists, at Rafe’s dingy bar on The Cut, this late in the season.

“Rafe.” Kelce says, and it sounds like it might have been the third or fourth try.

“Sorry, dude,” Rafe replies. “You know, I think I’m going home after this round. I’m exhausted—been driving all fuckin’ day.”

“No, no worries,” Kelce says. “I was just asking if you saw McCall’s story the other night.”

Rafe sees Kelce’s phone in his hand and averts his eyes as quickly as he can, squandering the urge to start choking on his spit by loudly clearing his throat. He trains his focus on his empty pint instead, dragging the glass and its condensation back and forth across the table, wondering when his new one—or better yet, that round of shots—will materialize. “No. I haven’t. You follow McCall?”

“Yeah, she’s hot. And shit was so funny, dude. Y/n/n was hammered last night,” Kelce laughs.

Rafe should’ve know that’s where this was heading—why else would Kelce bring that up. But he’s 15 again. Then 19, 20 and 21, too. All those ages in between. He’s every age he ever was before he finally got you to fall in love with him, dreading the moment Kelce inevitably brought up your name.

Things were a little different this time. Rafe’s not an embarrassed and lovesick teenager willing his blush to creep back down his neck. He supposes he’s more of a man now, jaded and stuck walking around his hometown like an open wound, while you’re out with your friends. But he guesses he is, too.

He should be happy, shouldn’t he? That you seem to be having fun? He’d ended it. You’d agreed. Even though he could tell you didn’t want to, you had. In way, you’d let him go, too. You’d made a choice just like he had, and maybe it wasn’t getting you down as much as it was him. He’d broken your heart, and you’d deleted your photos together and went out drinking with your friends.

God, where are those shots?

“I didn’t even know Y/n still drank like that,” Kelce continues. “Not without you around anyway. I’m talking senior ditch day levels of shitfaced, if you remember that.”

You blacked out on Kildare’s senior ditch day, Rafe remembers it well. Because he’d been the designated driver for Matteo’s party, which meant he was the one who had to then decide which friend was sober enough to watch the rest of your friends while he got you out of there, safely out of that house and into your own, all without losing it on whatever guy from the lacrosse team had got you that way and whatever friend of Rafe’s hadn’t been watching it closely enough. Rafe had been the one to hand you off to your younger brother, praying to god Dylan wouldn’t tell and make Rafe complicit in your parents’ future disdain. And he’d been the one to receive an embarrassed text from you the next day. And he’d been the one who didn’t care, just glad you were okay. That Rafe could never fathom sharing a first kiss with you, but the last one would make a lot more sense to him.

“Yeah, well. Not really my problem anymore,” he snaps, before he can decide to do otherwise, residual anger from that day toppling over the mess of emotions he already was.

Kelce rolls his eyes. “Please. You were making her your problem before she ever even was. And I’ll drink to that, actually—I wonder where those shots—”

“I broke up with her.”

Kelce cracks a grin, letting out a surprised laugh. A few seconds go by, and the grin falls. “I know you’re not joking about that, Rafe.”

A sad country songs takes over on the speakers, and Rafe hides his face in his hands, unable to bear the look on Kelce’s face when it finally dawns on him. It was hard enough around the only others who knew, and Rafe would honestly prefer his roommates in Georgia were still as oblivious as Kelce had been a few seconds ago, and as Topper still is at the bar right now. He’d tried to keep it that way, for a while at least, but it didn’t take long after Graham picked him up from the airport for his best friend to figure it out.

Graham must have passed it on to Sawyer and Cody soon after, because he didn’t get a second of normalcy before the kid gloves came out. Those guys didn’t even know you, hadn’t even seen Rafe around you save for grainy FaceTimes over the summer, the ones Rafe had cut off in favor of giving you his undivided attention. He can’t believe he was even nervous at the idea of you meeting them at this point—he’d give anything to stress over something so idiotic now.

But Kelce knew you, better than he knew Rafe or maybe just the same. And Rafe didn’t know what to make of Kelce having no idea of what had happened, indication you’d told him as much as Rafe had. When his friends showed up at Tannyhill today, he’d half expected the death glare he’s getting right now when Rafe picks his head up again.

“Say it again.”

“Kelce,” Rafe groans, pained.

“Say it again,” he presses. “Say it one more time, Rafe, and I’ll know you’re serious.”

“I broke up with her,” he says. “We broke up.”

“You broke up with her?” Kelce repeats. “Or you broke up?”

“Whoa.”

Topper’s reappeared, a flight of shots in his hands that Rafe is shocked actually make it onto the table and don’t smash all over the sticky ground.

“Whoa,” Topper repeats dumbly. “What? Who broke up with who?”

“I don’t know, Top,” Kelce says, scooting his stool back, the feet scraping loudly on the same sticky floor. “‘Cause I’m having trouble understanding, too.”

“Can you not be so fucking dramatic?” Rafe sneers, picking the shot glass closest to him and downing it without a thought. He downs the second closest, too, just for good measure.

“I’m gonna call her right now,” Kelce warns, his phone already in his hand. “You have one more chance to tell me this is the dumbest fucking joke you’ve ever told.”

“Guys,” Topper says hesitantly. He glances between Rafe and the only remaining shot, worried.

Rafe looks to Kelce, and having no doubt he’s serious, gives the only reply that comes to mind. “Will y’make sure she’s alright?”

“God fucking dammit, Cameron,” Kelce sighs, beelining for the front door, somewhere Rafe is glad he won’t have to hear whatever comes out of his mouth next.

Topper sits down, looking bewildered, picking up that third shot. He offers it to Rafe, who waves him off, before taking it. “I’m sorry. What?”

Rafe hasn’t cried, Rafe doesn’t cry, but if his best friend makes him say it one more time then he might have to put stock into the tightening in his throat or the pressure behind his eyes he’d been feeling since he left California.

He’d been sleeping in your bed a week ago, waking up hours before you because his body was still ahead, content to let you sleep as long as possible while he took in everything he felt being close to you again, how your face and hair and nails had subtly changed since he last got to see you in August. How you had pictures of him by your bed, stuck on your mirror in your bathroom, hanging in the hallway and even under magnets on the fridge downstairs. How your blinds were in need of fixing, your sheets smelled just like they did back in Kildare, how the stack of books on your bedside table—one of their pages split down the middle by a polaroid he knew was of him and Wilbur—was so close to falling off Rafe barely dared to set his phone and wallet down but did anyway.

Because they fit, just like he somehow fit in your bed and in your heart and in your life, so grateful in these moments he got to love you without thinking twice about it, wondering how he ever got along without them. And you’d wake up with fake annoyances that he hadn’t woken you up with him, kissing him sleepily before going downstairs to start a pot of coffee.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Top,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well—tell me what happened, to start,” Topper says. “Or—are you ready for that?”

When Charlie finally, finally, brings over another beer, Rafe figures he might was well try. “I felt like I wasn’t doing anything right. She’s crying all the time, I’m fucking up and pissing her off left and right. Her friends… fuck, I don’t even know if they liked me. I’m sure they don’t now.”

“But that’s not why…”

“I know you’re trying to understand, but—”

“And I can’t, dude. What? You broke up with Y/n/n?”

“Yes, dude, fuck! Alright? I broke up with her. I fucked it up. I don’t know why everyone’s so fucking surprised—I was bound to screw it up at some point, wasn’t I? I’m a mess, I lied to her, I was never gonna be good enough for all of it or her.”

“You lied?” Topper asks.

“I lied to my dad,” Rafe corrects, frustrated. “Why do you think I’m here? This is my life. This. My job, my dad, this shitty bar on this shitty island. And she’s…”

So good, too good. Way too good for Rafe.

Topper must agree to an extent, and Rafe doesn’t know why that makes him feel better, that his friend lets the silence drag for so long. Maybe it gives Rafe time to convince himself he hadn’t fucked up, that he’d made the right move in letting you go. He doesn’t know how he ever convinced himself this wasn’t the only way this could end.

Topper finally nods his head in recognition. “That’s heavy. No chance you’ll work it out?”

He barely thought at all this week, going through the motions like a zombie, ignoring his roommates when they changed their tack and decided Rafe needed to get over it by going out or calling up an old favorite. The nausea that kind of thinking gave Rafe left him with no other choice but to start locking his door and stop answering their texts until they’d worried he died.

Kelce approaches the table again, and Rafe looks for any sign he can that will indicate how it went, but he only addresses Topper.

“I can’t get a signal outside—fuck The Cut—I’m gonna try the bathroom. And you,” Kelce says, pointing at Rafe. “You better find your own way home until I can figure out if I need to punch you in the face or not.”

“Stop, Kelce, what the fuck, man?” Topper says, watching him go. But he stands to follow him before turning back to Rafe. “I’m gonna go cool him off, alright? Don’t go anywhere, you’re shitfaced. We can work this out.”

Rafe watches them walk away, wondering briefly if he’s gonna lose either of them over this. He might deserve it, he decides as he ignores Topper’s only instructions, tossing a few bills at the end of the bar along with all three shot glasses stacked neatly inside the empty pint he’s holding. Charlie nods at him as he does.

Rafe pushes the door open, deciding he could use the walk.

#rafe cameron #new light hcs #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks

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thelittleliars · 7 months

Text

Eventful concert

Natasha Romanoff x Singer Fem!Reader Black Widow x Female Singer Reader

Warnings: mention of depression and being suicidal

Words: 1.7k

Summary: The Avengers couldn't prevent hydra from attacking you during one of your concerts.

AN: Not proof read. I somehow wrote this all today without having a writers block or ideas falling flat! Also since it's October 2023 *cough* Endgame events happening *cough* this is a part of remembering Natasha Romanoff. Nat moya lyubov, I will love and remember you forever 😭🖤

You heard tons of screaming fans as soon as the lights went dark. Usually you'd start with a bit of dancing and walking around from one end of the stage to the other, but you couldn't do it that night since you had a fractured foot. Instead you limped with one of the two crutches you had towards the middle of the stage where your microphone stood. When you were on your mark for the night, lights turned back on and shone on you. "Hi everyone! How are y'all doing?" You asked the crowed in which you got only screaming as an answer. "I'm excited to be here tonight. New York City baby!!!" The crowed was excited and hyped as you said the city you were in right then. You were the same back in the day when you went to concerts and you favorite artists said your hometowns name. It was always something special. "Unfortunately I fractured my foot last night and I can not give you all a 100% performance as I usually do but I hope this slowed down show is still something you'll enjoy." You smiled as you heard some get well soon's and we love you's. "Alright let's get started!!"

The first song was a faster more upbeat and happy one. You tried your best walking with a single crutch in one hand and the microphone in your other hand from one side to the other side. Just because you needed crutches didn't mean you wouldn't walk around to see all of your fans. You loved seeing your fans, interact with them and hear them sing the lyrics with you. The second song was slower than your first one but still faster than most of your work. It was also more of a song that was about the struggle of finally finding happiness again after dark patch. As your third and fourth song you played the saddest songs you'd ever written. They still broke your heart each night you sang them but the pain was worth it since you knew they were fan favorites and helped them as much as they helped you.

"Thank you all so much for coming and singing along. I just wanted to make sure to let you all know that you're welcome here for whatever reason you came tonight for. It's valid if you came for only to see me and do nothing more than look at me. It's valid if you came here because I'm a lesbian artist and you wanted some safe space to relax. It's valid if you came because you can relate to my depressed and suicidal lyrics. I'm here for you all. I love you all. And thank you for having enough energy to come here tonight." You looked at your pianist and gave her a signal for them to start playing slowly. "Since I'm here in New York right now, I decided to play a cover of a huge song back in 2009. If you know it, please sing along." It was 'Empire State of Mind' by Alicia Key and Jay-Z that you decided to cover a small portion off and the crowd went absolutely wild as soon as they recognized which song it was. With fans shouting the lyrics and them screaming in general you nearly missed hearing security through your ear piece saying that there was a breach. After that somehow chaos broke out. Fans were screaming in fear and tried to leave the venue to get to a safe place. Your pianist was about to reach you to get you to safety when a huge bald guy launched at you. You tried to fight the best you could. If you hadn't your crutch you were helplessly lost. He got some good punches on you though but before you got knocked unconscious, he was flung through the entire room. Confused of what had happened you tried to move your head but two hands came out of nowhere and held your face steady in place. You looked up only for the first thing to see red hair falling down to your face. Your vision then cleared more and you saw the most mesmerizing green eyes you had ever seen in your entire life. "Let your head rest like this for a minute first. You shouldn't move your head too fast too, you might have a concussion from the brutal hits you received." When the sound of her voice hit your ears it felt like the wind got knocked out of you. Her voice was so warm and soothing but at the same time raspy and sexy.

"I-I-I'm Y/N" You stuttered out like an idiot. She simply gave you a genuine smile. "Yeah I know." She said before she helped you up slowly. After she made sure you were good and there was no sign of a concussion she introduced herself. "I'm Natasha." Oh lord. You thought. A pretty girl with an even more prettier name. How will your lesbian ass ever not fall in love at first sight? "Let's get you backstage."

"What? No, I can't go." You started to protest. "I need to make sure that my fans will be alright!"

"Don't worry. They're safe." She gave you your crutch. "I saw the Avengers out there helping." You took your crutch and you both started to walk very slow in the direction of the backstage. She kept a close step near you in case you loose your strength. "The Avengers..?" You said confused but by the look of her gaze it was as if you should know them. Out of fun you acted as if you realized that you them. "Ohh yeah sure THE Avengers.."

The sarcastic remark shocked Natasha a bit. After what happened with the Civil- War they caused she was sure that everyone knew about them. "You-you don't know the Avengers?"

Your face fell stone cold. "God damn why do americans always assume that people know for sure every single person in their stupid country.." You huffed down the couple of stairs that would get you behind the stage leading to your backstage room. Natasha was close behind you giving you room to take the steps at your pace. "I'm not american." She almost said it in an angry tone. You stopped when you finished going down the stairs. "But your accent...? You don't- I'm sorry for assuming." Natasha stepped closer to you before speaking in russian. ">No worries darling<" Your knees suddenly gave in a bit, the redhead was quick to steady you by having a good grip on your waist. There was this churning feeling deep inside of your stomach as she touched you again. How come that you felt like you just fell in love with her? This was insane, it possibly couldn't have happen this fast, right?

"I think I might really have a concussion." You blamed your little incident on your weak knees instead of the real reason that is your gayness. Though nobody could ever blame you for going weak for a woman, they're women for goodness sake!

Natasha knew you weren't serious but was also going to make sure you were going to see a doctor to rule it out officially. "This must be one hell of a bad day then."

"Being held by a beautiful girl is never a bad day." Natasha didn't know what to say. Men always commented on her body in a sexual way and a bunch of women were always body shaming her so hearing your sincere compliment made her feel a lot of different things. "So I have to ask since I'm too curious for my own good. Are you a fan of mine or just a casual music enjoyer?" Before she could answer she was saved by your manager who came running towards you. "Oh thank god you're alright so far. Or do you have other injury I don't know of?"

"She got pretty harsh hits to her head as you can see by all the blood." Natasha stated the obvious. "I'm no doctor but so I can't rule out a concussion." He nodded as he listened closely. "Is it still far to her room?"

He shook his head. "No but there are another set of stairs." That was enough for Natasha to swoop you up in her arms. You let out a yelp, not expecting to be carried - especially not bridal style. This truly made up for being almost beaten unconscious. Shortly after she sat you down gently on a chair, a doctor came in and made a concussion evaluation. While you were busy with the doctor, Natasha checked in with the other Avengers, said she'd come back to the Tower once you were cleared and stitched up. It didn't take long until the tests were over and you had a stitches on your forehead and temple. You ended up only with a mild concussion and thankfully nothing worse. "About that question earlier.. I'm still interested in an answer."

"Unfortunately neither." She said with a heavy heart since she didn't wanted to see you sad but lying to you didn't see the right choice either. You nodded, she noticed you not being sad or disappointed and that got her wondering what you were thinking about her. "Then what's your reason of coming to my show? There are more than two choices here." At that Natasha opened up about being an Avenger, even explained what that is and also about Hydra, you were shocked to hear it all since you apparently missed a bunch of things that were going on. Not long after her explanation you manager rushed you to get to your tour bus since you had a show the next day in another state. That was how you ended up giving her your cell phone number, even boldly told her to call or send a text since you wanted to give back something for her help. And that was exactly what Natasha did the day she knew you finished touring.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow x female reader

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fatuismooches · 1 year

Text

synopsis: The first to betray him was his creator, his mother. The second was his family, his friend. The third was a child similar to him. Would you, his lover, be the fourth?

includes: scaramouche w/ gn! reader

notes: An uncompleted fic I wrote in October before Scaramouche's release. Therefore it is not very accurate, especially the part where he likes sweets. I don't think I'll finish it, so I decided to post my ramblings here for your entertainment. (Some places won't make sense... I jumped around a lot, by the way.)

Imagine being eternal lovers with Scaramouche.

You can’t remember the exact date when you first encountered the man, who was the definition of beauty. How many centuries ago was that again? Two? Three? Nevermind that. After all, the one thing you’d never forget was the first memory you made with him.

You placed the sweet treats on your table, ready for your delicious snack. But you know what? You needed something to drink too. Perhaps you’d try some of that Dango Milk you saw, from that guy whose stall never got any business since everyone was so skeptical of it. Dango with dango would surely be an interesting combination. And so you set out to quickly purchase some, not bothering to lock your doors. You would only be gone for five to ten minutes, after all.

What you did not expect, however, was that when you returned, your front door was wide open. Hesitantly climbing up the steps very slowly, you were greeted by an unknown man’s presence inside your house, munching away at your damn dango. It took a few seconds to process - someone went broke into your house to eat your food. And it occurred to you - out of anything he could steal, he chose to steal sweets. Not the stash of Mora you had hidden away, or some vases, or anything that actually had monetary value. He chose the Tricolor Dango lying on your kitchen table, half of it already eaten. If you weren’t so scared of some guy breaking into your house, you would have thought it was cute. (Little did he know, his own tastes reflected that of his creator.)

Wait, you shouldn’t be trying to analyze him, he was literally in your house uninvited! You needed to get the Tenryou Commission or something! And so you stepped back, but of course, the dreaded very loud creak of that one particular floorboard echoed throughout the house, and the man immediately noticed you. You were busted. (Or was he? Later you would learn this was far more embarrassing for him than for you.)

Gorgeous, long indigo hair flowed down, coupled with matching eyes and porcelain skin. Up close, he looked so beautiful that it almost didn’t feel humanly possible.

“Don’t even think of saying a word of this to anyone,” he hissed out threateningly, “or else.” You let out a muffled “okay” and furiously nodded your head, not wanting to know what the ‘or else’ entailed. Then he released his hand from your mouth, quickly slammed the door shut, and left. By the time you could regain your composure and look out the window, the doll-like man was already gone.

All that remained of the encounter were the empty sticks that held dango before on your table.

—

A good amount of time had passed since that situation. You went about your life, working, eating, sleeping, shopping. But for some reason, you could not get the intruder out of your mind. You had so many questions about him. Maybe it was because your life was too boring and although he had scared you, you were quite interested in him. How’d he know your door was unlocked? Maybe he was following you? What kind of financial situation did he have if he had to steal dango from you?! And for his stunning looks, his mouth was quite… foul. As these thoughts continued to plague your mind, there was only one thing to do.

Attempt to make him come back, of course. Now, you did not have the means to just go out and look for him, nor could you ask around for information about him. So you did the only thing you could do was lure him out. With dango, of course, since that was the only piece of information you had about him.

Every evening, you would wait on the porch with a plate of various types of dango on it next to you. Of course, he didn’t show up, but you didn’t have anything better to do. And so, your nightly activities quickly changed to drinking a cup of tea while reading on your porch, as you awaited the mysterious man’s presence.

Unfortunately, after a week or two, the only thing you were successful in was gaining weight from all of the sweets you had to eat after he didn’t show up, your wallet consequently being drained, and powering through the strange but appreciative looks the vendor gave you when you came back every day to purchase new sweets.

It was another day of executing your very poorly thought-out plan, and you began to grow rather sleepy. You were practically messing up your sleep schedule for some random guy. That was just… embarrassing, you thought, but you couldn’t help it. Leaning your body against a pillar of the porch, you closed your eyes, allowing your mind to go wild with fantasies. Perhaps you could experience one of those forbidden romance novel plots like from Yae Publishing House with this stranger… ah, how marvelous that would be…

Your breathing began to slow, and your thoughts became less coherent. You were on the verge of falling asleep, but you could hear some noise, even though it was fuzzy in your current state. But no matter, it was probably just some squirrels. But then you heard it much louder, coming much closer to you by the second. It was the familiar crunch of the leaves that had fallen around your house that had made you jump back to life.

And there he was, long silky hair flowing behind him, unscarred skin, soft lips, and pretty eyes, though his resemblance of eternal beauty disappeared when he noticed you were not sleeping, wide awake in fact.

Of course, you sprang to your feet almost immediately, not about to let this opportunity after weeks of waiting slip away.

“Hey! Don’t go this time! I have… more dango! For you!” You must have looked pretty pathetic to be convincing a criminal to stay with sweets of all things, but you gave up your dignity when you started with this plan.

“… Were you trying to make me come back with this simple-minded idea? Idiot.” It seemed like he only liked to open his mouth when he was able to insult you. (But you also thought that he was trying to play off his embarrassment.)

“Well, it worked, did it not? Seems like you’re the idiot because you actually came again, and had to wait until I was asleep. Were you scared of me?” you sassed back. By the look on his face, it seemed like you annoyed him.

“Watch it,” he snapped. “I could make you very scared of me right now.”

You didn’t doubt that so you quickly shut your mouth and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “W-well, you should come get what you came for,” gesturing towards the dango. But he didn’t move, to your displeasure. Was it too close to you, perhaps? And so you pushed the plate as far away to the other side as possible, and at last, he walked forward to grab it. He picked up a stick of dango and scrutinized it, as if it was possible you poisoned him or something. But it appeared to pass his inspection test, as he began to munch on it.

“I was hoping you’d give up soon.” You perked up at his words. Finally an opportunity for conversation.

“After everything I’ve invested into this, I couldn’t,” you sighed. “And this means you were watching me, weren’t you?!”

His hair bounced as he shrugged his shoulders, taking a bite of the dango. “I had to make sure you didn’t tell anyone about me,” he said nonchalantly as if watching someone’s every move was normal. You decided to hold your tongue - you and your wallet worked hard for this after all. Some time passed, and you licked your lips, preparing yourself to ask your first question.

“So… what is your name, wanderer?”

The man merely shrugged as he continued to eat the dango. You began to wonder if that was the only thing he consumed. What kind of diet did he have, and how did he only survive on dango? But anyways, you weren’t sure if he didn’t want to tell you his name (which was highly likely) or rather there was another circumstance preventing him from doing so.

“Do you have a name?”

The eccentric individual paused for a brief moment, but that was all you needed to know. “Wait here,” you said, getting up to enter your house. You entered your room and looked under your bed, reaching for a huge encyclopedia. You cursed as you heaved it up, it was quite long. You shoved some other books inside that might be helpful, and carried them outside to the stranger.

“Shit,” you mumbled, practically dropping the books down on the porch. You were an average citizen, well, probably frailer than a normal person so carrying all these books felt like too big of a strain. At this point, the man was eyeing you suspiciously (and almost in annoyance?) but you pushed the books over to his side anyway.

“These,” you panted, “could help you find a name. Any name. Anything you like. You should choose it yourself,” you reasoned. “I can’t keep calling you stranger, you know” you tried to make a joke but immediately regretted it at his flat and almost unamused expression. You don’t think he is very friendly. But nonetheless, his eyes flickered down to the various assortment of books, and you could see a brief glimpse of… sadness? It disappeared as quickly as it came, but he very hesitantly sat down, reached for the pile, and began flipping through the pages. You let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding.

You didn’t know how much time passed, as the golden and orange hues of the sunset gradually vanished, replaced with the glow of the moon and stars. You were worried about if he could still see the text, but he was going through it with ease. He must have good eyesight. You didn’t want him to snap at you for staring at him again, so you looked up and counted the stars instead.

“Kunikuzushi.”

It took you a second to realize that he finally spoke. All of your energy returned as you sat up straight. “What?”

“Kunikuzushi. That is my name,” he repeated.

“Kunikuzushi…” you repeated. If you weren’t mistaken, that meant something along the lines of “country destroyer.” It certainly wasn’t a common name, and you were slightly worried about what country he wanted to destroy, but it was unique. It suited this eccentric stranger.

“Alright,” you smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Kunikuzushi.”

—

Ever since you helped him choose his name, you made it a habit to continue to leave a plate of dango outside your house. Sometimes he would appear and eat with you, sitting all the way on the other edge of the porch. Other times, he wouldn’t show up while you were outside, but when you woke up in the morning, the dango was gone. Although you were still failing to make good conversation with him, his repeated visits satisfied you for now. It felt nice to have a new person in your life. Until one day, he came to you during the night, right before you were about to retire to your bed for the day.

“Where is it?”

You sighed. “Good night to you too, Kuni. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes and scowled. “It’s Kunikuzushi,” he emphasized. “Not that… nonsense.”

“Mhm, totally understand. I’ll stop calling you that, Ku,” you teased.

“You're an exasperating human,” he glared. “Anyway, where is my plate?” His plate? Oh, he was talking about how you didn’t leave out any dango tonight.

“Well, I got out late from work and by the time I went to the stall, it was already closed for the day. So, you’ll just have to survive without any today. Sorry, Kuni.” You were tempted to make fun of him but the look on his face made you feel kind of bad. He sucked his teeth and actually looked kind of annoyed, and was positioned to leave. And then you came up with a solution.

“Hey, don’t go. Come inside, I have an idea,” you said, opening your door wider.

Kunikuzushi squinted his eyes suspiciously at you. “Why?”

“Oh, stop acting as if I’m gonna kill you or something. Just get in here!” You turned your back and headed towards your kitchen, and a few seconds later you heard your door slam shut. You were delighted to have Kuni back in your house.

You retrieved a cookbook and looked over the ingredients for Tri-Color Dango. Glutinous rice flour, tofu, sugar, milk… sakura blooms, and snapdragons for the coloring. And some green tea would go well with it. Good thing you had all of the essential ingredients.

“I’m just going to make you the dango from scratch, so you can sit down and wait.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “Buying it is just more convenient and less work for me. Would you like to watch me, Kunikuzushi?”

He couldn’t deny that he was interested, and so he silently pulled a chair and sat at your kitchen table, earning a cheeky grin from you.

You smiled, (insert process on making dango)

“You can’t eat it yet!” you said, quickly stopping him from biting it. “We need to cook it first!” He looked disappointed.

“Just follow me,” you hummed as you began sticking the dango through the bamboo skewer. He looked over and started doing the same with ease. Huh. He was pretty good at it.

“Of course. Most foods taste better homemade.”

You don’t know why, but after that experience, Kunikuzushi started to knock on your door a lot more often, to the point you saw him almost every day. His time of arrival varied, but nonetheless, he became a familiar face you welcomed. To be honest, you had no idea what to do with him at first. He still did not divulge anything about himself, and rather looked at you expectantly. So you decided to teach him things, as you had a feeling he wasn’t good at traditional basic tasks.

You tried to teach him how to sew and crochet. Kunikuzushi ended up pricking his finger multiple times and the string of curses that followed was endless. When he joined you to plant flowers and vegetables, he grew frustrated when the things he planted didn’t grow, when he accidentally placed too much pressure on the seeds, and kept messing up the correct amount of water. Anything that required great care and gentleness, he did not succeed in.

So you told him about the ancient Irodori Festival, about beloved Inazuman folklore, about your favorite childhood stories, to which he scoffed and rolled his eyes, calling out some of the dumb choices by the protagonists, but always listening to you with full attention. Admittedly, you were guilty of accidentally teaching him some of your favorite combinations of curses.

You introduced him to more of your favorite sweets (with him sitting at the table watching you, it was the best option.) Despite his clear fondness for sweets, he vehemently denied it and didn’t have an aptitude for making them at all. Every time Kuni tried to bake something with you, he poured the incorrect amount causing the excess to slip, or turned the heat up too high or too low, scowling at every failure. He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite for other meals, which confused you. Didn’t he have to eat something else to survive? But he always seemed perfectly fine, in better health than you. You decided not to question it further.

But when Kuni followed you around while shopping, if any of the sellers tried to scam you or raise the price a little too high, he would quickly lash out a string of things you’d rather not repeat. And while you profusely apologized for his behavior, you were secretly grateful because it helped you out a lot. When you struggled to hold the grocery bags, he would snatch them from you, complaints following but none had any real bite to them when compared to his actions. Despite his lean stature, he was surprisingly strong.

The more time you spent with him, the more you grew to like him. You had realized that since your first encounter, Kuni had started to show more emotion, as if he was repressing it in the beginning. You had no idea why he hung around you of all people; Kunikuzushi had no obligation to, much less help you with random tasks. It was as if he had nowhere else to go, to return to. But you didn’t want to question him, in fear he’d leave you for prying.

—

Your new pastime with Kunikuzushi involved explaining and taking him around Inazuma to partake in “useless human frivolities.” (You were confused as to though he referred to things as if they didn’t include him, but whenever you brought this up, he just scoffed and ignored you.) But one place he vehemently refused to go was the shrine.

“I don’t want to go there.” The firmness of his statement caught you off guard.

“To the shrine? Is there any particular reason why?”

You could already tell by the look on his face that he would not be responding. Perhaps he did not like the Gods. “Well, that’s okay. It’s not my favorite place either.” And that was the end of it. It was the same thing when you went anywhere near the Electro Archon’s Tenshukaku. He would tense up, grit his teeth, and drag you to the other direction. You wished to know why he loathed the Gods, but you still did not know anything about his past. Maybe one day he’ll open up.

Whenever you ushered Kunikuzushi into your house when it was raining, in fear that he’d get sick, he always replied that he wouldn’t, and he didn’t. He defeated hilichurls and monsters easily with electro powers, despite not having a Vision. How he frequently referred to you as human. It was all starting to make a lot more sense.

(I was going to write a scene about you two falling in love here.)

When Scaramouche was on the other side of the nation, the recipes you gave to him of the meals you made before for him gave him some peace. It didn’t taste nearly as good as when you made it. He wondered if it was due to his skills, or rather because he didn’t have you to share it with.

(I had planned that after Scara left to go to the Fatui, he comes back to find you missing. Later he finds you but you were experimented on in a hidden lab, somehow causing your lifespan to increase, hence the eternal lovers part. The experimentation left you really weak which is why he was scared you were going to die and leave him.)

He placed his hat to the side and sat down next to your bed, gazing at your sleeping figure. You were so frail and powerless, like a typical human. Yet he found himself coming back every time. But now as he looks at you, a familiar, disgusting feeling forms in the pit of his stomach again.

The first to betray him was his creator, his mother. The second was his family, his friend. The third was a child similar to him. Would you, his lover, be the fourth?

You couldn’t leave him. You just can’t. Without you, the fury he desperately tries to quell will surely swallow him whole. You had to come and weasel your way into his life despite his persistence in hating humans. If he never saw your eyes peer at him curiously when he told stories of the outside world, if you never laughed again while he insulted his co-workers, he would… he would never forgive you.

Or rather, Scaramouche suddenly thought, had he betrayed you instead? He had promised himself many years ago, to always protect you. Yet he failed. And now you were in this state because of his weakness.

The Harbinger balled his hands into fists so tightly, he threatened to draw blood. And he would have, if he didn’t notice you twitch and sleepily mumble. He drew his attention to you and unballed his hands to gently hold yours.

Scaramouche, or rather Kunikuzushi, rested his head on the soft sheets, squeezing your hand. You would wake up, he knew you would… you never let him down, unlike anyone else… This was a moment that no one else would ever know about.

But the moment of eternity peace was broken by a knock on her door. Immediately, Scaramouche shot up and put his hat back on, needing to get back into character.

“Come in.”

One of the agents appeared, looking terrified for his life as usual. He licked his lips, trying to find the words to talk, but failed.

“Spit it out already,” Scaramouche scowled, annoyed at the intrusion.

“Lord Harbinger I- well, I t-think it would be easier for you to read this yourself. It was found in the lab."

(This was supposed to be the ending of the fic...)

You were there for him. When he was just Kunikuzushi, when he was Scaramouche. When he was a Harbinger, when he wasn’t. When he tried to find a heart with the Electro Archon’s gnosis, and the aftermath of his tears, reassuring him that he was more than enough for you, that your heart was his.

You would belong to each other for eternity.

(The way Scaramouche canonically hates sweets singlehandedly ruined the plot of this fic💀)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fanfic #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #scaramouche drabble #genshin impact scaramouche

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scoobydooisadetective · 11 months

Text

Timeline (So far)

This won't include MER's accusations. You can read a breakdown here.

Any opinion, thought or rumor will be in italics.

2022

March — ?

MER says they started dating by the end of march, when they went on a trip together on her statement.

Tenoch said in his statement this relationship lasted a few months.

April

Elena is part of the podcast El feisbuk de la Malinche Podcast con Prietxs

August

22: Representative Ana Valenzuela (PAN) presents a law to sanction stealthing (thank you @luzsp9-1981 for the screenshot). It's not approved.

29: First approach from el Feisbuk de la Malinche to pay MER

October

27: Second approach from el Fesibuk de la Malinche to pay MER

November

11: Black Panther Wakanda Forever hits theaters and it's a massive success.

14: Los pájaros en el Alambre say that MER wants a political career in this post

26: Tenoch meets mexican president Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO/political party: MORENA) and they watch a soccer game together.

December

2: Elena calls out Tenoch for the first time in a podcast. She does it at the end and links it to the AMLO reunion. (around 14:00)

She says, "Of course it is a political act to have the president inviting a football player, for him to invite another politician who's from opposition and of course, when he invites them, things don't change, they are just stances, social status that the president sends as a message. And I don't have anything against the president. Recently, he invited Tenoch Huerta. How is it possible that we, the ones that live in the town, are actually fighting against racism. And he can represent, for his brown skin, whoever he wants to in the movie that came out, but it's not fair that there are brown representations... It's not worth at all if they're sexual offenders. I leave it at that."

(Sorry if it was a messy translation, but she kept getting distracted)

youtube

17: Third attempt from El feisbuk de la Malinche to pay MER

2023

January

Allegedly, Elena starts mentioning Tenoch as a sexual offender in reels and livestreams. Sadly, we don't have proof of this. But @cutelatinagirl can testify this one. She and a friend.

23: Fourth attempt from El feisbuk de la Malinche to pay MER

April

7: Luz Valdés calls out Hijos del Maíz for taking advantage of Feliciana Bautista for the Rebozo Tenoch wore on Milan's Fashion week. Tenoch had nothing to do with it, but he was thrown into the polemic. (He wore the cape back in september, 2022)

(This is a rumor, but some people think Luz and Elena are friends, as of July, 1st. they follow each other on SM

She also supported MER's claims against Poder Prieto

)

8: Tenoch makes a statement about the situation

13: Fifth attempt from El feisbuk de la Malinche to pay MER

14: Tenoch makes another statement. This one also alludes to the Rebozo polemic, but adds:

Since his meeting with AMLO, the attacks towards him have risen. They have reached the point of various groups attacking his career, intimacy and even doxxing his family (adresses, workplaces and his daughter's schools).

He calls out the press for the lack of rigurosity when writing the news about the rebozo.

He talks about how now that his fame has grown, the attacks have too.

He says that he doesn't agree with everything AMLO does, like what happened in Ciudad de Juárez, where 40 immigrants died.

He mentions he's receiving legal advice.

June

Sixth attempt from El Feisbuk de la Melinche to pay MER

MER calls out Poder Prieto for sharing the podcast, asking them to pay her. She calls Tenoch a predator. She also says in her IG story that Poder Prieto treated her badly because they were defending Tenoch

"What are the important achievements made by Poder Prieto? What topics have they put on the table? Serious question.

She replies. "That Tenoch huerta pretends to sleep with young women when they arrive at Kapital Films, I mean, Poder Prieto".

---

Tenoch has the table read for his new project Fiesta en la Madriguera:

10:

She's asked about context for the accusations. She replies "Slow, dear, there's no rush"

Talked about the Rebozo polemic and what Maya Zapata did

"[About maya] the one that mocked an artesan that's younger than her and then uploaded a video like 'your envy feeds my ego'?

MER replies: "The one that in her Festival Poder Prieto asked more artesans to go free at los Pinos (because they aren't famous, they're making them a favor)

(Not related to Tenoch, but I think it's important to show she seems to have something against Maya and Poder Prieto)

When asked "why is Tenoch a sexual offender and predator?" she replies "because he is, why else?"

When asked if Tenoch had sexually assaulted her, she replies "yes, and many more".

She says that Poder Prieto protects the sexual offender and predator Tenoch Huerta. She also states they went to look for her at a concert so there wouldn't be any polemics because of his Marvel movie (and she tags Marvel Latam).

She also tells Maya Zapata directly "I'm not playing".

Tenoch replies to the accusations, denying them:

11:

Talks about how hard it is to speak up about emotional and power abuse. (Changes the allegations. Mind you, she was saying he sexually assaulted her in the latest tweets).

Shows screenshots of random people threatening her with acid. Calls Tenoch a "abuser, manipulator and sexual predator".

15:

She issues her own statement

In it, she doesn't directly adress him when referring to stealthing.

Basically says he ghosted her

She says that Tenoch sleeps around with women in Poder Prieto and a lot of them do it because they want to advance in the movie industry.

16:

She posts the statement in english

17:

She's confronted about the accusations made by different sources about the way her family lived in Oaxaca (these are supported by legal papers). Says those are "paid campaigns" by Vera Carrizal (her attacker) so they can silence her.

21:

Makes a thread. In it, she says "They are not unsubstantiated accusations. Rape is not fiction and is substantiated."

Takes her three hours to post the first "proof".

It's an anon

The anon accuses him of stealthing. There's no proof because the anon deleted everything.

Tenoch exits his movie Fiesta en la Madriguera. He sends a statement to the news. He mentions he will be taking legal action.

youtube

22:

We get a different anon. Now it's a dissorted voicemail. (And a weird emphasis on her age). Again, no proof.

23:

shows more "proof". now it relates to raciel rivas.

in these screenshots we learn that she might have accused tenoch of stealthing because a woman called raciel rivas out and tenoch dismissed it, saying he does it too. she had this message since june 12th, and if you remember, she issued her statement on june 15th.

24:

Raciel Rivas denies what MER said, therefore, tenoch being there saying those things never happened either.

Raciel Rivas asked his ex partner to speak up. Video is here.

26:

Her acid attack case has its mid-hearing. She asks not to use proof unrelated to the fact. You can see it here.

She also says she won't refer to the other accusations (aka, Tenoch) for the time being.

27:

(After she said she wasn't going to talk about it)

Another anon post. Again, no proof. (And mostly shaming a brown man for his kinks)

29:

Los pájaros en el alambre, an independent news outlet, say her lawyer is connected with the PAN and they made up the story about tenoch to boost the law made by Ana Valenzuela. They also say she wants to be a representative.

(Read it here)

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

A few comments about it:

So far, she hasn't been able to prove that he has sexually assaulted, or r*ped a woman.

She has blocked most of tenoch's fans and journalists who approached her to talk about the topic.

Statements made by her about her mental health have resurfaced (here).

A lot of people from Oaxaca have spoken up about what happened there and her connection to murat, she blocks them.

MER's connections to transphobic groups have resurfaced (here)

It's election year in Mexico

that's all I can think about for now. I hope this helps anyone who's lost see what's up. If I missed anything, please add it!

#tenoch huerta #timeline #sort of

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donnaajah · 4 months

Text

Israel began to record its worst defeat in the attack on Gaza, Palestine. On Tuesday (23/1/2024), the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said 24 of its members had died in one day.

Spokesman Rear Admiral Daniel Hagari said 21 soldiers were killed when two buildings they were mining for demolition exploded after Hamas militia opened fire on nearby tanks. Previously, three soldiers were reported killed in separate attacks in South Gaza.

"Yesterday we experienced one of the most difficult days since the war broke out," said Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, quoted by Reuters.

"In the name of our heroes, in the name of our lives, we will not stop fighting until absolute victory."

This large death toll occurred when the IDF attacked the western part of Khan Younis, the main city in southern Gaza. Israel says the city is now a major base for Hamas, the Islamist group that controls the Palestinian enclave.

"Over the past few days, IDF forces carried out a large-scale operation in which they surrounded Khan Younis and deepened operations in the area. The area is an important stronghold of Hamas' Khan Younis Brigade," the military said.

"Ground forces engaged in close combat, directed (air) strikes, and used intelligence to coordinate fire, resulting in the elimination of dozens of terrorists."

On the other hand, as news of Israel's defeat spread throughout Gaza, Palestinians celebrated what they considered a victory.

"The resistance said they would make Gaza a graveyard for the occupation, and this is what happened," said resident Abu Khaled.

"The longer they persist, the more we will suffer, but they will also suffer more."

Israel has carried out prolonged air and ground attacks on the densely populated Gaza enclave since a cross-border attack on October 7 by the Palestinian militant group Hamas.

At least 25,295 Gazans have been confirmed dead, according to Palestinian authorities. Many of the dead were scattered in the rubble of the coastal strip.

Gaza residents say that currently Israeli troops have advanced since and stormed four hospitals in the city of Khan Younis. This leaves the injured and dead isolated beyond the reach of rescue teams.

"The bodies were buried in the grounds of Nasser's main hospital in Khan Younis because it was not safe to go to the cemetery. Another Khan Younis hospital, Al Khair, was stormed by Israeli forces who arrested staff there, and a third hospital, Al Amal, was managed by the Palestinian Red Crescent, it cannot be reached," according to Palestinian officials.

The Red Crescent said a tank shell hit its headquarters on the fourth floor of the hospital, and Israeli forces fired drones at anyone moving nearby. This condition makes sending ambulances to the entire Khan Younis area impossible

Israel says Hamas militias operate in and around the hospital, making it a legitimate target. Hospital staff and Hamas deny this.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #israel #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #genocide #indonesia protest #indonesia supports palestine #colonialism

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justsomerandomfanfic · 3 months

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Royals - Draco Malfoy X Female Reader

Title: Royals

Draco Malfoy X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Harry (Mentioned), Ron (Mentioned), Hermione (Mentioned), Reader's family (Mentioned), Lucius, Narcissa, Voldy, Ginny (Mentioned), Weasleys (Mentioned), Neville (Mentioned), Luna (Mentioned), and Death Eaters (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 2,482

Warnings: Reader's a princess, Battle of Hogwarts, very slight mentions of injuries, mentions of bullying (verbal), Lucius, prejudice, threats, sassy Reader, death mentioned, crying, yelling, deleted scene, teasing, flirting, banter, like one curse word, nicknames, angst, and fluff

The sky was a blueish-gray, and endless dark clouds circled the sky like vultures, eating away at any rays of sunshine that might've pushed its way through. The world around you was that same blueish-gray, with a thick coating of dust, dirt, and grime that wafted into the air with every tired step that you took. The school, the place you had come to find as your second home - a home away from home - was in ruin. The tension in the air was dense, almost suffocating as you held Draco's hand tightly in yours; your wand gripped securely in the other. After the first initial fight, you were bruised and battered, but never once did you leave Draco's side.

You had been inseparable ever since the end of your fourth year together. Before then, you and Draco butted heads, he verbally bullied you, embarrassed you, and called you terrible names based on your blood status. You, on the other hand, were quite quiet, but you didn't hesitate to stand up for yourself. You were both stubborn to a fault, neither of you allowing the other to win in these little verbal fights you both had in the halls. It wasn't until after the end of your third year that you realized how much you cared about Draco Malfoy. It was a bittersweet realization, because, well, it was Draco, and you couldn't help but feel guilty over it - seeing as he used to bully you, and your friends; the Golden Trio.

In October of your fourth year, you noticed a slight change in the Slytherin. He wouldn't make any nasty comments towards you when you passed each other down the hall, and he'd even stop his so-called friends from saying anything to you or about you as well. You were beginning to think he was growing soft, or growing up. And Draco surprised you further by asking you to the Yule Ball later in December. You had begun to see the sensitive, sweet boy beneath that arrogant exterior, and you decided to give him a chance. And from then on, you and Draco grew closer than ever before.

From little dates in the Astronomy Tower, sitting together during shared classes, conversations during free periods near the lake, and even sneaking out past curfew for sharing snacks and kisses; you and Draco became inseparable. You found comfort in his presence, and you could tell that he felt the same way about you. And by the end of your fifth year, Draco asked you to be his girlfriend.

You met Draco's parents not long after, his father insisted that you come, wanting to know everything about the girl that distracted his son from his studies, as it were. Supper at the Malfoy Manor was uncomfortable and awkward. Draco's father was stern and cold, while Draco's mother was polite, and asked pleasant questions; she seemed to have liked you. One thing that puzzled you during that dinner though was that Draco had told you beforehand that his father would never let him have a relationship with someone who wasn't pure of blood. Sadly, his father’s prejudice on your blood status was one of the things that tried to drag you and Draco apart. So why did Lucius Malfoy allow you to continue dating his son? Why did he look you in the eye and almost reluctantly say that you could continue seeing his son? What did you do? What did you say that would warrant such a strange response from a man who held such high expectations for his son? Or... Most importantly, what did he know? What did he know about you? You should've known that something else was simmering behind those malicious gray eyes of his.

Lucius Malfoy knew your secret, and he was going to use it against you; which led to the scariest night of your life.

"I know who you are," You immediately tensed up upon hearing his voice... All you wanted was just some tea.

Turning around, you looked up at the man at the entrance of the kitchen, his long platinum-blonde hair and pale skin stood out against his all-black attire. "Pardon me?" You spoke up, holding the warm mug in your hands, your tea steaming.

Lucius entered the room, slowly, almost as if he was stalking his next prey, which was you. "You are fourth in line to the throne."

At that, you paused, your eyes narrowing slightly, "I don't think I know what you are speaking of, Mr. Malfoy." You replied coolly, taking a sip of your tea.

He smirked, stepping forward another two steps, sweeping a few strands of his hair over his shoulder with a simple swish of his hand, "You're the Princess of Wales."

You scoffed, shaking your head as if his statement was ridiculous, "A princess? Really?"

His smirk fell at your light laughter, "I may despise your kind, but I know well enough of the royal family. And you, Miss L/N, are one of them."

"I'm not a princess, I'm not royalty, and I never was." Ending the conversation as you turned around, facing the counter once more, but you didn't hear him leave.

"Hmm," He hummed, the click-clack of his cane hitting the marble floor made a shiver run down your spine, "It would be such a pity if the Dark Lord got hold of you, my dear."

You sighed, rolling your eyes, "I highly doubt that he would ever take an interest in me, and I assure you, I am just a simple Muggle-born." Turning, you gave the man one last look, "I don't care for your disdainful looks, nor your rude words, and I don't care for your threats, either. If you want to get rid of me, then go right ahead, but you'll regret it. Now, if you'll excuse me, your son and I are going to enjoy our evening." You turned back around, leaving the kitchen without another word.

"And what if I told Draco? Hmm?" He called out to you, turning to watch you leave out into the hall, "I would watch what I say and do carefully."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms sweaty. You didn't answer him, instead, you continued walking.

~~~

As Voldemort walked forward, his horde of followers trailing behind him, you spotted Hagrid with Harry in his arms. Your grip on Draco's hand tightened as Voldemort came to a stop, his loyal serpent beside him. Your free hand held onto Draco’s arm, your cheek digging into his shoulder at the sound of Ginny's screams.

"Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith in me." Voldemort exclaimed before turning to his followers with a large grin. "Harry Potter is dead!" He laughed, laughed before continuing, "And now is the time to declare yourself." He stretched his arms out wide, "Come forward and join us..." He paused, "... Or die." His words seemed to echo throughout the grounds, as Lucius called for Draco, followed by his mother, Narcissa.

You tightened your hold on Draco's hand and arm, digging your cheek further into the fabric of his dark, black suit. You began to mutter over and over again, pleading, begging for Draco not to leave your side. Looking up, your eyes met him, his stormy gray eyes that held so much anguish and fear. You bit your lip, trying to quell the tears that threatened to spill.

"Draco!" His father tried once more, more commanding as if he was scolding the young man, Draco's eyes left yours to stare at his parents as his mother took a step forward.

"Come." She said softly, simply, and you began to panic when you felt Draco's hand twitch slightly in your tight hold.

Raising the hand from his arm, you gently cupped his cheek, moving his head to look back at you. "Draco, please," You pleaded, your eyes searching his face, "Please, don't go."

His eyes softened at the sight of your pained expression, "I'm sorry," He whispered to you, making your eyes widen as he slowly slipped out of your hold.

"No, no, Draco!" You called out to him, watching in horror as he made his way to the other side, but not before being engulfed in the Dark Lord's arms in an attempt to hug.

Tears fell freely from your eyes as you felt Luna place a hand on your shoulder, her comfort coming only a moment too late. You stood there, almost a shell of your former self, watching as Neville slowly limped his way forward, and for a moment, you thought you lost another great friend to the dark side as they laughed and laughed. But, from his speech and at the glint of the Gryffiondor sword, you felt a flicker of hope burn within you as Harry sprung to life, practically leaping out of Hagrid's arms. And imagine your surprise when you watched Draco - your Draco - run across the courtyard, tossing him a wand.

A rush of pride filled you as he ran towards you. You met him halfway, jumping into his arms, hugging him close to you as his arms wrapped around your waist with a desperate grip. You buried your face in his neck and breathed in deeply, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You pulled away and looked up at him, smiling brightly.

"Draco," You murmured to him, squeezing his hand, "Did you plan that or something?" He smiled down at you, but before he could answer you, you whipped your wand out and shot a Death Eater over Draco's shoulder. "We should fight, talk later." You grinned, as Draco took your hand in his.

"Yeah," He muttered, "Good plan, love."

The Battle of Hogwarts was a nasty one, one that you both hoped to never live through again. You and Draco did your best to stop the Death Eaters that came your way, and after what felt like hours of running down halls and fallen corridors, there was finally silence. That silence was followed by a sense of relief and peace that enveloped your bodies and calmed your souls. Entering the Great Hall, you looked up at the sun shining down upon you from the large hole in the ceiling. You couldn't help but smile, tearing up slightly at the realization that Voldemort was dead. Sitting down, you and Draco watched as other students, professors, friends, and parents trickled in, finding their own spot to sit and take a breath after the battle that they all fought so hard to end.

"Thank goodness," You sighed, looking around the hall. You spotted Ginny sitting at a table with most of her family, and Luna before she headed down the hall, and lastly, you waved to Harry, who gave you and Draco both a tired, relieved smile. You looked away from them, focusing on Draco as he sat beside you, his hand resting on top of yours on his knee.

"How are you feeling?" You asked him, leaning in closer to him.

"I'm okay. What about you?" Draco asked, interlacing his fingers with yours, careful of the small cuts on your knuckles from when you punched some random Death Eater.

You hummed, "Like I just got hit by a train," You gave him a light nudge before your eyes widened as you looked up at Draco with a huge grin, "Oh! Now that old Voldy is gone, I have something to tell you."

"What's that?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

You laughed lightly, "Well, it’s all good news, you don’t have to worry." You leaned in, kissing him on the cheek before whispering to him, "I'm a princess."

Draco's eyes widened as he simply stared at you, confused, "What? You're a princess?" He asked, and you nodded.

"I am the Princess of Wales." You told him, "I wanted to tell you but if anyone found out it could endanger them, but now that Voldemort's gone, I can tell anyone I wish."

Draco seemed taken aback, blinking rapidly as he pulled back from you slightly to look at you, "You're pulling my leg here, aren’t you, love?"

You shook your head, "No, I'm not pulling your leg. You know me, Draco, I am a terrible liar, especially to you."

Draco stared at you for a long while, pursing his lips as he watched your eyes. It was true, there was this look that your eyes gave that told Draco that you were lying - that really gave you away. But this time, your eyes just shined right back at him; not a lie in sight. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before he cleared his throat, "I'm dating a princess..."

You laughed at his shocked expression, nodding your head, "Yes, yes, you are."

"Bloody hell," He muttered, making you throw your head back as you laughed.

"Dray..." You place your hand on his arm, "You're sounding like a Weasley!" You giggled, making Draco's gaze on you soften. He shook his head, finding himself laughing along with you, smiling a real, genuine smile that made you feel all warm inside. Just hearing his laugh made you happy, and made you forget everything else that was going on in your life. "So, what do we do now?" You asked him, resting your chin on his shoulder, his fingers playing with your hands in his lap.

Draco only shrugged a shoulder, his eyes glancing up at you, "I haven't a clue. Do you have any ideas?"

"Hmm, a vacation, and after that…" You pondered, pursing your lips lightly as you pulled one of your hands from his to gently card them through his messy hair. "How about you meet my family?" You offered, and Draco's face lit up, "They'd love to meet you."

"Really?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, "Do you think so?"

You nodded, "They already do. Especially my brothers, and they’re pretty protective of me, so that’s like a huge plus." You leaned in, brushing your nose against his before giving him a quick peck on the lips, "They all already love you, I promise, and it's my fault really, seeing how I've written about you since I was thirteen."

Draco's cheeks warmed as he smirked at you, "I'd love to meet them, love." Draco spoke, turning towards you slightly, "Pardon, I mean, your Highness." Draco lightly teased, making you roll your eyes playfully as he leaned in, his nose gently bumping against yours.

You couldn’t stop your smile from growing, “Such a tease.” You muttered before continuing, "I'm glad you came back."

Feeling him nod slightly as his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair there. With a small, shaky sigh, Draco answered, "Me too, love, me too." And with that you let yourself sink into his embrace once more.

---

Main Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

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mysticstronomy · 8 months

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WHAT IS THE BLOCK THEORY??

Blog#336

Saturday, September 30th, 2023

Welcome back,

Your birth is out there in space-time. Your death, too, is in space-time. Every moment of your life is out there, somewhere, in space-time.

So says the block universe model of our world.

According to the block universe theory, the universe is a giant block of all the things that ever happen at any time and at any place.

On this view, the past, present and future all exist — and are equally real.

How can this be?

The block has four dimensions: three spatial dimensions — say length, height and width — plus a fourth temporal dimension, or time. Or let's make it easier, by visualising the block model of our world as a three-dimensional rectangle, or cuboid. Two of that cuboid's dimensions (let's say height and width) represent two of the universe's three spatial dimensions.

The third spatial dimension in the above diagram is left out — the length of the cuboid — and replace it with time. At one end of the cuboid is the big bang. At the other is the very last moment of the universe. Maybe it's a big crunch.

The cuboid is filled with every event that ever happens. Where these events are in the cuboid represents their location in space-time. All events, including your birth and death, and this very moment as you read these words, exist somewhere in the block.

In the block universe, time doesn't pass

It often seems as though where we are "today" is present, and "yesterday" is past, and "tomorrow" is future.

It also seems the present moment changes too — after all, tomorrow it will seem as though tomorrow is present, and yesterday it appeared yesterday was present!

So from our perspective, it appears that time flows or passes. But in the block universe model, time doesn't flow.

In other words, in a block universe, there is no specific present moment, and "past" and "future" moments are relative.

Think about the idea of "here". I am here. You, while reading this, can truly say "I am here", even though your "here" is different to mine.

On the block universe model, talk about the "present" or "now" works just like talk of "here".

Remember last week when you said to your friend, who was late arriving for coffee, "now you're here"; or when, long ago, Caesar said, "I am now crossing the Rubicon"?

These claims are both true. That's because all it means to talk about the present, or now, is to talk about the place in time where you happen to be.

Since we are always located wherever we are (that's trivially true), everyone is located in the present, just as everyone is located at the place they call "here".

According to the block universe view, time or temporal relations of "earlier than" and "later than" exist. These relations hold regardless of where anyone is located. So, suppose Bert the dinosaur is located earlier than Sally the dog.

That relation between Bert and Sally holds, regardless of whether we are located earlier than Bert or later than Sally.

Bearing this in mind, it is possible to see how to make sense of the idea of past and future. Just as on this model "now" picks out whatever time I happen to be located at, "past" picks out any time (or events at those times) that are earlier than my location, and "future" picks out any times or events that are later than my location.

Originally published on www.abc.net.au

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, October 4th, 2023)

"WHAT IS THE THEORY OF GENERAL RELATIVITY??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #universe #spacecraft #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography #cosmology #cosmos

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tired-biscuit · 2 years

Text

Bite

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Kiba/fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, modern AU // werewolf!kiba, monsterfucking, size kink, biting kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight a/b/o themes [mf has a knot], pregnancy talk, mentions of blood. established relationship, they are very cute.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10.5k

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴!!

𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔 decides to share his secret with you on Halloween.

He doesn’t know why he wants to tell you on October 31st, exactly. Perhaps it is that the matter at hand is rather fitting for the spooky season, or maybe because the last two functioning brain cells inside his head are telling him that you’ll be able to cope with it better this way – his peculiar way of thinking is something that nobody but him seems to make sense of.

So, it takes Kiba four years and three months to make the final decision. It may seem like a long time to some, but to him the years pass by swiftly. He spends them all by learning about how your mind functions and by gathering his wits. By hiding every full moon and ghosting you completely with zero explanation. By persuading himself that that same mind he is so very fond of picking apart and piecing back together, will be the one that will accept him for who – what – he is.

And as spring turns to summer and autumn falls victim to the icy clutches of winter, Kiba stalls. Year after year, your relationship grows like a sturdy vine taking over the walls of an abandoned building with the change of the seasons. The cycle repeats itself for the second, third, fourth time around, and Kiba still keeps changing his mind.

He almost tells you sooner than planned, but then he worries. Grows agitated because of said worrying. Stalls even more. Almost gives up, and thus nearly abandons you as a result at some point as well.

You don’t know anything about that, of course.

But no matter what he picks and chooses, something makes him stay put. Kiba can’t quite explain the reasoning as to why. It might be that he’s immensely loyal. Or the fact that he’s in love. Maybe you’re his person. Perhaps it’s in his blood. He doesn’t know what it is, but he lingers because of it. Wraps his arms around you and falls even deeper. So deep, in fact, that he can’t possibly find his way back to the surface and moral reasoning anymore.

And because of it, he feels scared when the day he has to tell you his secret finally comes. Absolutely petrified. But he trusts you now, he’s positive about that. Nearly half a decade of being so close has done its job.

And he hopes, nearly prays to a god he’s long since lost belief in, that after all of this is over, you’ll still trust him, too.

—

Much to Kiba’s misfortune, that doesn’t happen.

You don’t trust him anymore.

“Oh, my… You we-were actually being serious for once, huh?” The words are spoken barely above a whisper by someone who you think is you, despite that you swear you’re on the brink of screaming your lungs out.

Everything is quiet chaos. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, it’s a struggle to breathe properly; you can’t even get an exhale out, much less a shout. The moment your boyfriend’s supposed prank turns out to be a truth so gruesome that it makes your jaw drop, you’re feeling like your legs are giving in. To say you were on the verge of fainting would be an understatement.

You feel like you’re going to die.

It all happens exactly how he’s told you it would, but that doesn’t help. Staring at the thing that used to be your boyfriend just mere moments before the pale moonlight had seeped past the curtains, you still find yourself frozen into place from the shock and terror that begin to course your veins in fast, pulsating waves.

The movie you were watching together on your laptop is still playing. Background music and dialogue fills the tense air between you and is the only sound present besides his deep breathing and the ferocious pounding of your heart; which you swear you can feel climbing up your throat now.

The movie is playing – time certainly hasn’t stopped. But you wish it did.

He’s just so big, after all. Huge in every aspect, he’s nothing like himself and you’re barely keeping pieces of your sanity sticking together because of the intimidating stature he possesses now. He’s broad, the slopes of his shoulders are potent and the curve of his biceps is so defined that you’d have trouble wrapping both hands around just one. There’s no way your fingers would touch whilst hugging it – you’re positive.

And goodness, he is heavy. So fucking heavy, in fact, that the mattress sinks below him, and the wooden framing of the bed gives a prolonged creak of protest because of the triggering weight when he picks himself up.

Watching them stretch and relax repeatedly, you suppose you’re used to seeing the strong limbs and the rippling muscle, even if it currently hides underneath thick, coarse fur. And it may be just a hint of familiarity soothing you now, but panic still flashes through your very soul when he stumbles on his hind legs as soon as his feet land on your carpeted flooring.

Standing at his full height, your boyfriend – or rather the thing that used to be your boyfriend – appears even taller now. Its enormous stature makes dread trickle down the back of your sweaty neck, because god-fucking-damn it; the top of its head is nearly touching the fucking ceiling.

But it's still Kiba, or that’s at least what you keep telling yourself. This creature is still your lover, even if his clothes are torn and his entire body is sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the furniture of your bedroom that just appears toyish when compared to him.

And now, his arms flail around in the same manner his tail does. Wagging from side to side, it’s a brief moment of alarm as he attempts to catch his balance like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. But he’s not a child; he isn’t even human. Every clumsy footstep he takes on the carpet is like a dull thud of thunder because of how hefty he is. It seems that even he, himself, isn't quite used to his new body just yet. And it’s almost cute in a way.

Almost.

Still, cute or not, the entire situation makes your breath hitch and forces you to take a cautious step back when he turns towards you at long last and just looks at you.

Staring right back at him, you’re not sure if you like having his attention on you all of a sudden. So you stand more firmly, lift your hands into a shield of sorts – as if that could fucking stop this monster of a wolfman if he ever did make the decision to tear you to shreds and swallow you whole – and just breathe.

You just can’t help it. Stepping back and causing more distance feels like a survival instinct, because he is just that – a monster. You don’t do it on purpose, it seems, but the reason for it is because of the more uncanny features he possesses. And those features frighten you right to the bone, whether you want them to or not.

The tail is on top of that list of reasons, of course. But it’s also the eerie height. How he stands and walks like a human, but isn’t one. The triangle-shaped ears atop his head and the set of honed claws on each broad, paw-like hand. The chestnut fur. How his eyes are now yellow instead of a golden brown.

Speaking of his eyes: they glow in the silvery moonlight. The pupils inside dilate sideways whenever a shadow crosses them, and both are so sharp that they’d do a better job at piercing through you than the point of the sharpest blade ever could.

The thought makes your skin pull taut and your heartbeat thump inside your mouth this time around. You can feel it rattling behind your teeth, which you’re clenching so hard that your entire jaw is beginning to hurt. Even the saliva that has gathered on top of your tongue is hard to swallow from how thick it’s become laced with fear now.

Your entire body is shouting at you to run away.

But you can’t run. You’ve sprouted roots into the ground by giving him the promise of staying no matter what happens, and you simply can’t break it; can’t run. You’re here to stay, because perhaps you’re even more loyal than he is.

So it’s just you.

And the werewolf.

The big bad werewolf.

“H-Hey,” you croak out feebly after what seems like ages, upper lip trembling in pure fear. He’s still staring at you; unmoving. Just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Other than the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’s so still that it’s making you feel on edge. “You–...” Your brow furrows as you try again, “You in there, Kiba?”

The sound of his name being spoken into the air makes him perk up. And it’s feeble relief that washes over you now as you finally release a shuddering breath. Like a sign that your boyfriend remembers at least some part of his human psyche, you watch as one of his ears twitches before he tilts his head to the side like your neighbour’s German Shepherd tends to do whenever it snows outside for the first time.

It’s curiosity in its finest form, but despite him recognizing his name, you’re still worried. Especially because that curiosity makes him come closer. Makes his attention shift solely onto you ever so slowly; the only living, breathing thing left inside this house besides him.

You certainly hope it’ll stay that way by the end of the night. With both of you still breathing.

Because footstep after footstep, Kiba’s balance goes from inept to completely fine by the time he backs you up against the wall and just keeps staring at you.

The yellow in his irises makes his eyes sublime. Shadows dance inside them as he approaches, turning them dark then light again. The size difference between you is so profound that he has to stoop down just to reach eye level with you. Practically looming over you, you feel like you’re about to start crying any second.

His pupils dilate immediately after eye contact is established and your own turn foggy from the tears that are beginning to gather at your waterline, threatening to spill. Black consumes the yellow; swallows it whole. Until you can nearly see yourself in the reflection of the void.

And even if he’s told you what to expect when he’s like this, even if you’ve nodded and laughed at the warnings he’s tried to get across because you couldn’t have possibly taken them seriously: as soon as you come face to face with this supernatural being, you’re simply terror-struck.

And you don’t trust this being. Don’t trust it at all.

But every moment is used for his benefit. He’s starting to learn about your mannerisms. You’re standing still as a statue, fear lacing your scent so profoundly that he feels the need to dip in and hide his face into the crook of your neck just so he can smell it better.

So seconds pass: one, two, three. He breathes in your scent so that he can memorize it. Rests a paw on the curve of your hip as gently as he’s able, even though you can still feel its immense weight and the way the claws dig into your skin right through your t-shirt despite the mellow effort. He can’t retract them, but they’re still so sharp that you have no doubt he could tear right through the thin cotton in mere seconds if he wanted to, along with everything else underneath.

Your stomach twists because of it. If he scratches or cuts you by accident and smells your blood as a result, you have no clue what’ll happen. He’s never told you about that possibility.

And perhaps it’s just a gut feeling, but something tells you he had good reason for it.

Eyes blown wide, shoulders shaking with the fast-paced, never-ending series of inhales and exhales that you can’t seem to slow down for the life of you, you’re letting out a quivering whimper that makes your entire face twist in reluctant disturbance. He’s just too close, too unnatural. Too demanding to know you better, and thus too pushy.

So you try to push him away to cause more distance between your bodies because you can’t focus, can’t breathe. But holy fuck, every hair on your body prickles and stands up to attention when instead of having him take a step back, you just hear him growl in response.

He doesn’t like that; the snarl and the flash of big, sharp teeth tells you all you need to know as his upper lip curls and reveals the gleaming white underneath. Doesn’t appreciate you shoving him away like he’s unwanted and scary, when all he wants to do is to be close to you and just breathe you in. Just that, he isn’t even thinking about hurting you.

But you don’t know that. Can’t understand him either.

Listening to the growl as it slowly dies down, it’s a quiet sort of sound that comes from the depths of his chest and rumbles in the back of his throat. Like the noise a dog makes before it’s about to go absolutely nuts at any given second, except that it’s deeper, more threatening; a warning to come from a provoked beast much larger than your poor self. The series of vibrations it sends through you makes your teeth rattle inside your skull and your skin pull even tighter over your bones from how deeply it fazes you.

And when you whimper out of fear again, the tears spilling over your hot cheeks, it makes him freeze. You’re scared – scared of him – so he pulls back, looks at your sweat-riddled face, as well as the fright it exhibits, and looses a freaking sigh now. As if he’s upset by your reaction, perhaps even disappointed, the low grumble to follow right afterwards only adds to the discontent he feels for you.

And you; you’re staring up at him, sniffling and trying to blink away the blur in your eyes now whilst your entire body is literally shaking.

He’s the one that’s displeased? After scaring the literal shit out of you and making you cry, he is the one that gets to grumble about it like some senile, old grandpa whenever his grandkids get caught doing something naughty? You can’t believe the nerve of this man. Wolf. Wolfman? Werewolf.

It seems that Kiba remains a crabby douche no matter what form he’s in. And it is him; your grouchy boyfriend is actually still somewhere in there – looking at you worryingly through pupils that remind you of a cat’s, and owning a body so powerful that it could turn your entire house to rubble if it went on a rampage.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choke out at the thought, carefully reaching out to place your hand on his chest again, but this time to appease him instead of shoving him away and provoking him again. “I just–... I wasn’t expecting this, ‘kay? Try and understand how I feel about this.”

Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe – in and out. He’s less scary already.

He perks up at your words again, his paw covering your hand entirely when he presses it more closely to his heart so that you can feel the rhythm of his pulse better. The knuckles are nearly human, as well as the digits that bend and curl over your own now; just covered in fur and equipped with those menacing claws you’re still continuously flicking a wary eye towards every few seconds.

Fingers tangling into rough chestnut fur, his heartbeat is so strong and other-wordly that it makes you sick in a way. It beats faster than any human heart – rhythm quick and potent enough that it kisses the pads of your fingers every time it hits.

It’s like the damn muscle is jumping and bouncing off the sides of his ribcage as he grumbles once more in answer, this time more in agitation than anything else. He can’t even speak proper English with you, or any other human language whatsoever, and yet you’re starting to understand him perfectly just from the faces he’s making and the noises of irritation coming from the back of his throat every once in a while.

“What,” you whisper, feeling dizzy from the heat his body gives off, “what is it?” It’s as if his very blood has come to a boil, is starting to sizzle like oil on a frying pan underneath all of that muscle and skin. He’s practically burning up, warming your entire bedroom by merely existing. It’s making your vision spin before your very eyes.

So he clutches your hand harder when you look like you’re about to faint; pushes it even closer to his heart. And when you look more stable, like the touch grounds you in a way, he circles his free paw around his face – that uncanny, strange face – and presses it to your own chest. To your own heart.

“What?” His hand, if you could call it that, is so big that it covers the entirety of your ribcage. Thumb to pinky; he’s touching you from one end to the other. You have trouble breathing at the realization of his immense size. “Is there so-something wrong with my heart?”

He shakes his head in answer. Repeats the action of circling his face, but then he stops and pauses for a moment. Contemplates. Pointing to his twitching ear this time around, he does it a few times before pressing the paw to your heart again.

Puzzled, you blink at him, attempting to understand what he’s miming to you as he starts pointing to his ear again. “Are you… Are you saying that you can hear my heart?”

He nods feverishly now, tapping his digits against the middle of your chest a couple of times in the exact same rhythm your heart beats inside your ears, paying heed that he doesn’t strike you with his claws by accident.

“It’s fast, yeah,” you mumble hesitantly. “Nothing like yours, though.”

And now, much to your surprise, he whines in reply; sounding like a little puppy when it yawns with that squeal-ish sort of sound. As if he’s not happy at all with your statement.

Your brow quirks because of it. “You don’t like that it’s fast?”

Kiba shakes his head again.

“Why?”

You frown when he just points to his face again and drops his eyes to the floor. He taps you over your heart only once this time; gently. Like he’s afraid he might break you in two if he uses any more force, the click of his claws only gives you more proof that he could.

And it’s sort of soothing – him caring enough to be this cautious. It calms you, coaxing you to warily place your hand upon his own and say, “I’m not scared of you anymore, Kiba.”

You mean it. Even if your body is still stiff as a board; you mean it.

But all he does is grumble again. Incoherent, rumbling sounds that make you chuckle almost as his tail drops limp between his legs. Your lips are twitching as you speak again, “I’m serious, my heart is beating so fast only ‘cause I love you so much, and ‘cause I’m worried about you. I mean, baby, you have a tail, for Christ’s sake. Come to think of it… Does it hurt when it grows out?”

What a lucky girl you are, your statement makes him growl for a third time as his paw drops from your chest and rests on the curve of your hip instead. If he weren’t so big and unpredictable, you’d bash his head in for being so fussy. “Stop making that noise, y-you’ve gotta cut me some slack! At least I didn’t run away and called the cops! Or, ya know… Animal control, since you’re… Well… Yeah.”

The look he gives you now just spells that sarcastic ‘Funny.’ even though he really is more animal than human. He’s nearly slouching, curving his broad back just to remain face to face with you, and when you’re about to open your mouth to retaliate, because being witty is just how you’ve decided to cope and be comfortable around him, nothing but a squeak pushes past your lips instead.

Because now, Kiba lifts you up – so swiftly and effortlessly that you’re amazed in a way, even if it’s nothing surprising if you take his sheer size into consideration. Paws wrapping around your hips, you can feel his claws dig into the plush fabric of your pyjama shorts, but never tearing, as he tosses you over his shoulder and just keeps you there.

Like you’re some damsel in distress, hell like he’s Bowser and you’re Princess Peach; he carries you across the room as if you’re light as a feather.

You squeak out this high-pitched sort of noise when he throws you onto the bed. Squirming around, you try to back up against the headboard, but he grabs you by the ankle and just pulls you closer as he falls onto the mattress himself.

Nearly cringing at the second creek of protest the wooden framing gives to his weight, your own objections are stifled as his arms wrap around you like armor and he attempts to make himself seem smaller – badly. One paw-like hand rests on your middle now, giving you a single push until you’re firmly pressed against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thumping right against your spine now. It nearly makes the discs rattle from how strong it is.

And even his tail is wrapping around your hip in almost a protective manner now; warming you up with the heat of his body and the thickness of his fur. You’re sweating after mere seconds, the coat of salt thickening the glaze that’s already there as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and just starts breathing in your scent again.

It’s like he’s addicted to the way you smell. Even with the initial tension gone, every grunt that reverberates down your spine is still chill-inducing despite the heat.

Laying next to him in the dark, the rational part of your consciousness screams at you to run and never look back. How you should feel scared; caged in from the way he wraps himself around you and holds you in place. But you don’t. Goddammit, you just don’t. You’ve known him for too long, and he’s just too sweet, even if he looks equally as bitter.

However, when you attempt to turn around to look at him again, he just growls once more. The same as the first time, it’s a warning, but it doesn’t scare you like it did the first time.

Your voice is calm because of it now, “You don’t want me to see you anymore?”

Paw leaving your middle for the briefest moment, you exhale a sigh at how cool his lack of touch feels now as he points at the laptop that’s still laying open on your bed. His body temperature is so high that it makes you burn all over when he touches the sliver of bare skin on your belly.

You swallow the thick saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth again. “The movie, right… Watching movies until you change back, or I fall asleep. Just like you’ve said.”

Fuck, when he pats your stomach in approval and grunts, it just makes you sweat even more. You shouldn’t be thinking about this sort of thing, now should you? About how it’d feel if he were to stroke the naked skin, not just linger on it… If he were to lick it, too. His tongue is probably rougher than normal. It’d hurt, wouldn’t it? Or would it feel good? Oh, and how would it feel if he were to trace your skin with those claws just enough to make you antsy?

As the thoughts ensue, your toes are curling from embarrassment, expectation, arousal – you, yourself, don’t even know from what. This entire thing is so confusing. Are you seriously attracted to a fucking werewolf, or is the heat that’s pooling between your legs only there because this is something new and exciting, and it’s your boyfriend that’s the beast?

The curiosity of humans truly is a wonder. It’s like you truly want to fuck everything that comes your way.

But it seems that Kiba knows what you’re feeling even if you don’t, or perhaps he can smell the change of hormones that lace your blood now. Because as soon as your dainty fingers lightly begin to trace his own thicker ones, seemingly all coy and innocent, he starts to stroke your naked skin in return, too. Gentle swipes that nevertheless make your breath hitch in the back of your throat, he’s sighing at the way your thighs squeeze together in response to his touches.

You’re slowly becoming drenched; he can smell the dopamine on you. The amount is big enough to make his thoughts fuzzy and his dick hard. God, he wants to suck the hormones right out of you.

So he lets his fingers travel higher. Lifts the hem of the shirt you’re wearing with one sharp claw and reaches just the underside of your breast as he strokes even more tenderly. Same movements, different pace and intensity, because he needs to be careful if he wishes to keep you intact and whole.

Minutes pass. He’s stupid, so he’s somehow ended up with both of your tits in his hands; squeezing the fat and flicking the cute nubs ever so gently. Making you squirm. Listening to your quick, little breaths. You’re so needy that it’s amusing in a way.

However, he grunts the moment you roll your hips against his own. Your smell turns him insatiable – you just smell so fucking good, it’s not fair – so he bucks his hips forward and ruts into you once, twice, but then stops immediately when you mewl something delightfully submissive in response and arch your back to feel him even better over your flimsy shorts.

Shit. That sounded so good that it made his ears perk up.

But he’s so big when he’s like this and you’re so small. The ridge of his semi-hard cock that presses against your clothed cunt is already so massive that there is no way your tiny human body would be able to take him in – it is quite literally impossible, no matter how badly you want it to happen. Too enormous for your sweet little pussy, he’d ruin you completely with just one pump if he was to become completely turned on. And you don’t even have a clue about the knot.

Holy fuck, the knot – how could he forget. His heart is racing now at the thought of you taking it willingly, it’s insane how fast it is as he releases you and points towards the laptop again with somewhat shaky digits.

It’s better to stop early. He’s not sure how much sanity he has to spare, the fact that you’re accepting him for who he is; that you are getting fucking aroused by what he thought of as an ugly secret until now is making drool ooze down his sharp teeth. Is making him yearn to push your face into the pillow so that he can just take you doggy style, because it’s, well… Fitting.

He wants to do it painfully slow and rough. Like an animal, the instinct to breed you until you’re his little mate is so acute that it hurts him. Christ, you’ve mentioned wanting kids, now that you’re both in your mid-twenties. Have begun talking more and more about moving in together and starting a family.

And Kiba wants it, too, he truly does. He wants kids, marriage. The chance of coming back to a warm home every single day, and spending the rest of those days with you, now that you know what he is. He’s never been happier because of the fact that you still want him just as badly as he wants you, but how the fuck is he supposed to give you all of that and grant you all of your wishes when he’s a monster?

During the course of your relationship, he’d been nothing but excuses as a result, even if he didn’t want to be. Stalling whenever you had suggested sharing a household. Completely disappearing roughly once a month whenever there was a full moon, even though – much to his luck – you’ve never managed to make the connection. Telling you, ‘Yes, I want kids.’ even though he’d started pulling out the moment you had told him that you got off your birth control.

Seeing the disappointment cross your face each time was hard. He wants kids, fuck, he wants them so bad – it’s in his blood to give you as many as you’ll be willing to have with him, for fuck’s sake. But all of this is complicated. Him feeling scared to give you babies because they’d almost surely be different from the ones you gush over whenever your friends swing by is completely justified.

But now, after you’ve seen him for what he is and have clearly accepted him, just imagining you still wanting kids with him makes his fucking tail want to wag. The way you'd whine and then beg him to cum inside you as your tiny pussy sucks him in, in, in. How you'd spread your legs and let him grab you by the hips until they'd be littered with scratches. How you'd squeal when he'd bite you to keep you still for long enough to make you pregnant with his offspring.

There’d be more than one in this form; he’s sure of it. Sadly, he’s just too big to fit. Perhaps, if you’re willing, you could try when he’s back to normal again.

“But Kiba, I–” Your lips clamp shut the moment he points to the screen again, this time sternly, and exhales this deep, fed-up breath through his nose that tickles your neck and just makes you buzz all over.

He’s even drawn his hips away from you whilst thinking of slamming them in instead. No more rutting – you’re not fucking a monster no matter how bad his need is and how nicely you’ve accepted him. He wants you alive and whole, after all.

And that means: end of discussion.

—

Even in his werewolf form, your boyfriend is as stubborn as ever.

You finish the movie with a frown etched upon your lips that he promptly seems to ignore for your sake. As soon as the credits roll, he makes you watch another one.

Hours pass; fading away into the night, and you feel him growing lighter. Smaller. More human. Changing or not, Kiba still doesn’t allow you to look at him during it. He’s told you that the transformation can be a bit unpleasant to see when you’re not used to seeing it, so you can’t do anything else but comply with his wishes.

And just when you’re on the verge of sleep, consciousness nearly fluttering away into dreamland, do you at long last feel him move.

Thick fingers digging into your t-shirt, he presses himself against you after hours of nothing. “Babe?” He whispers right into your ear, nudging you with the tip of his nose, “You still awake, baby?”

He can speak again.

“Mhmm.” His body is still so warm that you can’t help but feel it lulling you to slumber. “I’m awake.” It’s a bother to stay that way, but you still force yourself to remain conscious by rubbing your cheek into the pillow tiredly. “Can I look at you now…? Please?”

A smile ghosts over Kiba’s lips at the plea you’ve surely been harboring for hours. He’s still not used to you knowing and liking this part of him. He doubts he’ll ever be. “I’m not fully back to normal just yet,” he says, and you can tell, because there’s still this coarse bite to his voice that makes him sound like his teeth are too big for his mouth. “But I think it’s safe enough to look… If you want.”

You don’t ask him if he’s absolutely sure, nor if he’s all right with it. Far too impatient to look at your boyfriend again, you’re swiftly flipping onto your other side to finally lay your eyes on him not even a second after the words of insecurity finish leaving his lips.

His appearance makes your heart start to pound all over again. Not out of fear, though. No, this time it’s thrill – the good kind.

He’s mid-stage, just like he’s said he’d be. Not human just yet, although not full-werewolf anymore either: he’s a being of something supernatural and in-between that you don’t know how to name for the life of you.

He’s still big – bigger than usual – though nearly not as before. The fur is gone, but his hair is still overwhelmingly thick; partially hiding the pointy ears that remain sitting and twitching ever so slightly atop his head. His facial features are back to normal, even if his eyes aren’t. Still yellow, they glow in the dark with those slits for pupils that dilate sideways whenever they make eye contact with you. You can feel the tail as it curls around your hip once more, and can see the fangs when he parts his rosy lips to release a shuddering, anxious breath.

He looks like a hybrid. That’s the word!

“How long?” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth as you reach up to touch him. He’s completely naked underneath the thin duvet, you can see the pile of torn up clothes on the floor. It’s a good thing he’s brought an overnight bag with him.

“Huh?” Goddammit, he’s so insecure that he flinches when your fingers make contact with his warm, golden skin.

Your gaze turns soft as you trace his cheekbone and utter, “How long have you been like this?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, brow furrowing despite that he tilts his head so that he can lean into your touch better, “ever since I can remember. I was born with the gene.”

“Just you?”

“It… It runs in the family.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Chewing on the tender flesh, your voice is hushed, “And why haven’t you told me?”

He hates admitting his vulnerability to anyone – even you – but he has to if he wants this relationship to work and for the bond to strengthen. So he sighs, voice equally as quiet as he says, “I was scared you’d be disappointed.”

He pauses for a bit now, letting the beat of silence pass. Avoiding eye contact whilst those peculiar yellow eyes flick across your entire room, he seems almost jittery in a way, despite that you’re the harmless human in this situation. God, he hates feeling insecure like this.

You can’t stay still, silent. It’s eating you alive, so you cut into the quiet, “What is it?”

“It’s…” Kiba inhales deeply, shaking his head with a groan that just provokes you further. You’re on the brink of jumping him and shaking him by the shoulders until he spits it out. Luckily for the both of you, you don’t have to do it because now he at long last looks you in the eye and says, “It’s hereditary.”

This time, your roles are reversed and the silence is far longer than the previous beat. A lot longer.

“Say something, sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice strained from nervosity.

“I see.” It’s all you give him and Kiba isn’t sure what the tone means. Either he’s dumb as fuck or he’s just incapable of reading it, it doesn’t matter how sensitive the ears atop his head are – he is still not getting it.

So he asks, “You know what that means?”

Instead of answering, you ask a question of your own, “Is that the reason why you turned all weird when I got off the pill?”

He just nods before his chin dips down, lips pressed into a firm line and shoulders slumped. Oh, boy. Watching how guilty he looks, you almost feel the gears turning inside your head as all the puzzle pieces click and begin to paint the bigger picture you would have never solved on your own otherwise.

And here you were; worrying like some idiot that he was refusing to settle only because he didn’t take you seriously enough.

The entire thing seems so utterly stupid, now that you think about it.

“Is it, like,” your voice breaks before you swallow the saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth. “Is it definite? If we were to have–...”

His expression softens at the worry to glint inside your eyes. “There’s a chance.”

“A chance?”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “It’s not, like, fully definite or anything like that... I mean, Hana isn’t like this, and we’re brother and sister. But there’s still a pretty big chance, ‘cause I’d be the dad and my genes are… Well, they’re more dominant, I guess.”

“They’re more likely to prevail?” you ask, quirking a brow as you place your hand on his warm chest. His heartbeat isn’t back to normal, per se, it just isn’t nearly as fast as it was before. “I think I’ve read that in an article somewhere before. Or a book I was reading… I can’t remember.”

“I don’t like that word; prevail,” he mumbles, the bridge of his nose scrunching in distaste. You can even see his ears flatten until they’re flushed against his head. “Our kiddos would have as much of you in ‘em as much as they’d have me.”

“Yeah, but if they’re like… This,” you trace his chest gently and jerk your chin upwards to make a point, “they’d have more of you in them than they’d have me, right?”

“They could still have your smile. Or your height. Hell, even your eye colour, which is so pretty by the way.” Kiba says, the corners of his lips twitching when you smile at the smooth compliment. “The yellow would only show when they’d turn once a month; and that's to say if they’d turn. I mean, yeah, it’d play a huge part in their lives, being like this, and it would be hard at times… But that side isn’t everything that'd define them, ya know? They’d still be people. Human.”

You’re surprised how mature he is about this – speaking about it as if he’s practiced it in front of the mirror a dozen times before, albeit still sounding just as genuine. Normally, you’d expect him to be unreasonable whilst attempting to shove his head through the wall, but that’s not the case this time around. And thinking about said case; he’s right.

Even if he turns into something unnatural every full moon, he’s still Kiba, no matter the form. He’s still your boyfriend who likes to poke fun at you every chance he gets, who likes to scream with joy at the TV whenever his favourite team scores a point, who always picks chocolate ice cream over vanilla, who’s terrible at making the fitted bed sheet actually fit over the mattress – all of that. Those quirks make him human, and he is just that. He’s a person, just like you.

Though, he’s just proved to you that he’d be a wonderful dad, too.

“I don’t see it as a bad thing, baby,” you say, blushing at the thought whilst cupping his face delicately. “I still love you, even if you look like you’ve just graduated from Monster High.” It’s no wonder he was so good at being a jock, both through high school and college. Always so agile and fast by instinct.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

You giggle at your own jab. Sigh in content at the kiss he presses to your cheek a moment later. “I still wanna try, you know.”

He stills, warm mouth lingering right next to your temple. “Like… Right now?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper as your fingers tangle into his hair and trace the back of one pointy ear. Like a cat, you’re simply too curious to hold back. You can see them both flatten against his head in an instant as he stiffens above you and groans.

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.” He pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “Very.”

Well, fuck.

You’re growing hot again, almost feverish at how responsive he is to mere strokes. “Should I not touch them?”

“You can. I’ve just never–... Nnh.” He turns into putty that you hold in your hands the moment you scratch his scalp and trace the shape of both triangles after hearing his approval. They’re surprisingly delicate underneath the pads of your fingers; almost silken to the touch and twitching every time you land contact. “Never had anyone touch ‘em before. It’s different than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His brain might just burst if you actually take his knot.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be gentle.”

He’s toying with your shirt, claw tugging at the hem whilst attempting to focus. “You seriously wanna try for a baby now?” Turned on so easily and still yearning because of the teasing you gave him before, he can’t think straight.

“Yes,” your answer is confident. Honest. “As long as it’s safe for the both of us, I don’t care if our baby ends up being like you. I’ll still love it, just like I love you.”

God, he could cry at this point. “It’s safe, just a little different... Might hurt a bit ‘cause I’m still pretty big, but I’d never put you in harm's way, you know that, baby.”

Your heart is racing. “How much would it hurt?”

“We’d–...” Goodness, he’s so flustered. “We’d be stuck for a while after we’d be done, like for half an hour… Maybe an hour. It can get a bit uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why would it be uncomfortable?”

“No, like why would we get stuck?”

“Oh.” Heat sears Kiba’s face at your question. He’s looking down at you with a furrowed brow and nearly a frown now. You just look so perfect, hair all messy over the pillow and skin dewy, and here he is about to explain the most humiliating thing ever.

“I, uh… God, this is so embarrassing, but I have a knot, okay? It’s meant for, mm… Basically, it makes me unable to pull out, because it literally hurts us both if I try. And uh–...” He’s nearly scowling now, the poor man. “It just gives us a better chance at having a kid, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

“Wow.” Your eyes grow wide at the crude explanation he’s given like he’s some damn caveman. Pure wooden clubs and unga bunga language, like the definition of Fred Flintstone. “So it’s just like in those fanfics I’ve read as a teen?”

“C’mon, baby, I don’t read that shit.” The pointed look he gives you with those sharp pupils tells you everything you need to know. Nearly makes you laugh. “And you shouldn’t have either, ‘cause listen to the crap you’re spouting while we’re talking about our goddamn future… I mean, seriously.”

“Hah!” The chuckle slips out. “I’m so sorry, Ki. I’ll be good, I promise.”

He rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. “Aha.”

“C’mon, I wanna try!” The smile that’s forcing itself on your lips is so big. “I want to have a kid, and move in together; all of that… So, do you wanna do it for real this time?”

Something is fluttering inside his chest and stomach at your proposal. Something that makes him light-headed as he looks you dead in the eye and says, “Well, it depends… Are you gonna take my knot?”

Oh, he’s serious now. All intense, his eyes are burning like a forge.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the air suddenly solemn. He doesn’t want you to joke about this. “I will.”

“Yeah?” he whispers back. “Even if it hurts a little? You’ll still take it?”

You wonder what ‘a little’ means to him. No matter. “Mhmm.”

Studying your features for any hint of deceit, he’s breathing hard just thinking about it. “Okay.”

As are you. “Okay.”

Moments pass, and the silence is intimate. However, you start to laugh again the moment his tail starts to wag. He’s just so goddamn red, so adorable. “You excited?”

“Yeah, m’sorry,” he mumbles bashfully. “It has a mind of its own sometimes. Especially when I’m happy.”

“You’re happy ‘cause I’ll take your knot?”

“Overjoyed.”

“That’s cute. Like you’re a good boy, or somethin’.” Heat is crawling up your neck as you look at him underneath your lashes and mumble, “So… How do you want me?”

Fuck, that flusters him even further. Especially because the communication is good and you start touching his ears again. Good boy, good boy, good boy – he really is a good boy. “I, uh… Just lemme…”

But instead of finishing his sentence, Kiba just manhandles you into position. He’s as gentle as he can be, perhaps even respectful, though you still feel heat overtake your body the moment he flips you onto your stomach with complete ease and hovers above you by pinning both arms on either side of you.

He’s still so big; strong. His body covers your own, warmth and that musky scent fogging your senses completely. That alone is enough to make you shove your face into the pillow and push your ass up as high into the air as it’ll go. Like a proper little mate.

You smell so sweet with dopamine that it makes his voice sound rough from how dry it makes his throat as he watches you squirm into position, “I–... I gotta undress you first.”

“Just tear it off.” Your eyes are glazed over when you turn your head to the side to look at him. “It’ll be faster that way.”

The drool he forces down is thick. “You want it that bad?”

“I need it, love. Need all of you.” Even the werewolf side.

“Shit… O-Okay.” Goddammit, you’ve even got his voice to quiver as he does what you ask of him. The collar of your top chokes you for a brief moment as he tugs on the back of it, fingers so eager whilst the cotton starts biting into your neck, but then he releases you the moment the noise of shredding fabric fills the room.

Kiba trails his eyes over your exposed back now. At the way goosebumps cover the smooth skin the moment he traces your spine with the tip of one claw. He can see the sides of your tits as they press against the mattress; all plush-like. It just makes his mouth water all the more. “What about the shorts?”

“Same as the shirt,” you mumble, lifting and wiggling your hips again.

His pupils are overtaking his entire irises. “Underwear, too?”

“Mhmm.”

His tail is wagging again, you can hear the dull thump, thump, thump against the mattress. “Tell me what I ever did to deserve you… For real.”

You could tease him. But this moment is tender, intimate, so you decide against it and just say, “Shush.”

You’re naked in mere seconds after that; he’s slicing through the fabric like it’s butter. And that excites you, especially as he inhales so, so deep and says, “Fuck, baby… What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Nothin’...?” you trail off playfully, smiling into the pillow as you feel your toes curl. His voice is just so coarse; so fueled with passion. You’re dripping just because of the dazed tone alone.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, that’s what you’re doing,” he mumbles, kissing your bare shoulder blade as he tops you. “It’s driving me insane.”

Your eyelids flutter shut at the kisses he keeps peppering all over. “Is your sense of smell better than usual?”

“Yeah.” The tip of his nose presses against your spine, making you giggle when the ends of his hair brush your skin. “I can smell how turned on you are. All that dopamine, fuck… I’m so lucky.”

You chuckle now, “I’m surprised you even know what dopamine is.”

“Tsch. Full of fuckin’ surprises today, aren’t I?” He’s got a smile of his own gracing his features, all charm and pointy fangs. “You need foreplay? I’ve put on lube just now.”

“No,” you utter. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll still hurt… Even with the lube.” Another kiss to your shoulder, his hips are already meeting yours so that he can align himself with your dripping cunt despite the warning. He’s so impatient to get inside you, after all. “I’m, mm… I’m bigger than usual.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing.

But you’re already buzzing with anticipation; heart racing and fingers gripping the pillow as you feel his cockhead prod at your sopping hole. He’s leaking pre-cum, throbbing and pushing against you and spreading gooey lube everywhere. Waiting for you to say the magic words. “I-I can take it.” I think.

“Good enough for me.”

And it’s true: you can take it. Although just barely.

Every inch that he sinks into you now gives you a stretch that is almost unbearable to endure. His cock is big; fat – it makes you cry. Girthy and thick, you can feel the vein on its underside throbbing inside you as he keeps pushing, pushing, pushing. Slowly and cautiously, his ears are pressing flat against his head again and his tail goes limp from how hard he’s concentrating to make you comfortable and to not go fucking berserk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby,” he whines. Your pussy is literally drooling. Sucking him in, despite that he’s overtaking your capacity so very fast. “You feel s’good, baby. We-... We’ve still got a bit left but we’re almost there.”

Almost? It feels like he’s in your throat already. Like he’s fucking impaled you on his dick, you’re already salivating onto your pillow, with your eyes crossed and your brain numb. You’re breathing hard; panting underneath him. Sweat oozes out of every pore on your body from the effort you’re both putting into making this work. You’re still so small underneath him, so fragile that it makes him nervous. Doesn’t make him stop, of course, but the nerves are enough to make him chew on his lip.

“Goddammit,” you whisper, screwing your eyes shut. His size is gruelling – it’s literally rearranging your insides. “Y-You’re so big, Ki.”

“I’m sorry.” Genuine.

“Too big, baby.” Your breath jumps and stammers as he bottoms out and groans at the wet smack! The mewl you let out right after makes his ears twitch.

“Ah, I’m so sorry.”

He’s apologetic, sweetly kissing your shoulder and the side of your sweaty neck from how bad he feels for making you hurt. But he can still smell the absurd amounts of dopamine coursing your blood. Can smell the merest hints of oxytocin as well. You’re into this as much as he is.

Your bodies are pressing against one another to become one; your back is arching and his hips are dipping in just to be as close as is humanly possible. Limbs entwine, mouths open and close in needy gasps. Even your skin is tightening and hardening as he starts to throb inside your fucking womb.

“I took you in,” you mumble dazedly. “Took you in… All the way.”

“You’re such a good lil’ mate, baby,” he whispers in reply. “Gonna breed you so good as a reward, okay?”

You’re looking at each other the moment your head whips to the side. The eye contact is so intense that it makes your pussy clench around his goddamn monster cock. “Y-Yeah?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation; hissing through his teeth, making you glance at the sharp incisors. “Gonna give you so many pups... I can’t wait to hold ‘em. Our babies.”

His words warm your soul, not just your heart. You’re a hot mess; all sloppy from the drool and tears he’s making you spill, but it feels so good. Your boyfriend fills you up in a way nobody else ever could, because they’re just people and he’s a species of his own.

A species that stretches your velvet walls to make room for even more cock. That makes you spurt milky slick and gush all over that same dick as it starts to thrust in and out of your warmth, forcing you to moan out the sickest of profanities.

Fuck, you can feel every drag of his girth. Can feel him in your gut whenever he sinks back in, in, in.

Time turns non-existent as he screws you, and not once does he exit you completely. He’s relentless at staying inside you for eons at a time, yes, even when his pace picks up and turns so harsh that you feel like he’ll snap you into two. Even as you start to literally sob into the pillow, and he repeatedly keeps kissing your cervix with that fat cockhead of his in answer. Even when your moans turn into sounds only a fucked-out slut could produce.

He’s fucking you like an animal, even if it’s slow and passionate instead of violent and rough.

“Gonna–...” Your voice is so high-pitched that it makes his ears slant, “Soon, gonna cum real soon…!”

“Yeah, I can smell it,” he grunts, panting quick and hard. “You’re all oxytocin, baby. C’mon, gush.”

“Tryin’-!” Jaw slack, your mouth hangs open as he hits the sweetspot and makes you squeal mid-sentence instead.

“That’s it, pretty. Spill.” He just can’t stop, the way you clamp down on him is too good for words. “Fuck yourself on my dick, c’mon… Just. Like. That.”

You have no clue how he does it, but he somehow manages to make you cum twice in a row. Reaching one peak before heading right towards the other; everything feels so sensitive and tender, raw. You’re on the verge of fainting, or on the cusp of crying – you, yourself, don’t even know which one it is at this point.

And in the midst of all of that, his claws dig into your hips. His teeth find home in your neck and taste blood. Fangs dipped in crimson, he goes absolutely berserk as he brands you. His hand is covering the entire side of your face as he forces you to look at him. To really look at him.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice so deep that it turns you breathless. “All mine. No other man will ever be able to have you, d’you get that?”

You’re nodding fervently, looking like a doll; like a stupid fucking bimbo. “Y-Yeah, I-I got it.”

And he’s absolutely feral; possessive. All messy and wild, his dark hair is sticking to his forehead from all the sweat. He’s staring at you so deeply that your soul is branded with the same yellow as his eyes are before he slams his mouth against your own and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to do so again.

You can taste the iron on his tongue; cut your own on one of his fangs, and make him all the more hot and bothered as red spills all over his mouth cavity.

He’ll break you like this. The smell and taste of your blood are to blame, no wonder he didn’t say anything.

Your eyes are closed as you kiss, and so are his. You’re both attempting to focus better on the intensifying sensations whilst your tongues twirl around each other and the strings of saliva break and connect. Every time your lips brush, it sparks electricity in your core. He’s literally twitching inside you; all warm and big. And ready. So ready.

“You’re gonna take my knot and make me a daddy, right?” His whisper sends a chill through you as he grabs you and pulls you even closer. Your body is covered in markings of his teeth and claws; you’re going to ache all over in the morning. But it’s worth it when he licks the shell of your ear and hushes, “Gonna keep being a good lil’ mate for me, yeah?”

So this is how he gets when he wants to breed you for real. You can’t believe he’s had the self-control to pull out every single time you’ve had sex for nearly seven months, when he fucks like this. “Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “Go-Gonna be a good mate, Kiba…! Gonna take your knot.”

Shit, hearing his name during sex is his weak spot. It makes him want to fuck you into the goddamn mattress until there’s nothing left of you to fuck – as if he isn’t doing that already. “Say it again.”

“Gonna take your knot, Ki-... I-I promise!” You’re struggling to breathe properly, holy fuck. “Gonna be a good mate…!”

“Gotta turn you around… Lemme see ‘em heart eyes.” He’s so close. It needs to happen now; his dick is starting to throb and you need to settle into a position that’s more comfortable before it’s too late.

Still, you whine when he pulls out, and you swear that you can feel him getting stuck between your walls for just the briefest moment before that lewd, squelching noise of his dick parting with your pussy sounds out. And then he’s manhandling you into position again; forcing you into something more decent and vanilla with such ease that you’d think he’s mulled this scenario over in his head a million times before.

And then you’re sobbing his name out when he fills you back up in one ruthless swing again and coaxes the third orgasm out of you. As he just stretches you to the brink of pain again and makes you take it with clenched teeth and teary eyes.

“Fuck, fi-fill me up…! Fill me up, please, please, please…”

Your belly is bulging with his dick, and you’re all oxytocin – delicious, mouth-watering oxytocin – as you begin gushing; leaking warm juices of pleasure until your head is lolling back into the pillow and you’re nearly incoherent.

He’s licking the sweat from your neck, biting on your skin and kissing you sloppily as he just keeps rutting, fucking, screwing. Your pussy is sucking him in no matter how much he bullies it. It’s as if it can’t get enough of him and that big dick of his. Just keeps on demanding that wet, rough pat, pat, pat!

He can nearly feel its fucking heartbeat on his dick.

“Fu-Fuck, baby… God-fucking-damn.” Kiba is stuttering – fucking stuttering as your fingers find his ears and begin to stroke whilst tugging on his hair. As lightning surges through his veins and he sinks into place and just spills everything he’s got the moment you cry out his name. As he gets stuck inside you and the knot is forced into place.

The fucking knot. He can feel you clenching around it; walls fluttering like the goddamn butterflies in his stomach as he paints them white with his warm seed. It’s better than anything he’s imagined. He’s fucked you so many times before, but taking you while he’s in this form is not just a delight, but a dream come true. He’s the luckiest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Utterly blessed.

Not even a droplet of cum is leaking out of you; you’re fused together that tightly.

It takes you both long moments to compose yourselves. You spend the passing minutes just bathing in the sticky afterglow and listening to each other’s hearts. You’ve never felt closer to each other. As if your very souls have mended and become one, the feeling is inexplicable.

“Oh, my,” you mumble through shallow breaths at some point, scrubbing both hands over your face. You’re simply exhausted, he’s hit you like a tidal wave. Has taken away the ground beneath your feet, leading you to a higher place. You just can’t seem to bring yourself back, no matter how hard you try. Especially because he’s still inside you. And because of the fact that he’s going to stay like that for a long while. “That was–... A lot.”

“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His ear flutters the moment your sharp exhale brushes it when you chuckle. “Fuck, I’m sorry; I was so rough… I tried not to be, but some part of me just–...” He pauses, looking up at you underneath thick lashes. “I’m sorry, baby, okay? I’ll answer any questions you have now, since we, well… Have the time, hah.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do that in the morning when I can think straight again.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how tender and protective he is over you already. Nearly purring above you whilst drinking up your approval and inhaling your scent, he reminds you more of a kitty than a wolf. “I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Is all of this,” you gesture all over him, “the reason why you like doggy so much?”

The stare he gives you in answer is so deadpan that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Whaaat?” Caressing his face, you squish both of his cheeks until his lips purse. “What’re you so grumpy for, huh? T’was just a question…”

He’s fighting back a smile of his own as he says, “I wanna break up.”

“Hah!” You snort, the sound derisive. “Turning me into a single mother already?”

A beat of silence passes between you again as he presses his chin to your chest.

“I really hope it’ll stick.” The competitive glint that appears in his eyes when he looks up at you just screams Kiba now. “I wanna give you a mini-me first try.”

“Oh?” You smile, all naughty-like whilst wiggling your brows. “Whatever happened to the kid inheriting my half of the gene pool as well?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, he can have my good looks and your bad taste in music,” he mumbles, chuckling. “And if it’s a girl, she can be a badass like me, and have your shitty cooking skills.”

“Idiot, shitty cooking skills aren’t even hereditary! And it’s not like you’re Gordon Ramsay, or anything…” You’re laughing now, flicking his ear as punishment. “If we weren’t stuck together, I would have beaten your ass by now.”

“You can try it in about,” he says, checking the alarm clock on your nightstand, “an hour, or so. And just so you know, I’ll fold you. Pregnant or not.”

“Yeah?” The smirk that ghosts over your lips is so pretty that it makes his heart jump. “You gonna bite me all over again?”

“You bet.” He’s kissing you right on the mouth as he whispers, “But only ‘cause I love you so much.”

“You know… It’s a good thing you’re a furry and not something nasty, like a zombie or someth– Ouch!” You flinch when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as punishment, “Okay, okay; I’m sorry for calling you a furry! I won’t do it anymore, promise!”

Kiba is all eye rolls and exasperated sighs at your endless jabs.

“Call me that shit again, and I’ll bite your nose off.”

#kiba #kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba x you #kiba x y/n #kiba smut #naruto smut #kinktober

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mangoisms · 11 months

Text

i don’t want you to the bone (i just need to lay down with soft skin close)

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: The school year starts and with it, autumn days and sick kids. You’re fine but Tim keeps getting sick for a reason you can’t figure out. A fourth and final time reveals that reason — that is, his apparent lack of spleen.

━ word count: 3.1k

━ contains: established relationship, domestic fluff, sickfic, comfort no hurt

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i’ll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required; all you need to know is reader is a teacher’s aide for sixth graders! title is also from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well (and find my end notes ^_^)

New school years are always a little nerve-wracking.

New faces, new personalities, new parents.

But each time you do it, the easier it gets.

A routine forms quickly and you fall into it like it’s nothing.

For the first part of it, August and September, you and Ms. C are getting adjusted to the new batch of kids. Seeing which ones are struggling and accommodating them accordingly. Autumn sets in. Mornings are colder, days are shorter, leaves start to brown. Then the sick days start rolling in.

The common cold and flu take out a couple kids at a time every couple weeks. But your immune system is nothing to scoff at, not after working at Gotham Elementary in Burnley with the third graders. Middle schoolers are better on that front but there is still some room to improve.

Last year, you took a hit, a small cold taking you out for a couple days. This year, your second here at Gotham Pointe, you’re perfectly fine.

You are still wary, though, too aware of your clothes and what you might carry back home. As a general rule, you don’t like sitting on the couch or the bed in your work clothes just because it feels a little gross but it is particularly exacerbated by your career choice.

And your boyfriend is an additional factor.

Not for anything particular, just that you want to be mindful for Tim. Especially since he spends ninety percent of his time at your place.

You see him as soon as you step through the door and you often linger, sharing a kiss, taking a while to talk about your respective days and discuss dinner. Only after you go and take a shower.

Sometimes, he takes you out for your lunch break, too. And of course you’re in your work clothes and can’t change or shower and you admittedly forget and let him get close.

You simply did not think you would ever need to get extreme about it.

This, you would reflect after everything, is wrong.

The first time, a couple weeks into the school year, it’s a cold.

You both surmise he got it somewhere outside. Gotham isn’t exactly the pinnacle of cleanliness, so it’s hardly a great mystery to ponder. You mostly focus your energy on getting him better.

Then it happens again in September. The flu this time. It prompts you two to go out and get your flu shots — after he gets better, anyway.

You think you’re in the clear after that.

But then it happens again in October. Another cold. Less severe. Or so he insists.

And then again in November.

And you start to worry.

“Why do you keep getting sick?”

A weak cough, then a sniffle. “Just want an excuse for you to take care of me.”

You shake your head, seating yourself on the edge of the bed, pressing the back of your hand to Tim’s flushed face. His fever still rages on, skin hot to the touch.

Despite that, he finds it within himself to be cheeky.

From the bed, dark hair mused from the pillow, a little sweaty from the fever, cheeks flushed, nose stuffy and eyes bleary, Tim gives you a dopey smile, one you can’t resist returning.

“I’ll take care of you anytime you want, handsome,” you laugh, running your fingers through his hair, not minding the dampness of it. “But this is the fourth time… What’s going on?”

“It’s fall,” he says. “People always get sick in the fall.”

“Not four separate times.”

“I’m just special like that.”

“All the jokes even with a fever of a hundred and one, hm?”

“Just for you, gorgeous.”

“Alright, cornball,” you chuckle, grabbing the CVS bag with the medicine you picked up on your way home. “I called Alfred on my way back. Just wanted to get his soup recipe but he insisted on coming down with a batch for you. He’ll be here in a little while.”

Tim hums an affirmative, sitting up with a small groan as you pour out a dose of medicine and hand it to him. He gets a comical look of disgust as it goes down, nose wrinkling.

You smile, taking the little cup and handing him a glass of water, which he quickly drains.

“I’ll go ahead and take a shower,” you say, picking up the bag and the medicine. “You need anything?”

“I’m good,” he says, dropping back onto the pillows and yawning.

“Alright.” You lean over to kiss his head, ignoring his groan of protest.

“Gonna get you sick —”

“You didn’t the last two times, so I don’t think you will this time,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I seem to be the strongest immunity-wise. Which is odd since you grew up here and should be more prepared for it…”

“Well, you know,” he mumbles, noncommittal as he burrows under the sheets and closes his eyes for what you imagine is his hundredth cat nap of the day.

You don’t really know and you’re still… worried about this, so you just squeeze his shoulder and rise from the bed.

Every time you bring up going to the doctor, he shoots down the idea. Even when you point out you don’t need to go to the ER and you can just go and see Dr. Thompkins. But that makes him refuse even more. Says it’s just a cold or the flu and not an issue. But this is the fourth time. You’re rapidly approaching your threshold for concern.

Maybe you can bring it up again today.

You ponder ways to approach the conversation while in the shower. It’s not that he’ll fight you about it and you need to plan for that. It’s just you want to be prepared. Think it through. If anyone will appreciate having a plan of action, it’s definitely Tim.

You have something of an idea when you step out of the bathroom. But you find the bedroom empty and voices coming from the living room.

You quickly recognize Alfred’s posh accent and Tim’s soft tenor, thick from his stuffy nose.

You don’t intend to eavesdrop. But it happens anyway.

“… much too often,” Alfred is saying.

“I know,” Tim responds, sighing.

“Are the antibiotics not working?”

You frown. Antibiotics? What antibiotics?

“They do their job when I need them, it’s just that it’s been viruses, not bacteria.”

“I see. And this increase in viruses is because…?”

Silence.

You remain rooted in place near your bedroom door, the wood thin, conversation easy to hear, even with the fan whirring in your bathroom.

“It’s her,” Tim eventually sighs. “From the school. But she tries, Alf —”

“I understand,” he says gently, placating. “I am not placing blame on the young miss. But does she know?”

An even longer silence.

Your heart pounds fast in your chest and you feel dizzy and off-kilter all of a sudden. Do you know what? What are they talking about? What are you doing? You’re the reason he’s getting sick? That… makes sense, it does, but… why is he so susceptible to it?

You’re not blaming him. Of course not. But it’s just — it’s weird, right? And Alfred is talking about antibiotics that Tim has to take? As far as you know, he doesn’t take any medication. Tylenol sometimes. Daily multivitamins that you often have to remind him to take because he forgets. But that’s not medication.

“No,” Tim finally says. “She doesn’t. I haven’t told her. I just don’t want her to feel bad. Because she will. I should’ve said something sooner about it and we could’ve worked something out but I didn’t and now we’re here.”

“Master Tim…”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

You’ve heard enough. You’ve done enough. Dammit. You’re going to have to tell him about this. It was wrong to listen behind his back. Even if you want to know what it is he’s hiding, mostly, you just feel guilty. You seem to be the common denominator here and it’s not a good thing.

You try so hard to respect his boundaries. Because there are things he does not want to talk about. Does not like to talk about. But you don’t like the thought of him not saying something to you because he doesn’t want to make you feel bad. You understand the intention! But you also don’t want him to feel scared to tell you stuff. Even if they hurt your feelings.

No doubt because of his love for you and you get it. But still.

You grab your dirty clothes and step back into the bathroom, then shut off the fan. Should announce your presence to them as you putter around the bedroom, tossing your clothes into the laundry and sliding your feet into your slippers.

You emerge a minute later, Tim sitting on the couch, bowl of chicken soup in his lap, Alfred perched near him, the TV on the evening news.

None of them give any indication of their prior conversation and neither do you, greeting Alfred as you usually do, serving yourself some soup, too, at his insistence. He sticks around for a little bit then bids goodbye, making you promise to give him updates and that if need be, I am perfectly willing to team up with you to get Master Tim to see Dr. Thompkins.

After, Tim takes a shower while you get your dishes washed up and everything else locked up for the night. Checking on the boys, checking the locks on your windows and doors, then the super expensive security system you had covertly installed by Tim that your landlord would probably kick up a fuss about if he knew. But needs must.

You pop into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, getting ready for bed, thinking about how to approach this.

Seems simple, in the end. Just say it.

It’s nothing, right? Easy-peasy.

But your nerves betray you. And he notices.

“You feeling okay?” he asks, sliding in next to you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. For you, of course. Always for you.

You sag into the pillows, sighing. “Tim… I, uh, heard your conversation with Alfred. I didn’t mean to! But I know that doesn’t mean much since it still happened… I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he says, sitting up against the headboard like you. The look on his face is hard to read.

You wince. “I’m sorry again. And this will be the last I talk about it if you want but I just need you to know… you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing, you know? But you can tell me anything. No matter what.”

A small shake of the head. “I know. I just — well, you know. I didn’t want you to feel bad. I should’ve said something first about it.”

“About what?”

He sits up, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You watch him carefully.

It’s a familiar sight. The scars that litter his body. Amassed since he was fourteen-years-old.

Fourteen.

Just a kid.

You were doing jack shit at fourteen. As fourteen-year-olds should be allowed to do.

And you know the story, you know how Tim got involved with it but… sometimes on bad nights when he wakes up from a nightmare and can’t go back to sleep, either huddled in your arms for comfort or turned away from you, curled in on himself for subconscious protection, on the days where the injuries sustained bother him, body aching and in pain, stress pulling him apart at the seams, or the nights he gets called out and sometimes comes back in pieces for you to put him back together… you really, really loathe Bruce.

Maybe his initial introduction couldn’t be helped. Batman needed a Robin. That’s what he said. But everything else after that… how Bruce treated him sometimes, how Bruce treats all of them.

It pisses you off.

But you can’t do anything about that. You can’t change it. All you can do is be here. Go at his pace.

You’ve seen his scars. You’ve made sure not to make him uncomfortable. Tim is beautiful to you, a Michaelangelo painting come to life, the kind of beauty that haunts you, but those scars have harrowing stories attached to them and you understand that anyone might be uncomfortable with it.

You told him that. And that helped. And by now, you are intimately familiar with them. You don’t know all the stories. He doesn’t want to scare you. Like you could ever be scared by him. But nonetheless. You’ve seen them. Run your fingers over them, pressed kisses to them. Wondering about the pain he suffered. Still suffers. Wishing you could take it all away.

“I was seventeen,” he tells you, once his shirt is off, revealing pale skin, toned muscle, and so many scars. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, bullet grazes. You shift, knee pressed to his, your eyes on his face.

“Stabbed in my spleen,” he goes on, taking your hand and pressing it to the horizontal scar on his belly. Your thumb brushes the silvery, textured skin, heart clenching at the thought. “They had to take it out.”

“Your… spleen?”

You scramble to grasp your scant biology knowledge. You were required to take science labs when you were in college but you went for astronomy instead of biology or anatomy. Before that, your only experience with biology is your class from freshman year. A very long time ago.

So, you come up with nothing for what a spleen does. But you can infer. You just need him to confirm it. One look between you and he nods, sighing.

“It’s not very well-known,” he says, glancing down at your hand, fingers stroking the scar, his own wrapped loosely around your wrist. “But the spleen has a small part in fighting pathogens. More specifically bacterial infections. I’m —” his lips purse, displeased with what he is about to say “— particularly susceptible to those kind. And I’m supposed to take antibiotics at the first sign of some kind of infection. But the spleen is also for pathogens — viruses — in general and well, antibiotics don’t work on those.”

“You’re immunocompromised.”

He winces. “That’s… a very strong word.”

“But not untrue, Timmy.”

“No,” he mutters. “No, I guess not.”

You quickly understand your place in this. Even if you shower, you two still talk, still kiss, still linger before then. Then for those lunches…

“I’m sorry,” you sigh.

“No,” he groans, leaning forward to scoop you into your arms. He’s still hot to the touch, still feverish, but you don’t care, arms circling him as he buries his face in your neck.

“No?”

“No,” he grumbles. “I should’ve told you from the get-go. I just… honestly, honey, I forgot. And by the time I realized we might need to accommodate when you come home…”

“You didn’t want to make me feel bad.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You run your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his. The scent of his shampoo, eucalyptus, is fragrant and pleasant to your senses. “Don’t be. I know why you did it. Let’s just accommodate better from now on, okay?”

You feel him nod.

“You don’t need to go to the doctors, then?”

“Probably do,” he sighs. “I’ll call Leslie tomorrow. See if she or Jean-Paul have an open slot.”

That relieves some of your concern. You press a kiss to his hair. “Good. You worried me.”

“I know.”

No use in apologizing. He’ll always worry you. He might have stepped down from Red Robin but he still gets called away. For a Titans mission, for a favor to Conner or Cassie or Bart, then of course, for the way Bruce is perfectly able to guilt him into joining them for patrol.

“No detours when I get home,” you say next. “Try not to touch anything. Keep my jacket separate from yours. Dirty clothes, too. And lunch…”

“I still want to take you out for lunch,” he says a tad petulantly into the skin of your neck. “I’ll just… I don’t know. Take some of that Emergen-C stuff. Bulk up my immune system. We don’t have to do anything extreme.”

Which is an amusing statement, coming from him of all people.

But you get it. It pleases you, to know he still wants you very much. Your time. Your company. And that these indulgences are entirely feasible with your relationship. That he is willing to cut corners for it. But you’ll have to put your foot down on some of it. Just to make sure you don’t get him sick.

For now…

You kiss his head. “I love you, you know that?”

He kisses your neck, arms tightening around your waist. “I love you.”

You squeeze him. He sighs, sounding particularly put-out about something.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you,” he mutters.

“We’re on break next week. Kiss me.”

Probably not your best decision. But also not your fault that your boyfriend is very pretty and also a great kisser and also that you think you’d kiss him forever if you could. You’re like kiss deprived by this point, since he started feeling bad yesterday and developed a fever last night. Hopefully that breaks tonight.

“I can get you sick.”

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed. And also you know I didn’t actually catch anything —”

“You and your immune system of steel,” he complains.

“Bet Conner’s jealous. Also, why the complaint? Do you want me to get sick, is that it —”

“Just bringing it up very frequently, while I can do nothing but suffer.”

“Oh, you’re suffering, are you? Suffering with a butler to make you dinner, with my excellent bedside manner and pretty face —”

He laughs, finally pulling his face from your neck, eyes crinkled. The smile that curls your lips is nothing less than lovesick but you don’t care. You cup his hot face in your hands, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin under his eye, feeling the way his cheeks curl with his smile.

“I’m bringing my continued immunity up to make a point, Timothy.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” he asks, teasingly latching on your last name like you’re at school.

You turn your head, starting to pull away. “Well, if you don’t want to kiss me —”

He groans. “Okay, fine. But if you get sick —”

“You’ll take care of me just like I took care of you,” you finish, smiling. “You love me too much to abandon me like that.”

A smile. “Yeah. Yeah, guess I do.”

You share a kiss to seal the deal.

(And yes, a week later, you do get sick.

And yes, he does take care of you.)

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #red robin imagine

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