#I know you’re a brooding man but you are going to tell her she’s good as she is and you just enjoy her company

[kicktwine]

my beautiful niece who looks like strelitzia. my wonderful niece who doesn’t need to try so hard to be useful you are so good all by yourself wonderful niece he just likes having you here small girl. small good girl

#the amount of times I have pet Ryne #also by the way forget what I said about minfillia. She doesn’t need to have a job or anything she can just be a nice girl 👍 #I forgive her. she can do whatever she wants. arr kipper was a different person #shadowbringers spoilers #play game #I’m still gonna rag on thancred until he comes a bit clearer with her #I know you’re a brooding man but you are going to tell her she’s good as she is and you just enjoy her company #you will be emotionally open thancred #Ch’ari was giving him the side eye for DAYS

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #medieval au #konig x reader #könig fanfiction #cheesy romance warning

[writingsbychlo]

KNOW YOU LIKE I DO | tom riddle

summary; love letters are tom's way of communicating. unfortunately, he's not as good with his actions.

word count; 7036

notes; another one that I said was gonna be short and it wasn’t. I think I’m physically incapable of writing short fics, actually.

Dear Tom,

Tommy. 

My Tom. 

Do you still have that first letter I wrote to you, back in summer? No, I suppose you don’t, that’s not very like you. 

I’m drunk. Just a little bit (a lot), and I can’t take it anymore. Mattheo told me to tell you how I feel, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. He’s asleep on my bed right now, drooling into my favourite pillow waiting for me to write this. 

So here it is. 

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m in love. And it’s all your fault.

Staring across the crowded room, your eyes fixed back onto that of Tom Riddle. It wasn’t hard to spot him, not as he was the only man who came to a Christmas party dressed in all black and sat alone, brooding. His lips were pressed into a line, the lights bouncing off of those shiny curls, green and red splashed across his pale skin as he sipped at his drink, listening to the conversation Draco and Blaise were having, but never participating. 

Your heart lurched a little in your chest, just the mere sight of him had a thousand different feelings rearing their heads, and you sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, your attention was redirected to the drinks table, pouring yourself an extra strong helping of Giggle Gin and topping it off. The urge to look back over was strong, and you steadfastly ignored it, suppressing the urge and instead, turning your back to his direction, walking towards the group of girls giggling in the opposite corner. 

Taking your seat back in the comfy corner of the sofa, Pansy offered you a smile, her arm looped over Luna’s shoulders as the blonde cuddled into her side. Astoria was currently recounting the intimate details of her latest night with Draco, and you hid a smile in your cup as you tuned back into the conversation. 

You lost the battle with your will, however, gaze moving directly back across the room to Tom. He had a slight smirk on his face now as he watched Draco speak, and you did not doubt that he was receiving a tale of the exact same encounter Astoria was currently telling, only from a different point of view. 

Blonde cut across your vision, the perfect smile of Daphne blocking your view as she sat in front of you, severing any sights of Tom you might have had. “You know,” She started, grinning as she took a sip of your drink cheekily, before handing it back. “If you stare at him any harder, you’re gonna’ drill holes in the side of his head.”

You could only scoff, but no argument formed. Lately, all you’d been able to do was stare longingly at him across any room. You weren’t subtle, and you’d never been much good at hiding your feelings. Which seemed fitting, since you’d fallen for someone who was like a blank slate, permanently. 

Tom Riddle was a harder book to read than a tablet written in a never-before-discovered language. 

“He looks so… miserable, Daph.”

She glances over her shoulder at him, snorting a laugh, and turning her attention back to you. “Because Tom Riddle doesn’t go to parties, and he’s probably counting the minutes until he can leave.” She smirked a little, shuffling closer, perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned in, “At least, he didn’t go to parties. Until you, that is.”

Your cheeks flushed, a subtle hint at the running joke your friendship group had taken on. They’d all become convinced that Tom attended parties for you, ever since he’d been a willing guest for the first time at Draco’s end-of-summer bonfire bash, and spent the majority of the night talking with you. They refused to let it go. 

“You should go over there and cheer him up. I bet he’d be smiling in no time if you gave him a little attention.”

That was exactly the problem. You’d been giving him a little too much attention, and now, everyone was painfully aware of your feelings for him. Except for him, maybe. Either that, or he was just very good at pretending he didn’t notice, in a chance to let you down gently. You didn’t know which option was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daph.”

“No, you don’t be ridiculous! You and him are… something else.” She took your free hand in hers, squeezing tightly. All amusement melted from her face, and she gave you a serious look. The expression she wore when advising her sister on Draco, or comforting Pansy after a panic attack. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened over the summer, or are you just going to keep acting like it wasn’t some cataclysmic shift?”

“So dramatic.” You hummed to your roommate.

“Still pretending, I see.” She teases lightly, but her brows are still furrowed. She waited a few more seconds, to see if you’ll crack. All you do is hold her steady gaze, and take a sip of your drink. With a sigh, she released your hand, and leans back in her chair. “Well, whatever. We can all see it, see how you two pine for one another, and how perfect you’d be together. Just go and talk to him! He’s probably sat over there waiting for you anyway. He had that exact same kicked-puppy expression on at the summer party, until you walked in.”

“He did not…” You murmur, the very thought making you blush. 

“I think that’s the first time I ever saw Tom Riddle smile. A real smile, not the smile he gets when threatening someone, or when Mattheo falls over. A good smile.” 

“Now you’re just making him out like some kind of sulky villain.” You retort, and she only raises a brow at you.

“Here, take him this box, and go talk to him. The poor boy looks lost over there without you.” Reaching under her chair, Daphne produces a familiar box, wrapped neatly in black paper with dark green ribbon, and your jaw drops. 

“Daphne!—” Reaching out to snatch it from her, your brows furrow. “Did you go through my things?”

“I didn’t exactly go through your things,” She grins, watching you turn over the label with his name written on neatly. “I just watched you hide it under your bed and got curious… it smells good. Is it cookies? Can I have one?”

When she reaches for the box, you slap the back of her hand, and she sticks her tongue out at you in return. “No! You cannot, you little snoop!”

“Fine! If you won’t let me have a cookie, then you have to go over there. You either give me a cookie, or you give me the satisfaction of seeing you and him smile.” Her arms crossed, her tone annoyed but her words caring, and love shone in her gaze as she stared at you. “Go on. Go over to him. Please.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t already want to, and with her encouragement, you were a weak woman to say no. Downing the rest of your drink for a little liquid courage, you hop to your feet, present clutched in your hands.

Weaving through the room, the bass notes of Mattheo’s custom-made playlist pumped through the room from the speakers, a playlist you might have slightly altered a few days ago to add a couple of songs, just to mix up his usual tastes. Your stomach was twisting nervously, but the alcohol in your veins made for a pleasant buzz as the distance between you both closed. 

After almost taking a ping-pong ball to the eye, courtesy of Theo on the beer-pong table, you cleared the games and settled into the pleasant atmosphere surrounding where the boys had set themselves up for the evening by the fire. When you approached, Tom looked up, frown melting away as the crease between his brows disappeared, and he sat up a little straighter as you approached. 

“Hi, doll,” He murmured, shifting his arm from the armrest of the chair, so that you could take a seat on it instead. That same arm soon wrapped around your waist, his head falling to rest on your shoulder, and your heart skipped a beat within your chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Over there, with Daph and the girls.” You whisper in reply, balancing the box on your thighs, and pointing through the crowds to the barely visible patch of chairs and sofas you’d all been occupying. He only hummed, squeezing you a little closer. 

“Stay here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Your voice hardly worked as you spoke, emotions clogging up, and you reached for the gift in your lap. “I have this for you, anyway. I made you those cookies you like so much.”

“You did?” His head lifted, and one of those pretty smiles that made your heart stop clean in your chest was adorning his lips. “The ones with the orange peel and the dark chocolate?”

“Those very ones.” You handed it to him, and he tugged at the ribbon covering the box, fingers flipping under the seals of the paper until it fell openly neatly. Flicking open the catch on the cardboard box, the smell of freshly baked treats filled the air, and he made a rumbling noise of happiness as he plucked on up, and took a bite. As you laughed at him, he took another, pushing it between your lips with a smirk while he chewed. 

He resealed the box, savouring them, as he did all things, and putting them on the table in front of himself. You held the cookie now, eating it slowly, as Draco and Blaise finally seemed to become aware of your presence. 

“I have a question.” Draco started, and your gaze moved to him, brow raising as you took the final bite. “Is Astoria over there talking about me?”

The blond smirked, and you twisted, lifting your legs to sit over Tom, ankles crossing on the opposite arm. “No, no. She’s been recounting a scene from a book.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You know, the fun books. It was really, really hot.” You teased, fanning yourself, and Tom chuckled, reaching over you for his drink, and taking a sip. Instead of putting it back down, he rested the cool glass on your thigh, his free hand coming to sit on your calf, rubbing lightly as you shivered at the touch. “Why? You think you’re better than a good spicy romance?”

“I know I am!” Draco huffed, and Blaise rolled his eyes, watching you wind his best friend up with barely a few words at all. “What book is this?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…”

“I do want to know! Tell me!” His cheeks were turning pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. In the spirit of Christmas, you took pity on him, rolling your eyes. 

“I think it was called… Astoria’s Diary.” 

It took a few seconds for it to register in Draco’s mind, and the furious pink turned to an embarrassed red, and he shook his head, eyes narrowed at you. “I despise you.”

“You love me.” You fired back, and he scoffed, but the edges of his lips pulled at a smile, and he looked away to cover it. Settling back a little more, you leaned into the cushion, feeling Tom roll his head across the cushion to lean in your direction. 

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.” He says, voice low for only you to hear, and your head twists towards him You were close, close enough to pick out the different coloured flecks of colour in his eyes as he looked at you, and the hardly visible steaks of lighter brown that trailed naturally through his dark curls.

“Well, I’ve had detention all week, thanks to a certain someone.” You poked his chest, and he only smirked a little bit, shuffling his head a fraction closer. 

“I needed you, what can I say?”

“You needed someone to keep a lookout while you snuck into the restricted section again. Why did it have to be me?” You scoffed, working to keep the smile on your face as the answer to your own question flickered through your mind. He chose you because he knew you’d drop everything and come, the voice taunted; you buried it under the song playing and the laughter in the room so you didn’t have to think about it...

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun when we ran.” He chuckled, hand sliding up your leg again, fingers lacing with your own. The same way they had when you’d been caught, and he’d grabbed your hand, the two of you ducking and weaving between stacks, fleeing through the corridors. Laughing and out of breath, he’d clutched your hand, thumb rubbing over your knuckles just like he was doing now, staring at you with those pretty eyes.

You hadn't been caught, but you had gotten detention for skipping class to go with him, and so you’d spent all five nights of your final week in detention, writing lines. You lifted your free hand, sighing with a nod, and running it through his curls. His eyes fluttered, head tipping back to follow your hand, and a content smile took over his lips. 

You loved to see him like this, to see him so carefree and happy, to see him relax at just your touch. You’d never seen him like this before. The thought that only you could do it to him sent a thrill down your spine, made your thoughts feel hazy and slow, like treacle in your mind, and your nerves tingled. So, why had he never made a move to make it anything more? You’d given him a dozen chances, a dozen more opportunities…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this holiday.” He broke your train of thought, eyes opening again to peer up at you, and his lips became a frown as he thought about it. “My father is going to pile on the pressure not that I’m in my graduating year. I can already feel the headache forming right between my eyes.”

“Oh..” You coo, hand slipping down from his hair to rub your thumb over his forehead, the space you know him to get stress headaches the worst, when he works too hard or gets wound up. He just chuckled, eyes sliding shut once again. 

The song changed, and his body tensed underneath you for just a second, before his eyes snapped open, gaze locked on you. “This is my favourite song.”

“Is it?” You mumble, finger still tracing lightly over his skin, and he nods.

“I didn’t think Mattheo put it on the playlist. I asked him, and he very emphatically said no.” 

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Your shrug doesn’t convince him, not as you both hear Mattheo question the song with a stream of curses somewhere in the distance. His lips twitched at the edges, a small smile, but he said nothing else. Instead, he leaned in, your arm going around his shoulders, rubbing softly as his head nestled onto your shoulder, a sigh on his lips. 

It was perfect, just like this. If he could just open his eyes and see, he’d know how wonderful it could be. Nobody knew him like you did, he’d made sure to keep his secrets locked up tight. But over the months of exchanging letters, and candle-lit nights in the library, he’d bore so much of his soul to you. 

Deep, wounded parts, that you’d tried to put back together. 

Soft, tender parts that he protected so valiantly, but trusted you with. 

Sweet, loving parts, that never saw the light of day, unless you were together.

It was impossible, surely, that he didn’t know. He might keep his feelings locked up tight, but you didn’t hide yours very well at all. As you sat here now, fingers weaving through his hair, lips tracing his temple as you whispered nonsense to him about your day, his head on your shoulder, that he didn’t know. Even a man like Tom Riddle couldn't miss it, right?

You just wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t feel the same. 

With a heart-aching sigh, you ran your fingers through his curls one more time. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your night. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your Christmas. You would not be one of those girls who gave in to their feelings, and crumbled at the feet of a man who didn’t return her affections. 

Sitting up some more, he grumbled at the disruption, blinking his eyes back open as he lifted his head again. “I’m… I’m going to go dance, and play some games, okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled, patting your thigh and lifting his drink away. “Have fun. I’ll probably leave soon. If I don’t see you again, just know I’ll be thinking of you over these holidays. We’ll write again.”

His words send a rush of heat to your cheeks, a tumble of nerves through your stomach, and you could only nod. One more chance, one more chance to make a move…

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. A kiss that was purposefully close to the edge of his mouth, a kiss that purposefully lingered just a second too long as you pulled away slowly, giving him a chance to turn his head, to close the gap, to kiss you—

But he didn’t, he only smiled. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

So, you stand. You brush it off. You brush off the moment, and the feelings, and all the disappointment and heartbreak that came with it. 

But I can’t do it anymore. 

We’ve been housemates for seven years, we’ve been friends for half of those, and I’ve been in love with you for months. 

But you don’t love me. Mattheo says you do, says you’re just stupid when it comes to feelings. But, even you couldn't miss how I feel about you.

So, I’m letting you go. 

New Year, New Me, New Heart.

“No, your dorm is that way.” You giggle, Mattheo’s arm over your shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the boy’s dorms and pointing. “My dorm is this way!”

“No, you’re wrong!” He mutters, shaking his head dramatically. “Boys to the left,” He says, pointing right, “Girls to the right, because girls are always right!”

“Well, I won’t argue with you there.” You grin, spinning him around. “Wait, now I’m confused. Who’s dorm were we going to again?”

A few too many shots, a few more drinks than your limit at the beer-pong table, and as the last of the party was dying down, you and Mattheo were attempting to stumble back to your dorms. “Theo’s.”

“Right. But why are we going to Theo’s dorm?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Mattheo said. “And also, his bed is next to mine.” Another fit of laughter, drunken giggles melting away, and the two of you collapsed down against the wall, heads tipped back to the stone as amusement took over. When you finally caught your breaths once again, he was smiling, eyes sparkling in that unique Matty-way. Kicking his legs out before himself, he sighed. “Maybe I will just sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?” He pouted, and you searched through your foggy mind for a reason. 

“Because you have to sleep in a bed.” Is what you settled on, shrugging your shoulders, even if you were getting a little bit too comfy against the stone too. 

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He wiggled his brows, smirking, before burping, and you giggled again. 

“No, you may not.”

“Why?” He whined, kicking one leg like a toddler in a tantrum. “You have fluffy pillows.”

“And you have sheets that haven’t been washed in months.” Your nose screwed up, and he let out a dramatic, wounded sound, like a soldier who had just been shot in a war movie. 

“That was cold.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Not as cold as the frozen Earth Tom would bury my wee little body in if I spent the night at your dorm.”

You didn’t respond, the mention of his name was like a bucket of ice over your head. Not exactly sobering, but shocking. 

“I’m saying he would murder me.”

“Yes, I understood.”

“You didn’t laugh.” He pouted, and you chuckled for his benefit. “No, it’s not real. Now I feel like I begged for it.”

“You did.”

“You suck.”

“You swallow.” You sighed, and he groaned once again, another argument lost. His head rolled to your shoulder, his body slumping into relaxation. 

“So… what is the deal with you and my brother?” His lips twisted as he thought about it, but he looked up at you curiously, frown only deepening at the sad look on your face. 

“There is no deal.” You shrug, “He doesn’t want me like that. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” He snorts, “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“I’m serious, Matty. I’ve given him a hundred chances. He could’ve made a move anytime. I haven’t exactly kept my feelings to myself, all you fools can see my heart dripping and bleeding on my sleeve. He knows, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Your lungs burned for air at the end of your speech, and you took a deep breath, staring ahead at the chipping bricks in an attempt to avoid tears. “Why doesn’t he want me, Matty?”

“He does,” Mattheo mumbled, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “He’s just a fucking moron. But, he’s also scared. You know, you’re pretty much all he talks about? And, I never saw him smile so much as he did during the summer, when he’d receive your letters. He’d get all anxious and fidgety every day, waiting for the mail owl to arrive. He’s never going to make the first move. He’d rather suffer for all his life but have you like this, than risk losing you entirely.”

The words felt like a warming blanket and an ice-cold lake. Comforting and terrifying, sweet and burning, all at the same time. 

Mattheo huffed a laugh, “Maybe you should write him a love letter.”

“Maybe I should…” You whisper, drunken thoughts taking over, and his head snapped up. 

“I was joking.”

“I’m not. That’s a good idea. I should write him a letter, and tell him that I’m moving on.” You brushed your legs off as you stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, determined.

“Okay, that’s not what a love letter is. That’s so far from what I said—”

“Let’s go!” You grabbed his wrist, tugging him along behind you as you made your way through the halls. 

“Now? Why are we doing it now? We should be sleeping now!” His protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along. Throwing open the door to your room, Daphne was already asleep, still in her party dress, face down on her pillow, out cold from the night’s festivities and snoring.

Mattheo collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a fluffy cushion to his chest as he curled into a ball. 

“I’ll just wait here, then.” He yawned through his words, but you were too busy to care, scrambling for a pot of ink and some new parchment. Taking a seat at your desk, you stared at the paper, quill hovering, ready to write.

So, I will spend the end of this year away from you. You say we’ll write, but I don’t want to. 

Only write to me, Tom, if you feel the same.  If not, don’t. Let me heal, and when we come back in the New Year, I promise, nothing will change except for my heart. 

We will still be friends, best friends, and we’ll never talk about it again.

I will wait for you.

Finishing the letter, you sighed at it, the ink drying and immortalising your words onto the page. Sitting before you was the sum total of what sat in your heart, and your mind. Laid out and ready to go, your hands trembled a little as you read it over, and over, to be sure. 

But you had to do this, you had to give this letter to him, to alleviate the strain on your heart, to finally have some closure. Whether he felt the same or not, you’d have relief. Folding it carefully, you searched a strip of wax seal lighting the end and waiting for it to get hot, drips of Slytherin green filling into a pool that overlapped the edge of your paper. When there was enough, you stamped it carefully, sealing it shut as the wax cooled. 

Taking a look behind you, you caught sight of a sleeping Mattheo, his jaw hanging open, drooling onto your favourite throw pillow, half tucked under your blankets from where he’s only bothered to cover his legs. Peeling away the wax seal, you walked over to him, shaking his shoulder, until he awoke with a huff and a groan, whining as he sat up. 

“I was dreaming.”

“I wrote the letter.” You show him the proof, and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, glancing from it, to you, and back. “You have to give it to him.”

“Now?”

“No! Not now. Tomorrow. After we get off the train.” He blinked a little more, waking up from his power nap and taking the paper from you. Flipping it over in his hands, he inspected Tom’s name across the front, no address, and raised his brows. 

“Why don’t you mail it?”

“That’ll take days, and I don’t want to leave it up to chance. I need you to give it to him, tomorrow. I know you’ll be swamped with everything your father expects of you both this time of year, events and frivolities and all, but you have to. I don’t want it getting lost amongst other letters and Christmas cards, and such.” Your hands clasped together before you, blinking at him pleadingly, and hoping your puppy-dog eyes were half as good as his.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself as he stood.

“Please, Matty.”

“Fine. I’ll give it to him.” He caved, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. 

“Tomorrow? After you get off the train?”

“Yes. I will give Tom the letter… tomorrow.”

Yours,

If you want me, 

(y/n) x

Tom double-checked his bags, sighing as he zipped up the piece of luggage he’d actually have access to on the train, everything he needed to survive a six-hour train journey. A knock sounded from the door, a signature one that only Mattheo ever used, excessively long and irritating, and the door swung open a second later to reveal his brother. 

Placing his carry-on down on the bed beside his own, Mattheo slumped out on his freshly-stripped bed. “You took your bags to the carriage already?”

“I got up early.”

“Surprising, I thought I’d have to drag you out of your bed this morning considering how much you drank last night.” He gave his brother a look, a single brow raised, and Mattheo just huffed. 

“It’s called having fun, you should try it sometime.”

Tom only rolled his eyes, gaze scanning across the bag Mattheo had abandoned, snagging on the letter sticking out of one pocket. T— was all that was visible. It might have been a card, that someone had addressed it to ‘Theo’ instead of Mattheo, but everyone called him ‘Matt’ if they wanted a nickname, to avoid confusion with Nott.

Curiosity ate at him, and nudging the bag subtly revealed just enough more to show an ‘O’. 

Definitely Tom, then. Mattheo was carrying a letter for him, and had not delivered it. Before he could pluck it from the pocket, his brother was sitting up, reaching for his bag and getting to his feet, swinging the letter out of his reach inadvertently. 

“Ready to go?”

“Is that letter for me?” Tom burst instead, making another move for the bag. His suspicions were only confirmed when Mattheo shifted his body, pulling the arm carrying the bag away from him, behind his body and out of Tom’s reach. “Why do you have it? When did it arrive?”

Mattheo turned casually, looking down at it, patting it and pushing it back into the bag, deeper. Tom recognised that handwriting now, though, and the urgency swelled. “Uh… last night, I think. But I was a little drunk, so…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Tom pressed, biting his tongue from yelling at his brother, and Mattheo just shrugged. 

“Figured I’d give it to you on the train, or something. Or when we got home. It’s just a letter.”

“Yeah…” Tom could only hum in response, his mind spinning a little. Everyone had exchanged gifts and goodbyes last night, before the party. For exactly this reason, to avoid the morning rush to the train, to avoid the hassle in the morning. “But— I saw her last night. Why wouldn't she just give it to me then? Or mail it to me?” 

The questions were ceaseless, almost making Tom dizzy as he tried to think them through, and Mattheo could only shrug, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself. 

“I don’t know, Tom. She just came to me, and asked me to give you that letter because she didn’t want it to get lost amongst other letters, or take too long, or something like that.” It was a small lie, really, fabricated from aspects of the truth.

“So, it’s important, then! It’s obviously important if she couldn't risk it getting lost, if it had to be hand-delivered! I should read it.” Just like that, Tom stepped right into Mattheo’s trap. Now all he had to do was pull the pin, and let the steel jaws snap shut. Yes, it could potentially backfire hugely, but Mattheo was looking on the positive side for this. 

“We have to go, Tom. Everyone else has probably already left for the train.” Mattheo swung his bag again, making his point, and kicked Tom’s suitcase from where it sat beside the door towards him to pick up. “Let’s go.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his bags and taking a few steps after him, and didn’t even make it over the threshold of the door before he gave in. His bags dropped from his hands, and planted on his hips instead. “I’m going to read it.”

“Tom—”

“Give me the letter.” He held out his pal, and Mattheo tipped his head to the side, but pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I’ll catch up, you go. I’ll read it and I’ll catch up, it’s only a letter, can’t take that long.”

He lunged for Mattheo's bag, snatching the crisply pressed paper from the pocket before his brother could stop him. As he turned away, he missed Mattheo’s victorious smile. “Alright, I’ll take your trunk down. Don’t be long, or you’ll miss the train.” And you’ll miss her, were Mattheo’s unspoken words, as he grabbed Tom’s suitcase and disappeared, leaving him alone. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tom’s hand shook a little. The paper felt like it weighed a thousand tons. There was so much unspoken mystery behind it that Tom was sure whatever this letter said, it was not their usual correspondence. Not the chatty, friendly, borderline flirty letters they’d send each other when apart, this was more. 

Sliding his thumb neatly under the wax seal he was so familiar with, Tom popped open the letter, unfolding it carefully and flipping it around to read. 

His gaze scanned over the paper, lips flicking up at the use of the nickname he only allowed you to use, the swirl of your handwriting that he loved so much. The smile didn’t last long, however, and neither did the breath in his lungs as his chest seized. He read it.

Over and over again, he read the letter. 

The minutes melted past as he absorbed what it said, until he could read the letter word for word without looking at it, tattooed into his mind now like a brand. With trembling fingers, he folded the letter back up carefully, lifting the paper to his lips as his eyes slid shut. 

His heart was pounding, more so than he’d ever felt. Tom was not one for rash decisions and sudden jumps, everything was calculated and thought through and planned. But this, this was you. This is just what you did, forced him to let go of routine and be spontaneous, forced him to be carefree, to loosen the grip he had on the reigns, to show him he wouldn't fall apart at the slightest breeze. 

He smiled against the letter, thoughts of you flicking through his mind. 

And then a clock chimed, and he jumped violently within as he was rushed back to reality in a split second. The clock in the common room chimed loudly, echoing through the empty dorms and halls. 

Rushing to his feet, Tom opened his bag, tucking the letter safely inside one of his books to preserve it, to tuck it inside the box of letters from you that was tucked under his bed at home. You doubted him, his feelings, unsure he’d kept that first letter, when in reality, he’d kept every single one.

Every letter, every note, even the silly little joke you scribbled on torn-off pieces of paper and threw at him in class, he kept them all.

Zipping his bag back up and grabbing it, he had no time to spare, racing to the chimes of the clock through the castle, to the front gates where the final carriage was leaving. 

It felt too long. Too long as the horses plodded through the snow, too long as the wheel scrolled slowly, and his foot tapped agitatedly on the floor in a way he never allowed himself to do. His thumbnail was between his teeth, flicking between the frost-covered ground and his bag, wondering if it would actually be faster to run there himself. 

Ahead, the train sounded its horn. The final warning for all students to begin boarding and settling in, because they’d be departing soon. 

You watched as the trunks were beginning loaded onto the train, all to be collected when you arrived in London, only letting out a breath of relief as Mattheo rounded the corner, finally joining your group. 

“Matty! About time, we were worried you’d miss the train.” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sighed, a little out of breath, and hugged you back once he dropped the two bags in his hands. Nobody followed him, and your brows furrowed, pulling back, “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s probably already on the train, sulking somewhere. He’s never late.” Theo snickered, and you rolled your eyes, smacking him across the shoulder for his joke. 

“Blaise is inside holding a cabin for us, is Tom not sitting with us?” Enzo questioned, and you turned to Mattheo, waiting for answers. 

“He’ll be here, trust me.”

“He’s late?” Draco asked, quickly followed by Enzo and Theo, all discussing it. Regulus stayed quiet, smoking and trying to hide it from being seen, but his expression was just as concerned as everyone else’s. 

The chatter continued on, by your worry didn’t cease, checking up and down the platform as people bustled and crowded it. Saying their final goodbyes and giving out hugs, climbing on and off the train as they all wished one another Merry Christmas, and being unable to see either end was causing your anxiety to rocket higher. 

The train horn blared again, and students began to board. “Mattheo, seriously, where is he—” Just like that, you saw him, the busy platform parting to let him through, the look on his face as terrifying as ever, and people moved out of his way as he made his way towards your group. 

“Told you he’d be here,” Mattheo smirked, and you raised a brow. 

“The hell did you say to him this morning, Matt?” Regulus questions. 

“He looks mad,” Draco murmured. 

“He looks like he’s plotting.” Enzo corrected.

Every step closer rose the tension as Tom finally looked up, his sights setting on you, and his jaw clenched. Brows drawn in, he did look like he was plotting, like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind that he couldn't sort through. 

“Hey, man. We thought you were gonna’ miss the—” Draco’s words cut off at your squeak, as Tom stepped closer, never stopping the movements of his body until he was cupping your cheeks, his mouth descending upon your own. 

You were almost knocked backwards from the force of it, your hands gripping at his shoulders as he bent you over backwards, a kiss so intense your knees almost went weak. 

It was desperate, you could barely keep up, kissing back as best you could through your shock, until it wore off enough to reciprocate. Wrapping one arm around his neck, your other slipped to his face, his own hands making their way down, to band around your waist and pull you in closer, until your bodies were flush. 

His tongue licked into your mouth, a sigh escaping you as he did, and your heart pounded against your heart, the same way he was doing, felt through his jumper and layers. The boys were whistling, cheering and hooting, and if you weren’t so happy you’d have been embarrassed by the show they were making, and the attention they were no doubt drawing. 

When he finally pulled back, you panted softly, his forehead resting on your own, blinking his eyes open to meet your gaze. 

“Can I write to you regardless?” He mumbled, voice rough and tense with emotion, and your brows furrowed. 

“Wh— What?” 

He leaned in, not helping you clear your dazed mind at all as he kissed you again, and again, until you were smiling, fingers clenched so tight in his coat that your knuckles were white, just to stay upright. 

You pecked his lips once more, chasing him as he pulled back, and the train horn sounded, a final warning, but you didn’t care. “You know how I feel now. You don’t have to wait for my reply. You can be assured that I will miss you dearly over these two weeks, and I am already counting the minutes until I see you again. But can I write to you, still?”

As the realisation set in, your face flamed, jaw dropping a little bit, and he wasted no opportunity, kissing you softly. “You read my letter.”

He only nodded, a gentle chuckle onto your mouth as your lips brushed. “You’d leave it to Mattheo to deliver? He’d probably lose it at a McDonalds, trying to get a Big Mac before my father saw him, on the way home. 

Your laughter was sweet, a puffed-out sound as his hands smoothed up and down your back. “I’d love to get more letters from you, Tommy. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in person, but I was scared. I thought I’d made my feelings for you obvious, and you didn’t reciprocate, so I had to write that letter. To get it out, to finalise it all.”

“I like to consider myself a smart man, you know. When it comes to you, clearly, I’m a fool. You leave me speechless, and without proper thoughts, every time. All I can think about is how pretty you are, and how much I like you, despite my best efforts not to.” 

The declaration was so utterly Tom, to hate being in love even if he loved it. 

“For Salazar’s sake, what have you done, Matt?” Theo cussed, and you twisted your head to look at him. “Shakespeare over here is going to be writing sonnets for the rest of the year. None of us will stand a chance with any other girls when he’s showing us up, standing under windows, yelling his love to the moon.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring their nonsense. Tom did the same, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and leaving a kiss there.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, just as I did in the summer.” You whisper, pulling away from him as the platform clears, most students already aboard now.

“And after?” Tom questions, “May I still write you letters if I, too, find myself struggling to confess my feelings in person?”

“Oh, God,” Enzo muttered. “He’s going to be writing love letters all year. He’s making the rest of us sound like cavemen. Me, you, bed, now.” He grunted, smacking a fist in his chest. You giggled as Tom rolled his eyes. 

“We should get on the train.” You whisper, taking pity on the others and untangling yourself from his arms. 

Tom took his bag again, and your own. With a final kiss on your cheek, he walked away to the door of the carriage, letting the rest of you follow behind. Mattheo fell into step beside you, smirking as he bumped your hips with his own.

“So, should I tell my mother and father that they have a new daughter-in-law this holiday, or wait ‘til the next.”

His teasing made you blush again, cheeks already red in the cold, warming you under all those layers. “You’re a filthy traitor. You gave him my letter early.”

“I said I’d give it to him ‘tomorrow’. Never agreed to the after the train part.” He tutted, proud of himself. “Always pay attention to the words of a contract. My dear brother taught me that. You never have to break a promise, if you’re smart with your words.”

That sounded exactly like something your man would say, your eyes rolling to the Heavens. 

Mattheo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as the pair of you climbed the steps. “You never have to break your heart either, if you’re smart about who you give it to.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle/you #tom riddle x you #hp #christian coulson #slytherin boys

[atinylittlepain]

Hiya! I love your writing so much it's amazing. Can I request Joel and Reader! smut? Maybe angry s3x? I loveeeee grumpy Joel. They would def be primal and rough and fast about it too...oof. I'm not too good at coming up with plotlines haha

Anyways thank you so much if you do! :3

oof, this was fun to write

gif by @tightjeansjavi

Menace

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

When Joel refuses to join her at the bar, she has a good time by herself. But he just can't stay away.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, rough sex, little angst, little fluff, mostly just smut tho

...........................

If Joel were here right now, she knows he wouldn’t like the looks of things one bit. Not because she’s in any sort of danger, the only real danger at the Tipsy Bison is whatever that cheap grog is that they keep stewing in the back. No, what Joel wouldn’t like to see is her having a good time, for once, without him. And that’s exactly what she’s doing. 

It’s a Friday night in Jackson, a town in which she can actually enjoy the luxury of having a real Friday night after a long week of patrol shifts. Joel, in all his brooding glory, had rejected her invitation to go out to the bar, telling her that all he wanted was some “fucking peace and quiet.” She hadn’t let that get her down, though, scoffing at his petulant grumbles and heading out by herself. And she was having a damn good time too.

“Goddamn, girl. Giving me a run for my money.” She grins at the man, idly spinning her cue stick in her hands as she walks along the pool table. 

“You better shape up then, or you’re gonna owe me another drink.” The man throws his head back in a laugh at that, his eyes crinkling up as he looks at her. His name is Teddy, one of the younger men around town who also works patrol shifts. She had a shift with him earlier in the week, and he had been warm and welcoming to her, still pretty new to the swing of things. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s flirting with her, and she’s happy to play along for now, knowing she’s got her grump of a man waiting for her back home, probably snoring in bed already. Love is strange, but she is Joel’s and he is most certainly hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, a little banter with this sweet boy isn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Watch and learn, Teddy. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” The man whistles low as she bends over the table, lining her cue stick up with her target. So what if she’s hamming it up a bit? Shimmying her hips and flicking her hair out of her face. A small crowd has gathered around the table to watch her smoke this kid, and she’s enjoying the feeling of letting loose after being tensed up for so long.

She moves cool and slick around the table, driving home her last three balls before setting her sights on the eightball. It looks like a tough shot, and she revels in her confidence that she can sink it, feeling Teddy’s eyes sweeping down the slope of her back as she arches over the table. There’s a hushed swell of laughter and a few whoops when she hits the eightball clean into a pocket, and she turns and shoots Teddy a crooked smile.

“Pay up, boy. I want the good stuff this time, top shelf only.” Teddy barks out another laugh, but it quickly dissolves as his eyes flit just behind her. She feels him before she sees him, the solid warmth of him pressing up behind her and a broad palm splaying over her shoulder. He’s certainly not snoring in bed.

“You’ll have to take a rain check, son. She’s needed at home right now.” The low rasp of his voice tells her all she needs to know. He saw her, and the little moves she was making, and now, Joel Miller is pissed.

She can see the bob of Teddy’s throat as he swallows, nodding jerkily. She winces at the crack in his voice when he says that’s alright, he’ll see her around. Joel may be a grump, but he’s also a scary grump when he wants to be, like right about now as he’s steering her out of the bar with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Putting on a little show for all them townsfolk, darlin?” His southern drawl always gets headier, slower, when he’s angry. It’s never a good sign when she starts having a hard time pulling his honey-thick words apart. But she refuses to let him intimidate her, huffing as they trudge through town toward their house.

“It was just a little fun, Joel. I know you’re not too familiar with the concept, but—”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, darlin. Me and you? We’re about to have a whole lot of fun.” So it’s like that. She can’t help the excited shiver that runs up her spine at his words, heat already starting to lick at her core. She’s known him long enough to know that when Joel is pissed at her, it can only go one of two ways. Sometimes, he’ll shut down and sulk off, keeping his distance until he’s gotten some sense back in his body to come talk to her. But other times, his anger flirts over into a jagged lust, only simmering to cool when they’re both too sore to bitch at each other anymore, a heaving tangle of sweat and pleasure. And judging by the hard flush she can see peeking out of his shirt collar as they get home, she’d put money on this being one of those other times.

The instant the front door closes behind her, he’s pressing her back up against it, swallowing her gasp as he licks into her mouth. She presses her palms into his chest to try to get some space, but he’s immovable, dragging his lips down her neck and nudging the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck searing bruises into her collarbone. She tugs harshly at his hair to get him to finally take a breath.

“Hey, hey. What about Ellie?” 

“At Dina’s.” And with those few gruff, syllables, he’s back on her, shoving his jean-clad thigh between her legs and pressing up hard into her core, her hips immediately grinding down to seek any kind of relief to the quick-building heat blooming up her spine. 

“You’re something else, you know that? Saw you acting so tough, so cool down at the bar.” His words are a smear across her chest as he works the buttons of her shirt open, dipping down to mouth at the fabric of her bra the moment he gets access, her back arching up into his mouth as she lets out a long sigh of his name. He chuckles into her skin.

“None of them know how sweet you get like this, though. S’just for me, right?” She chokes on a breath as his hand wrenches down the front of her jeans, rough fingers swiping through the slick pooling between her folds. He drags his nose up her cheek as he works one, then two of his fingers into her, her knees buckling when he crooks his digits just so, her cunt clenching hard.

“Asked you a question, darlin. Who’s all this for, huh?” His fingers are pumping into her relentlessly, the squelching noise of each thrust embarrassingly lewd and loud. It’s all she can do to give him a response.

“You– it’s all for you– fuck– only for you– it’s– just you– please–” He laughs, the smug bastard, smearing a kiss to her temple as he continues to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm digging just right into her clit.

“That’s right, baby. S’all for me. Think you can give me one just like this? C’mon, know you can. Be good for me. Just for me.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice, her cunt already spasming around his fingers as she lets out a broken cry, pleasure crashing over her in ebbs and flows as he fucks her through it. He finally relents when her preening whines turn into whimpers, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth as she slumps back against the door.

She’s a complete mess, her shirt hanging loosely off her arms, the cups of her bra shoved down to let her tits spill out, while Joel stands before her still fully clothed, a contrast that sets heat simmering in her belly all over again. She closes the gap between them this time, pressing in for a demanding kiss as she shrugs her shirt off the rest of the way, fumbling behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra open as well. Joel’s hands are on her right away, palming the swell of her tits before squeezing just harshly enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her fingers stuttering where she was working on the buttons of his shirt. He seems to get the hint, swatting her hands away from his half undone shirt and tugging it the rest of the way off by the collar. 

“I need you right now, darlin. Got me fucking aching here.” 

They’re a stumbling swirl of limbs as they fumble upstairs to their bedroom, banging into walls and slamming doors along the way. 

He gets her exactly where he wants her, on all fours at the end of the bed, and she yelps as he wrenches her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cranes her neck over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him, his jeans rucked down just enough for him to free his cock as he fists himself over her, his other palm kneading the swell of her ass. He nudges his swollen tip through her folds and she shivers at the sensation, trying to press her hips back into him to get more of anything. Joel doesn’t seem to like that though, laying a harsh smack to her ass that makes her nearly jump out of his hold.

“Mind your manners, darlin. Don’t get greedy on me.” She huffs, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but he presses a rough palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to bow until she’s collapsing onto her arms, cheek smushed into the sheets. 

He presses into her with one hard thrust, his hips grinding into the plush of her ass as she lets out a broken cry.

“Fuck– always so tight for me– fucking made for me, huh?” She can’t respond to his breathless words, not with the brutal pace he’s setting, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room as he pumps into her, his leaking tip hitting a spot inside her that has her mouth opening in a silent scream. Suddenly, he’s snaking his palm up her chest, pressing between her tits to pull her up until her back is snug against the warmth of his chest, his lips pressed hotly to the shell of her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” She lets out a low moan as his hand dips down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across her clit. Meanwhile, he’s skirted his other palm up to her throat, curling his fingers lightly, a faint but firm pressure making her mind go hazy. 

“I’m yours– I’m all yours– please, I’m so close–” His thrusts are getting shorter, more of a deep grind up inside her that has her clenching hard around him.

“Want you to say my name when you come, darlin. Make a fucking mess– c’mon, that’s it.” It becomes too much all at once, and she finds herself letting out a panting sigh of his name as pleasure finally snaps inside her. His hands slacken where they had been holding her up and she collapses forward, resting her teary face in her arms as he fucks her through her high.

“So perfect for me, darlin– shit– just a little more, huh? Fucking close.” His hips start to stutter against hers, and she does her best to press back against him.

“Please, Joel– want it so bad– c’mon, baby, give it to me.” He lets out a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself once, twice, before he’s painting her ass with his spend. He lets out a hard breath before flopping down next to her on the bed, dragging a hand down his flushed face. She winces as she lets her legs splay out, slinking down onto her stomach. There will be bruises tomorrow, without a doubt. She crooks her face to the side to look at him, still panting, eyes scrunched closed.

“Feel better now?” He cracks one eye open, glancing at her before fully turning on his side to steal a kiss from her lips.

“Fucking menace. Yes, I feel better now.” With that, he flops onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. She shimmies over to rest her head on his chest, her chin propped up on his sternum so she can look at him. 

“You better get me cleaned up, Miller. Made a damn mess.” He huffs, bringing one hand down and smacking the curve of her ass, making her yelp in surprise. She tries to kiss away the all too smug grin on his face, but it’s still there when she pulls back.

“I will. But first, I gotta know. Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?” She lets out an exasperated laugh at that.

“Come with me to the bar next Friday night and I’ll tell you.” A low grumble resounds through his chest, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head at her.

“You’re on, darlin. I should warn you though. I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Looking forward to it, Miller.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

[seresinhangmanjake]

Not Your Type: Part 1

Jake Seresin x Goth Girl!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn't usually have to try hard to get women, but the only woman to catch his attention in a long time doesn't want anything to do with him.

Notes/Warnings: Jake is annoying in this part. Unwanted flirting. This is a series, but it will be more like glimpses into their lives over time. Cursing. Eventually 18+

Words: 1269

Not Your Type Masterlist

Day 1: Meeting

“Holy shit.”

Bradley finishes his swig of beer before following his teammate's locked stare. Chuckling as he shakes his head, he says, “Don’t even bother.”

Jake’s eyes don’t waver from the woman who has snatched his attention quicker than a snap of the fingers. “Why not? She–”

“Deserves to be spared from your bullshit,” Bradley interrupts. “You pull a lot of shit on a lot of women, do you really think it’s a good idea to fuck with one that looks like she’ll cast some sort of spell on you?”

The blond’s head turns and tilts to keep his view of the woman covered in black from head to toe as she moves through the crowd. “I’m not so sure she hasn’t already.”

“Jesus,” Bradley mutters, putting the bottle to his lips again. He rolls his eyes at Jake’s lack of blinking while watching her take a seat at the bar. “Goth princess over there is not going to want anything to do with you. You look like a shiny, private school douchebag. You are a shiny, private school douchebag.”

“What do you think the chances are she’s into that?”

“Zero. Did you not just hear me?”

Finally, green eyes meet brown. “You know, you could take a lesson from Bob and be a little more supportive.”

Bradley snickers, nudging his head the woman’s way. “I give it five minutes and you’ll be limping back over here with your tail between your legs.”

Jake pats the brunet on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time.” 

—

Out of the chaos of melding sounds, it’s the scrape of a stool over hardwood flooring that manages to stand out. Surrendering your effort to separate one voice from another, you open your eyes to see in your peripherals that the stool—the stool that was right next to you; the stool that was perfectly satisfied being vacant—has been disturbed. It was unmoving and empty, as you liked it, and now it’s occupied, as you do not like it. A knee nearly bumps yours as a body shifts to get comfortable, but it’s pulled back in time to avoid the collision. 

With arms braced on the bartop, the man now beside you leans forward a bit to place himself in your line of vision; not fully, but enough for you to detect a hint of blond hair and tanned skin and pearly white teeth. 

“Hi,” he says. When you glance his way, his eyes gleam, emphasizing the sparkling flecks within the green. “I’m Jake.”

“Is that so.” 

Your lips thin in unenthused acknowledgment and you return your attention to your fingers twisting the stem of your martini glass. The black lip print on the rim makes two full rotations before he opens his mouth again.  

“Are you waiting on somebody?” he asks. “A date, maybe?”

“No,” you tell him, immediately cursing yourself for providing him with an answer. 

Somehow his grin gets bigger. Too wide, too radiant, too confident. He’s too squeaky clean for your taste. “What’s your name?”

You take a sip of your drink and let the entirety of it, aftertaste included, disappear completely before you say, “What could you possibly need my name for?”

“Should I just call you Hot Goth Princess instead?” He smirks. “I’m not against it if that’s what you want, but it’s less personal than I prefer.”

This guy wants your full attention—well, he’s got it. Your brows knit and you shoot him a glare. “No, you should not call me Hot Goth Princess,” you snap.

You don’t know his game, but you know you’re not interested. You’re not interested partly because he should not be interested in you. There’s a type that goes after you; dark, brooding, with tattoos that were done in a dirty garage after getting high. However, you won’t deny there are striking similarities in what attracts you to those men and what this man also possesses. The light eyes, the bone structure, the neat hair and the muscles thick enough to rip the short sleeves of a shirt. He ticks plenty of the boxes on your superficial checklist, but he’s also the antithesis of everything you are. If he weren’t showing signs of being the jerk you think he is, he’d be sunshine-bright to an irritatingly blinding degree; and you weren’t called Vampire Girl by some preteen brats the other day for no reason. 

“How would you like it if I called you Over-Confident Ken Doll?”

You don’t back away when he leans in a little closer. “Sweetheart, if that’s what turns you on I’d be all for it.”

Your eyes narrow. “How does this work on other women?” you ask.

“What other women?” 

That green gaze slowly roams about your face, lingering on your mouth the longest. He stares and after a moment, you think he’s gotten lost. He stares like he wants to lick the midnight hue right off of your lips. He stares as other men have stared; their minds wandering, undoubtedly imagining what a black ring of lipstick would like around their cocks. 

“I only see you,” he says.

He meets your eyes again and in return you roll yours so hard you have a brief moment of concern that they might stay that way. “That is the biggest batch of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

He blinks and flinches, drifting a few inches out of your personal space. “What do you mean?”

A scoff leaves your mouth. “I’m not your type, Sweetheart.”

“You’re not?”

You turn in your seat, facing him. 

“It’s Jake, right?” He nods, and you don’t miss the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple. “Well, Jake, I’m not new around here. I’m a regular, actually, and you know what? You’ve not noticed me before tonight. Not once. But I've noticed you. You’re loud and arrogant and it’s a very specific type of woman that flocks to you.” Your hand plants on your chest directly above your heart. “I am not that type of woman. So whatever this is that you’re doing,” you say, motioning between your body and his, “I don’t buy it.”

Either he’s not quick enough to come up with a logical response or you’ve stunned him into silence. He doesn’t say a thing when you twist back around in your seat and finish off your drink in one gulp, but his eyes on your face are burning. 

“Don’t waste my time,” you continue, “Or risk having your ego bruised further.”

The silence between you lasts too long, edging its way into awkward territory. Thankfully, he breaks it.

“Alright,” he mutters. He clears his throat and stands. “Sorry.”

You avoid looking his way until he’s far enough for a few bodies to partially block your view of him and the friend he joins. The friend laughs as Jake runs a hand through his hair. Still laughing, he says something, and Jake gives a defeated shrug of his slightly slumped shoulders before you see him start to turn his head. 

You whip around, hoping he doesn’t catch you watching him. His eyes linger again and they burn you just as strongly as they did when he was within twelve inches of your face; which means you feel the exact second he looks away. 

Releasing the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in your lungs, you glance over at him one last time, but it’s the friend who greets you. He smirks at you, then he chuckles and shakes his head. When he pats the shoulder of a hunched-over Jake, you suddenly feel a little bad. 

But not that bad.

A/N: Please understand that Jake’s behavior in this fic is not something I condone. I know he’s a bit too aggressive but it is not my intention to offend anyone. So hopefully I didn't. Thanks for reading :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @ssa-sadboi @buckysteveloki-me @whatislovevavy @dreamlandcreations

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun hangman #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin x goth girl!reader #goth girl!reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction

[highonmarvel]

hi hope ur doing well. i was thinking, could u do a buckyxreader where hes paralyzed and like needs a caretaker. through some means reader ends up as the caretaker and all is well. but actually bucky was just pretending and hes not realy paralysed and he just pretended to get closer to reader and reader start expresing the idea that she might have to leave for whatever reason and buck does not like that so like he kidnaps her or something. I rlly luv ur work this is the first request iv sent

this is so good, i’m upset i didn’t think of it first. i’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, i really hope you enjoy, and thank you so, so much for the love. okay, here it is:

Himalayan Salt

Bucky Barnes: You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you.

content warnings here!

You nod as your supervisor goes over your final notes: James Barnes, World War II veteran, quadriplegic.

You follow her from the overcast weather into a beautiful but modest home in a fairly quiet suburb to meet the man sitting in a wheelchair in the centre of the room.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” your supervisor calls, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she waits for him to turn around. When he does, you’re surprised. You hadn’t seen a photo of him beforehand as this had been a pretty impromptu assignment, but you’re sure you were told he was born in 1917, yet he sits looking like he’s in forties, and aging well, at that.

“Hi, Mr Barnes!” you smile warmly at him, and he returns a friendly smile, introducing himself as Bucky and insisting you call him that.

“I just need you to fill out the last of the forms quickly,” your supervisor mutters, waving goodbye to Bucky as she leads you back out to her car.

You’re leaning against the boot of her oldish, red car, pen scratching against paper when she says, “He really likes you.”

“Hm?” you offer, raising your eyebrows but keeping your eyes focused on the form.

She leans her back against the trunk and shifts down a bit, speaking to you but looking over at your handwriting, “He’s known to be grumpy. You see the left arm? I don’t think he likes being dependent, I’ve had to swap out a lot of people.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before I took the job?” you frown, still finishing off the document, “Didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know you’re capable, but I thought you wouldn’t want it. But listen, the organisation needs this, I don’t know if there’s anyone else we can find for him.”

You complete your signature with a satisfied smile, handing back the clipboard, “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

She nods then gets in her car and drives away, leaving you in the driveway. You stretch your arms then make your way back inside. When you enter the living room, there’s a draft you swear wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Bucky hasn’t moved, but you notice an open window. You furrow your brows as you look down at him, “Can I close that? It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Go ahead,” he nods, and you walk over, pulling the handle it, and ignoring the recent-looking fingerprint marks on the glass.

***

A few hours into your first day, you’re a little taken aback by how friendly he is; even despite your boss’ warning, you’ve never had a patient so willing to co-operate, especially not veterans — they tend to be angry they need help, or have episodes due to PTSD, but Bucky seems perfectly in his right mind and understanding of both his and your position.

“Did they tell you I was a pain in ass?” Bucky asks before opening his mouth for a spoonful of food.

You laugh as you pull the spoon back, scooping up more of the rice and curry you made to lift to his lips, “Kind of,” you admit, “Said you were grumpy, is that true?”

He smiles, “I tend to be,” he confesses, “But I can’t keep that brooding persona up around you,” he takes a spoonful.

“So that’s what it is?” you raise an eyebrow as you pile the last of the meal onto the utensil, “A persona?”

He swallows the last of it and shakes his head with a grin, “No, but I can’t not be amused around you.”

***

You have no idea why your supervisor said he was difficult, your next few weeks with Bucky are light and fun, and you feel you’re even developing a friendship. You don’t see to him at night, and he has minimal needs during the day — some days it just feels like you’re there to keep him company.

You’re doing so well, in fact, that your supervisor wants to transfer you to a veteran from Vietnam who’s apparently even worse than Bucky (by other people’s stories — to you, if he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll be nice to see), convinced you have some magic touch.

As much as you’re developing affection for Bucky, you have to put work first, and you’re compelled to leave him for the other man who clearly needs you more. Bucky seems to be doing well, you’re sure you can’t be that special, and you’re sure someone else could take care of him just as well, if not better.

“Hi, Buck,” you greet with a smile as you close the door behind you. You hear his motorised wheelchair come rolling down the corridor to greet you.

“Hi, why could you only come in at ten today?”

You usually come in at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” you sigh, setting your tote bag down as Bucky switches his chair to manual.

“A meeting?” he asks as you take hold of the handles and push him to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Mhm,” you nod as you open the fridge, rummaging around for something to make, “There’s this other guy my boss wants me to help,” you call with your head still in the cold, “A Vietnam vet, no one else in the org will take him.”

You emerge with some eggs and milk, shutting the door with your foot before placing the contents on the island, “Did you eat? I assume Carol made breakfast but I can make more.”

“Are you going to take it?” he inquires, ignoring your question, “The job.”

“I mean, maybe,” you answer, placing your hands on the counter and tilting your head as you think, “I’m not sure yet.”

“But what about me?”

“The other guy needs full-time care, I’d have to spend virtually all my days there, but if I leave, Carol can take over for me, she can go from night to day, she’s amazing, and she doesn’t complain about you, at least not as much,” you wink, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s your job, I get it,” he replies, and you can see the stoicism build up.

“Nothing’s final, yet,” you say as you walk over, “And you’re doing great either way,” you give him a kiss on the forehead, “We don’t have to talk about that, let’s just eat, I’m starving.”

He nods and attempts to smile, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You try to make conversation as you make yourself an omelette, but you can tell he’s not in it, giving short answers and not reacting to your jokes. When you reach to grab the salt, he stops you.

“Not that one,” he says, “Use the pink salt, Himalayan, I swear it makes everything tastes better.”

You grind some onto your food and sit across from him on the island. Digging your fork into it, you see something flash across Bucky’s eyes. Your first thought is hunger, but he’d just eaten and swore he wasn’t hungry. You ignore it as you bring the fork to your mouth, savouring the taste, though it’s not necessarily a chef’s rendition.

It tastes fine, but there’s something off. At first, you think it must be the salt, but it’s not the taste that’s off; usually when you eat, you feel that warmth in your throat and then your stomach, but now, it’s like it went to your head. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling like you’re burning up. Trying to stand, you immediately sway, only not falling by gripping the counter so harshly and hastily you bend a nail. You try to look to Bucky to tell him you’re not feeling well, but he’s out of focus. In fact, he’s not there. Just as you collapse and close your eyes, you feel a tall shadow over you, but you don’t have time to figure out where it’s coming from before you fall unconscious.

***

You groggily wipe at your eyes when you finally stir before turning over to reach for your phone, at first thinking you had had a dream, but your phone’s not there, and the nightstand isn’t yours. You shoot up in panic and look down at your sheets: Bucky’s sheets. Okay, maybe Bucky rang Carol and she came and set you in bed. Your head still hurts, and everything’s a little hazy.

When the door opens, you expect to see Carol, but it’s Bucky.

“Bucky!” you gasp as you throw the sheets off of you.

He gives a lopsided grin, and for the first time you notice how tall he actually is, because he’s standing.

“Christmas miracle?” he offers.

He walks over to you and sets a glass of water on the bedside table.

“That Himalayan salt is really exotic, isn’t it?”

You don’t even have time to process exactly what he means by that, he’s still standing over you, using his arms and legs just fine, in fact, like he’s been doing it every single day forever. You should have suspected something was up; how could a paralysed man stay in such good shape? The thought briefly crossed your mind once when you ran your fingers over his muscled arm, but you brushed it off.

“Bucky! You- you—”

“Are perfectly fine, I am, and you will be too, soon, those drugs just need to wear off. I know you’re having trouble understanding, just drink some water and sleep it off a little longer.”

He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you dodge him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Woah, there,” he chuckles as he catches you with ease, his reflexes so sharp it’s nearly unnatural, “Now I’m taking care of you.”

You’re not sure if you can’t speak because of the drugs or if it’s because you’re in shock. He gently sets you back down and your head falls against the pillow as you struggle to keep your eyes open, spots of black blocking little bits of your vision.

“I’ve been needing someone, I’ve gone through a few, but you, honey, you’re special, and I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can’t leave me, I still need you.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

#dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes x y/n #dark bucky barnes x you #dark bucky x you #dark bucky #soft dark bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x y/n #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky barnes x you #soft!dark!bucky #yandere bucky barnes

[little-diable]

A word of advice – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 1/?)

Y'all voted for this series, so here we go. I promise there will be lots of smut (you know me), but please show some love to this chapter which has no smut in it just yet. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: eventual smut, eventual CM violence, Aaron is an asshole here, authority kink, university professor x student relationship, each chapter will have its own warnings, for this one no warnings needed tho

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (1.6k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Chapter Two

With her eyes set on her phone, (y/n) entered the coffee shop. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled her nostrils, a comforting sensation that left her relaxing for a few seconds, though without ever taking her eyes off her phone screen. Her eyes kept following the sentences she had read numerous times in the past week, trying to memorise every single word, forcing the readings into her aching head. 

It was the first week of the new semester, and while she had enrolled in a few classes with professors that were all too familiar with her, she had almost cried in excitement as she had stumbled upon the course “Profiling 101” – with none other than Aaron Hotchner as a professor. Without even thinking twice (y/n) had instantly enrolled in the class, filled with a giddiness she hadn’t felt in months, all too excited about meeting the agent she had been admiring for years. 

(Y/n) could still remember the first talk he had given at her university, accompanied by Spencer Reid and David Rossi, men (y/n) had always looked up to, admiring their knowledge, their work. It still felt too good to be true that she finally got the chance to enrol in Aaron Hotchner’s class, needing to put on her best act, silently hoping that she’d manage to catch his attention. 

She was too deep in thought to spare her surroundings any mind, still focused on her reading, not noticing the tall man standing behind her, impatiently waiting for (y/n) to keep on moving, to finally tell the barista her order. 

“Excuse me?” His raspy, harsh voice shook her from her thoughts, blinking a few times before her eyes found his coffee coloured ones. A silent gasp left (y/n) as she realised that none other than Aaron Hotchner himself was standing behind her, staring her down as if she was a criminal he was about to interrogate. “You’re wasting our time here, could you please move along? And please, try to start your readings for my class earlier and not only an hour before class starts.”

Her mouth was dry, throat tight, unable to speak up, unable to explain to the man she had always looked up to that she was only trying to reread the texts, that it wasn’t the first time she was looking at it. But (y/n) only turned away from him, turning towards the woman behind the counter who shot her a comforting smile, all too aware of the harsh words the tall, brooding man had just spoken. 

(Y/n) didn’t pay any attention to the words leaving her, speaking the same order she always got. Her heart was clenching in her chest, pounding with pain and embarrassment, forcing her blood to rush through her veins even faster than before, ears ringing in annoyance. With her eyes staring stoically ahead, she watched the woman prepare her order, pushing it closer to (y/n) as soon as she was done. 

By the time (y/n) had reached for her order anger had managed to arise in her system, flushing through her body with quick steps, forcing her lips to part before her mind could even catch up with what she was about to say, “A word of advice, professor Hotchner. If you want your students to respect you, you shouldn’t treat them like you’re the biggest asshole they’ll meet on campus.”

Before Aaron could even try to pierce a reply together, staring at her with surprise tugging on his features, (y/n) had turned from him, stepping out of the coffee shop with a deep exhale of the breath she had been holding. The second the cold October air stroked along her frame, teasing her warm cheeks, (y/n) allowed her disappointment to thump through her veins, wondering if he was always this rude to other people or if she had just been the unlucky one to be met with his bad mood today. 

……

If there was one thing (y/n) was known for, it was sitting in the first few rows, scribbling down every word her professors spoke. She was determined, set on her good grades, on the career path she had wanted to follow ever since high school. Not once had she broken her routine, not once had she found herself sitting in the last few rows, but today everything had changed, today (y/n) found herself hiding away from the professor who spoke without any emotions dripping from his words, one with the students that preferred to find shelter in the back of the big room. 

Even though she knew that he couldn’t see her in the darkness filling the room, all light focused on him, it felt as if he was searching for her in the endless rows filled with students, eyes actively searching for the woman that had spoken with anger dripping from her words, fuelling the fire simmering inside of him. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding, guided by the embarrassment her own action had shot through her system, knowing that she’d think back to this moment for weeks on end – perhaps even months. 

“I need you all to pay attention every week, it’s crucial for your homework, for the things you’ll work on this semester. I’d advise you to show up to every class, you won’t be able to catch up otherwise, especially not since you’ll get the chance to work on active cases.” A few gasps of surprises echoed through the room, and even (y/n) couldn’t stop herself from giving into the excitement once again filling her system. Perhaps she’d still get a chance to make things right with the man she had called an asshole only an hour ago. 

“You’ll turn in your homework every Friday, you have time to upload it till 11:59 pm, you won’t get to hand it in later, once you miss the deadline that’s it. If you miss the deadline more than once, you’ll be kicked out of this class immediately. I need you all to understand that this class requires hard work, and as you hopefully also read in the description before enrolling, I expect you to have some basic knowledge about profiling, if not I’d advise you to quickly catch up, you’ll find a list of recommended readings uploaded to your online folders for this class.” 

(Y/n) couldn’t help but focus on his appearance, on the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt that exposed his muscular forearms, on the black trousers that seemed to add to his height, making him appear even taller. He was handsome, a man one could only dream of, and yet (y/n) was no longer sure how to feel about him after their run in this morning, momentarily ripped out of the crush she had fostered on him for years. 

“And one last thing before I’ll let you go, if you have any questions, you can always email me and I’ll try to squeeze you in for my consultation hours, but please don’t waste my time with questions you can find answers to online. I will see you all next week, please remember to do your homework.” 

……

The second (y/n) had entered her apartment, she had opened her laptop, finding her way to the folder for this week's homework. Perhaps she still had some chances to impress the man, turning in the homework as early as possible, instantly getting to work. But while she got to answering the questions that seemed all too easy to her, her mind started to wander, thinking back to her run in with professor Hotchner. 

Even at the first talk he had held all these years ago, he had appeared distant, closed off, though not as cold as today, not as angry and annoyed. He had grown older, and yet (y/n) could only think that he was even more handsome, she’d probably never get over her crush on him, on the man she’d dream of when the nights grew darker and the days blurred by all too quickly. 

She could only guess that something must have happened this morning, something that had pushed him further into the misery he was guided by, foregoing any kindness he’d normally use to approach strangers. And yet (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if she should email him, to apologise, hoping that she could restore the bad image he now probably had of her. 

Driven by her need to make things right, (y/n) reached for her phone, typing away a kind though distant apology, overthinking every word that could paint her like a desperate student, hungry for the man’s attention. Before her mind could produce any worst case scenarios that would leave her even more embarrassed, she clicked on “Send”, hoping to smooth the waters she was sailing through, hoping that she wouldn’t sink only hours after leaving her safe haven. 

It didn’t take long for his reply to find its way back to her, shaky hands reaching for her buzzing phone, eyes growing wider as she read through the reply that shot heat through her once again. 

“A word of advice, miss (y/n),

 Don’t go around calling your professors assholes. It’d be a shame to kick somebody who has a reputation of being the smartest student in her faculty out of my class. 

Best, A.H.” 

#Aaron Hotchner smut #profiling 101 #Aaron Hotch imagine #professor Aaron Hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

[silversweetpea]

A Promise Made

word count: 1543

Summary: It dawns on him, in that moment, that you are much more fragile than he had expected. And equally so that this revelation unsettles him.

Warnings: Offscreen injury mentions, Reader gets lightheaded and slightly dizzy from blood loss. 

Author’s Note: It is four am and I would like to imagine a bit of a protective situation as a bedtime story thanks. Also I’m not sure how I feel about this writing because I’m worried that the style is too similar to other writings i’ve done but again, it’s four am, I don’t know if I can trust my own opinions here. 

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿

Dream was a difficult man shaped amalgamation to read, but that never stopped you from trying. Telling the difference between jaw clench of amusement and jaw clench of anger never got easier in the months since Johanna had called in an old favor for some help and you had met him, but you had  a feeling you knew what emotion it was that darkened his gaze in this moment.

“I’m fine.” You said again, and you had to commend yourself on keeping the shake from your voice. The nightmare hadn’t seriously hurt you, part of you wondered if it would have though had Dream not found you when he did. Splitting up had seemed like a good idea at the time, it had made more sense to cover more ground, ask more people who they may or may not know the locations of. Even nightmares had friends, after all. 

Dream hadn’t moved an inch in the chair beside your bed since you woke swaddle in the comforters. You didn’t know the details of what had happened after you passed out, there was just a vague memory of fear and then safety. 

“Dream-” His gaze didn’t move from the bandages across your chest. A precaution, nothing more, but the wrappings were large enough to peek up under the collar of your shirt. There was a thought that maybe he hadn’t heard you that was gone as quick as it came when he spoke.

“When you are healed, I will have Mathew escort you home. Your assistance is no longer required.” The safety you had felt was a distant memory replaced with a chill.

“Excuse me?”

“I will find the rogue nightmare on my own.” Dream stood, eyes snapping shut. There was something in his features, or maybe the way that he held himself, that made your entire being bristle.

“The whole reason you asked Johanna for help was because you couldn’t.” Your body ached ever so slightly as you forced yourself into a sitting position. The sound of the bed creaking seemed to startle him, those eyes you had such complicated feelings for finally meeting yours. “This is ridiculous I’ve been more than helpful in this whole ordeal and you’re going to just send me home because of a scratch?”

“(y/n),” He took a step closer to the bed, hand reaching up as if to usher you back down to rest. A motion that never quite finished as his hand hovered in the space between you. It took you only another second to force yourself to your feet and enter his personal space.

“No, I want to see this through. I told you I would help and I’m going to.” You had never thought of the king of dreams and nightmares as a particularly intimidating person. Sure, he was brooding, but in a wet cat sort of way. Tall and lanky and dark, yet never scary, not when you had seen him so gentle with his friends.

“I do not want your help, nor do I need it any longer.” The words that should sting instead make you scoff. You were nearly toe to toe with him now, the hand that had hovered so noncommittedly in the air still airborne. 

“And why’s that? Did you suddenly find her while I was passed out here?” It occurred to you for the first time that Dream was taller than he had ever been. He seemed to tower over you. It was harder to ignore the chill you felt this time than when you had been wrapped in blankets. “Or maybe the asshole that tried to kill me had a bit more information than I thought and you know exactly where she is now?”

“This is not up for discussion.” His narrowed gaze draws out a scoff. 

“You’re being ridiculous. You can choose not to work with me but I’m going to help you.” The room spins ever so slightly as you turn to leave the room. You weren’t sure where you were going to go yet but you were sure you would figure it out as you went. The library maybe? Lucienne was busy but she knew more about the kingdom than anyone right now.

You had barely made it to the door before you could feel the soft pressure of a hand around your wrist.

“It would help me more,” Dream’s voice was soft and strained. As if the things he was saying pained him to put to words. “to know that you are safe.”

The room spins slightly harder and it occurs to you that maybe the nightmare had gouged you a bit more than you thought. The turn to face him is slower than any you have ever made and behind you you can glimpse the window. It isn’t quite raining out but the sky is unnaturally dark, clouds swirling like the stars in his eyes.

“What?” You can’t remember if blood loss can cause you to mishear people. You don’t want to risk embarrassing yourself even if it’s not. 

“I could not protect you in my realm. How can I trust in my ability to do the same outside of it?” The silence feels deafening, like a creature with its own presence trying to pry the two of you apart. You try not to focus on its weight, however, instead distinctly aware of the fact that Dream is still holding your wrist. His touch is cooler than you had thought it would be but not quite unpleasant. In fact its quite the opposite. 

“And you think sending me away will keep me safer than if I stayed with a literal king of dreams and nightmares? Really?” Your voice tremors and your skin feels electric from the contact. You want to rip your hand from his grasp and take his hand in both of your own at the same time. “Do you know how many beings out there would love to catch me alone right now?”

“You will not be alone, you will have Constantine.” Dream’s voice was barely more than a whisper. You wouldn’t think his lips had moved at all had you not been watching his face so carefully. 

"You’re being an idiot,” The clouds are darker now, you hadn’t thought it possible but the sky seems to be absorbing the light that tries to warm it. 

“You need to rest.” For the first time since you met Dream seems to be genuine in asking instead of assuming you will follow through with what he says. It almost makes up for the way that his eyes flit to your point of connection and slowly releases his grasp.

“Do you promise to be here when I wake up?” The bedroom is suffocatingly small in this moment, not helped by the waves of nausea rushing over your person. 

“Why must you be so obstinate?” For what is meant to be an insult, Dream’s gaze and and tone are softer than one would expect. Or maybe not. For all the times the two of you have bickered you’re not sure you can remember ever hearing any sort of heat in his words towards you.

“Its the only way I can get you to notice me.” Usually your remark would earn you a slight smile, maybe a particularly strong exhale if Dream is particularly amused. Now though, you see only concern.

“I notice you regardless of your temperament.” You’re not even aware you’re reaching out until the man startles ever so slightly. Heaviness weighs upon your body and your grip tightens just barely. Just enough to try and pull him back from the way his thoughts visibly surround him.

“Dream,”  Blue eyes search your own but you’re not sure what he’s looking for. His height is returning to that which you’re familiar with and its strange to see. To watch him shrink and soften before you all the while holding his hand in your grasp. Even as Dream nods, a just barely there movement you’re not even sure of at first, you think that he looks better this way. Familiar is good on him. So is Kind.

It’s easier to lean into him than you had thought it would be. The hand you insist on holding begins to gently steer you both back towards the bed, his free hand circling to hover over your lower back.

“Rest, we can continue this conversation when you awaken.” You’re scared to loose contact with him in case your...whatever Dream is at this point, will slip away in a moments notice. Even as he convinces you to sit you’re not entirely convinced that he’s not just waiting for a moment to usher you back to the waking.

“Do you promise?” Its your turn to whisper as you allow him to help you back to bed. For a heart stopping moment he stands at your bedside and you think he’s leaving. 

And then, the chair is pulled closer to the bed, enough so that his knees touch the side of the mattress when he sits.

“I give you my word.” Dream’s voice is warm and soothing as hot chocolate on a winter night and from the window behind you you notice sunlight begin to filter through the window. 

#Dream x reader #Morpheus x reader #Dream x you #Morpheus x you #Dream of the endless x reader #Dream of the endless x you #Morpheus fluff #Dream fluff #Dream of the endless fluff #Morpheus headcanons #Dream headcanons #Dream of the endless headcanons #Morpheus imagine #Dream imagine #Dream of the endless imagine

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Shiratorizawa’s Manager:

Trip to the Beach 🏖️

Shiratorizawa x female! Manager (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: fluff, reader has a breasts and is wearing a swimsuit, Oikawa makes an appearance because it’s me 😌

AN: this is a request from 🦢 anon!

Remember when I said this team was like super serious and stoic 😃

Well jokes on you because when you go on ANY outing, these boys are just as feral as the rest

Literally, I can tell you exactly how this will go

Semi and Reon are the only adults

Yep, even Ushijima doesn’t count and I’ll tell you why

Man’s will just wander off, like he sees something and is like “hey that looks cool” and then just walks away 🚶

Tendou is riling everyone up constantly

Shirabu and Kawanishi are the actual worst to get excited about anything

Goshiki and Yamagata are just like super hyped about everything

Liberos are all hyper, prove me wrong 🤚🏻

Anyways, it’s literally so much work it’s exhausted

But never fear because our magnificent, wonderful and perfect manager, YN, is here to deal with everything!

And with summer break approaching, you get the bestest idea ever 🥰

So you bring it up at practice

“Hey guys! I think we should go to the beach this weekend!” You say, all cute and excited

Shirabu 👉🏻 Y tho?

You 👉🏻😐 I give all and get nothing back-

“A beach trip? Hey that actually sounds so fun!” Tendou cheers, backing you up

“Shouldn’t we spend the time practicing?” Ushijima adds

“Yeah, I can’t beat Ushiwaka at the beach Yn?” Goshiki screams

You 👉🏻🙄

“I mean, it would be nice to do a team bonding activity,” Semi, our team mom chimes in

You 👉🏻 *nodding vigorously* : D

“Also, we could play beach volleyball. That’s a what kind of workout,” Reon adds

The guys 👉🏻🔥👄🔥 Did you say Beach Volleyball??

These boys are sold 🙌🏻

So you began preparing, you made lunches, snacks and made sure to pack plenty water

You arrived early at school, so freaking excited for your day at the beach with your boys!

When you first arrive, you are wearing a coverup so the boys don’t really think much of anything

Please, they all have a crush on you and god are you pretty, but they also adore you as their manager

That is 👀 until you take the coverup off

Like it happens so casually too that it throws them all off 😂

Like you are just talking with Semi and Reon like, “I packed snacks and lunches, we should be good for a few hours *takes off coverup* also we have to make sure we do sunscreen on everyone because coach will not be happy if you guys can spike or receive with sunburns.”

Semi and Reon just stare 😳😳

“What’s wrong?” You say, completely oblivious as to why these idiots are staring

The rest of the team, well they are surely malfunctioning at this very moment

Goshiki definitely has a nose bleed

Remember when Daichi broke Hinata? Yeah you did that to Goshiki 😌

Yamagata, Shirabu and Kawanishi are all just like “thank you god amen 🙏🏻”

Tendou is actually speechless

Like Tendou knows you’re a girl and he knows you’re pretty but like it sunk a level deeper today

And Ushiwaka, well he…

“YN please make sure you wear sunscreen, you have a lot of skin showing. Would you like me to help you?” Ushijima says, completely oblivious

Like Ushijima thinks your pretty too don’t get me wrong but man’s isn’t thinking beyond sun protection right now

“Wakatoshi that would be so helpful thank you!” You say, handing him the cream

Suddenly, everyone is willing to lend a helping hand 😐🙄

“Don’t you think this is a job for the vice captain?” Reon says

“Are you kidding me?” Semi says as Tendou sneaks in

“I have big hands so like covering surface area is definitely easier for me!” Tendou shouts

“THIS IS A JOB FOR THE FUTURE ACE!” Goshiki interrupts

You 👉🏻🤨 guys I literally just need help getting my back

“I don’t really think they care YN,” Shirabu interjects as you hand him the sunscreen and he helps you

The guys all watch and of course, brood because they are jealous bbys

“Alright it’s time for volleyball,” Ushijima announces as all the guys run towards the court leaving you to your own devices

You 👉🏻🙄 silly boys

But it’s ok because you can finish setting up and hopefully start catching up on getting some much needed vitamin D

Even if you don’t tan, sunshine is great as a mood booster 😁

However, what you don’t realize is that you’ve attracted quite the spectator crowd

Because your team isn’t the only one at the beach 👀

You guessed it, our besties at Seijoh decided to take a team beach vacay too

What a coincidence 🙃

Anyways, you’ve seemed to attract the attention of Seijoh’s #1 pain in the butt

“Hey isn’t that Shiratorizawa’s hot manager?” Yahaba points out

Because, of course he does 🙄

“What? Where??” Oikawa says, eyes alert at Yahaba points you out

“Yeah that’s her, damn Shiratorizawa is so freaking lucky!” Hanamaki says, glaring at Oikawa

All the third years, and the other years, know that Oikawa is the reason they can’t have nice things 😅

“I think we should go and greet her! She looks like she could use some help,” Oikawa says walking towards you

“Should we stop him?” Matsukawa asks as Kunimi pulls out his phone and hits record

“Nah, let Ushiwaka take care of him this time, I came here to relax,” Iwa says, getting a front row to the show

“Yoo-hoo YN!” Oikawa says as you turn to find the source of the agitating voice

“Oh hello Oikawa!” You say, pleasantly

Please, our angel is so nice

I could never 😂

“I just happened to notice you over here, looking absolutely gorgeous and was wondering if you needed any help?” He says as you stare at him

“I’m actually good but thanks anyways!” You beam as Oikawa dies at your cuteness

“You know Yn, I always knew you were gorgeous but I will say, that swimsuit looks incredible on you,” Oikawa says

You blush, “thanks Oikawa! I got it especially for our team trip.”

You turn and show him the suit because that’s what we do, we show off 👏🏻

Suddenly out of nowhere, a volleyball SLAMS into the back of Oikawa’s head

You 👉🏻😳

Oikawa 👉🏻 💀

Kunimi and Seijoh 👉🏻 📱

“Iwa what the hell-” oikawa says, turning to see whose actually responsible for the ball

Ushiwaka and Shiratorizawa LOOM over Oikawa and just glare right thought him

Literally it’s hot out but the cold radiating off the guys right now could cure global warming 😅

“Hey guys! Are you hungry?” You say, completely ignoring Oikawa’s obvious concussion

“Ahh yeah YN we are just taking a little break,” Kawanishi says, coming up next to you and guiding you away from the scene

“Stay away from OUR manager Oikawa!” Semi growls as Reon nods

“Like she’d ever go for you anyways, she obviously has better taste,” Tendou adds

Meanwhile, Ushijima is just glaring, his arms crossed over his chest

“I’d maybe leave before Ushiwaka throws another ball at you,” Yamagata adds

Oikawa rubs his head, standing tall as a smirk appears on his face

“I was just helping your beautiful manager out,” he said as Ushiwaka glared

You 👉🏻 I’m fine but thanks Oikawa 😁✌🏻

Oikawa 👉🏻👁️👄👁️ oh ok…

He walks away as Ushiwaka continues to glare

“YN are you ok?” Goshiki asks in a panic as you prepare lunches

You 👉🏻 I’m fine 😐

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Shirabu asks

You 👉🏻 it’s Oikawa guys, he’s literally harmless

Then, suddenly Ushiwaka comes next to you, giving you an approving head pat

“Thanks for being the best manager YN,” he says as you beam

Bonus

“Well that went well didn’t it?” Watari said as Oikawa made his way back to the team

“You should have know better loserkawa,” Iwa said, rolling his eyes

“I wouldn’t have expected you to know what it’s like to ask a girl like that out Iwa!” Oikawa spat back before quickly covering his mouth

“What did you say to me?!?” Iwa 🔥👄🔥

Oikawa 👉🏻🥲

#haikyuu!! #haikyu! #haikyuu #haikyu x female reader #haikyuu shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #Shiratorizawa x female reader #Shiratorizawa manager #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #reon ohira #semi eita #goshiki tsutomu #shirabu kenjirou #kawanishi taichi #yamagata hayato #x female reader #female reader #oikawa toru #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #Shiratorizawa x manager reader #hq Shiratorizawa #haikyu teams #haikyu x reader #Shiratorizawa x you #Shiratorizawa x yn #self insert

[7-wonders]

for your morpheus asks how do you think he would act with little kids ( sorry if this is not much to go off of ) maybe an x reader where reader has a little kid?

Fatherhood

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x reader

God this is so sweet! Also I randomly picked a name that I like, but you can always fill in your own!

Dating an Endless was supposed to be hard. And to be sure, there are moments that make you wonder what the hell you’re doing. But the difficulties of dating Dream of the Endless have absolutely nothing on the difficulties of being a single parent

You had had Caroline young, and since young relationships that exist mainly due to passion end up fizzling out, you were now raising her alone

You don’t regret it though, because said relationship brought you the most important person in your life

Unfortunately, since most people don’t find single parents of young children to be a turn-on, you had naturally resigned yourself to not dating until your daughter was much older

But then you had met Dream, thanks to Caroline’s “Auntie Jo” (aka your best friend Johanna Constantine) having so nicely roped you into finding a bag of magical sand via divination

(You didn’t particularly like using magic anymore, especially considering that children and spells don’t mix, but Johanna seeking your help against troublesome fae was how you became friends in the first place. If Jo needs your help, you’re going to give it to her)

Honestly it still surprises you just how fast you fell for Dream, and he for you, which is why you were dreading the conversation you were going to have to have with him and his subsequent refusal to ever see you again

Much to your surprise though, Dream takes the news of you having a four-year-old really well

He seems a little melancholy at first (you learn later that he was thinking of his own son whom he tragically lost), but was quick to assure you that the news changed nothing and that he would enjoy meeting her, if you were comfortable with such a thing

If you thought you couldn’t fall in love with him more, that was before seeing him with your daughter

He’s…antisocial, in most situations, so to see him so at ease and willing to smile and indulge Caroline’s every whim is to see a side of him that he holds extremely private

Caroline is obsessed with Dream (or “Dweam” as she calls him, still tripping on her r’s)

The first time they met, you were concerned how Caroline would react

After all, a tall, brooding man in all black isn’t exactly friendly-looking

But there must be some part of kids that just know that he’s the Prince of Stories and King of Dreams, because she simply grinned at him and asked him his “birdie’s” name

From that moment on Caroline has Dream wrapped around her finger, not that Dream’s complaining

He always carries her on his shoulders when he comes with you on outings in the Waking, her little hands finding a home snugly in his wild hair to keep her balanced

Will gladly listen to her explain the artistic decisions behind her newest crayon scribbles, and also helps her create new masterpieces

You’ve had to tell Caroline that just because Dream lets her put unicorn and rainbow stickers on him, that doesn’t mean she should do it

(Though seeing him with a glittery sticker stuck to his cheek did give you a good laugh, much to a scowling Dream’s chagrin)

Dream loves telling stories, naturally, and has gotten into the habit of taking over telling Caroline bedtime stories

Using his sand, he’ll form dreamscapes in the palm of his hand to illustrate the colorful tales he tells her; tales of knights and princesses, quests and treasure

You usually end up just as enraptured as your daughter

Though you’ve been trying to walk that thin line of encouraging Dream and Caroline’s relationship while simultaneously making sure that she knows Dream is not her dad, it was only a matter of time until that failed

It’s almost a year after you had first introduced Dream to your little family unit; it was late afternoon and you were simultaneously on the phone putting out a work fire and attempting to put laundry away

Caroline had already called for you twice while you went around the house, but you had held up a finger and whispered to her, “One second!”

Obviously, that’s too long for a four-year-old to wait

Dream’s used to arriving in the middle of “controlled chaos,” as you call it, so he’s not too surprised to see Caroline with a banana in her hand as she practically chases you around the house

When she sees that Dream’s here, she screeches to a stop

“Daddy?” Caroline asks, and Dream wonders who she’s talking to

She huffs and stomps her foot. “Daddy!”

Dream then realizes that she’s talking to him

When he looks down at Caroline, she simply holds out the banana expectantly

“Open?”

He’s in such shock that he reverts back to the parental instincts that, once gained, can never truly be lost, and asks, “What do we say?”

“Open please”

He does so wordlessly, mind running overtime to try and make sense of this

Eventually when he does, he swoops her up into his arms and buries his face in her hair, much to her giggling protests

(And if he sheds a couple of tears? Who’s to know?)

You finally finish what you were doing and enter the living room

“Sorry that took so long, baby. What did you need?” you ask

Caroline smiles. “It’s okay, Daddy opened my banana for me!”

You’re about to gently remind her not to talk with food in her mouth when you realize what she said and stare at Dream, who simply smiles back at you

“Did you say thank you?” She nods, and you idly rub a hand on her back. “Good.”

Neither you nor Dream want to make her think that she did something wrong, so you have no choice but to continue with your evening

Later, when you and Dream are alone, you say, “I’m sorry if what Caroline said made you uncomfortable. I can talk to her about it later and explain it again.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for.”

You look unsure, but he can see the hope that you’re trying to keep hidden. “You’re…okay with it?”

“I hold many titles, but ‘father’ has always been one of my favorites. To have the opportunity to be a father again, especially to a child as exceptional as Caroline, would be the greatest honor. As long as you approve, of course.”

You grin, one of his favorite sights, and nod. “Of course I approve.”

Now it’s your turn to be swept up into Dream’s arms (he’s found that he’s doing a lot more of that lately—hugging), and you laugh much as your daughter did earlier

Dream can count on his two hands the number of times that he’s been this happy in his long, long life, and he makes a silent vow to both you and Caroline (his daughter, he thinks fondly, still in disbelief) that he will learn from his past mistakes

Caroline will never find herself doubting her father’s love, he swears

A promise that he’s sure to uphold most solemnly

#chat with claire #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus #the sandman imagine #the sandman

[slaymitchabernathy]

Escapism.

The sound of a gun going off is what wakes Soarynn up in the morning. It used to terrify her, lead her to wonder who was on the receiving end of that bullet. Now she simply rolls onto the other side of the bed, praying for a few more minutes of sleep.

She never gets it though. There’s work to be done.

A knock at her door leads Soarynn to let out an annoyed groan, “I’m sick, don’t come in!” She calls out, hoping to keep him at bay. The door creaks open, “Are you contagious?” The question brings a small smile to Soarynn’s lips which sometimes annoys her, but he can be plenty annoying when he wants to be.

“I might be,” she mumbles into her pillow, feeling the bed dip beside her. She feels his large hand slip under her nightgown. He doesn’t grab her or fondle her, he simple presses his palm onto the warm skin of her back, “Today’s the day.”

Soarynn cracks one eye open at the statement, “I’m surprised you’re letting me go through with it.” Coriolanus lets out a dry laugh, “I don’t want you to go through with it,” he admits, “want to keep you here all to myself.” Soarynn sighs and pushes herself up until she’s somewhat sitting up, almost at eye level with the tall blonde.

“You wanna keep me in your pocket,” she tells him, her soft hand coming up to cup the side of his clean shaven face. Coriolanus leans into her hand, something he’d never do in front of his men. He’s only like this with her, gentle.

“I do,” he quietly agrees, “I’m afraid you’ll find me to be a quite selfish man at times.” A teasing grin curls across her lips, “You selfish? I would’ve never thought.” Coriolanus rolls his eyes, “I worry about you. I have to worry about a thousand things a day and yet I find myself worrying about you the most.”

Soarynn thinks it’s sweet. For the most part. There’s something rather ironic about a dark and brooding man who’s the leader of a gang worrying about some random girl he met one night and then proceeded to fuck. But Coriolanus Snow just seems to be full of surprises.

A loud knock on the door pulls them from their tender moment, “If you two are done fucking then can we please get this show on the road?” Festus calls from outside, sounding almost bored of their antics at this point. Soarynn shoots Coriolanus a teasing look, “Oh, I don’t know, my jaw is practically locked around his thick, long, co—“

Coriolanus slaps his hand across her mouth before she can finish her vulgar sentence, “We’ll be out in a minute,” Coriolanus says while glaring at Soarynn as she giggles. It’s funny how he can say the nastiest things in bed and yet he hates when those things are said in daily conversation.

“Get dressed, and wash your mouth with soap while you’re at it,” he says, pulling his hand away before she can bite it. Soarynn bats her eyes up at him, “You mean you don’t want my lips around you?”

He shakes his head and chuckles before turning to leave the room, “You’re a handful alright.”

Soarynn smiles, it’s a good thing he has two hands.

꧁ ꧂

It’s strange to get dressed in the back of a warehouse. Soarynn finds it somewhat humorous that this is where her life has led to. All because of a breakup. Talk about a revenge era.

When she first laid eyes on Coriolanus again she was terrified. He’d said he wasn’t in a gang but it certainly looked like he was in one, especially with his men dragging her off the street for him to play with.

That’s when the truth came out.

Coriolanus Snow was for the most part, an evil man. He was part of a gang, the leader to be more specific. Soarynn didn’t even know the Capitol actually had gangs, she figured that things like that only existed in the Districts far below them. But Coriolanus led quite possibly the most powerful and notorious gang in all of Panem.

Of course he did.

He’d tried his best to answer her pestering questions such as: “Why the fuck am I here? Who are you really? Who were those men? Why are you in a warehouse? Why did you have a gun on you the night we met?”

She knew he probably didn’t want to answer a single question but Soarynn hadn’t quite cared in the moment. Not when she still feared for her life. So, he told her everything. The night they met he was supposed to meet up with a friend of his, a dangerous friend. He’d brought his gun just as a precaution, in case things got messy which Soarynn has learned, they always do. Then he saw her.

He saw her dancing, smiling, having the time of her life and suddenly nothing else mattered to him. He blew off his friend, the meeting, everything to take her home. He just never thought she’d show up in his warehouse a month later.

Over the past month Soarynn had been learning the exact type of man Coriolanus really was. He could be cruel, rude, rigid and unforgiving. Until it came to her. It was somewhat amazing how quickly his entire demeanor changed the second he saw her. He could go from barking out orders and shooting someone in the face to speaking to her in the softest tone and cradling her small face in his large hands.

Festus loved to tease him, say that Coriolanus was head over heels and Soarynn had to agree.

It has had been a bit difficult trying to navigate her new normal now that she was somewhat involved with Coriolanus and his gang. They called themselves “The Thorns” because Coriolanus apparently grew roses on the roof of his penthouse. Soarynn had rolled her eyes when hearing their name but she simply let it slide. Coriolanus had been adamant in reassuring her that none of his men would ever touch her again, they wouldn’t even look at her if that’s what she wanted.

Soarynn didn’t mind though. She found most of them to be rather pleasant when they weren’t berating her in the alleyway. She had however sharply questioned him about his men taking girls like her off the streets for their boss. For him.

She remembered clear as day how much it had angered him. “So you get off on kidnapping innocent girls?” She’d asked him, pulling her hands out of his once she pulled herself from her petrified state. Coriolanus had frowned at the loss of contact, “I…it’s not like that Soarynn, I swe—“

“Oh really? Because it looks exactly like that,” she’d hissed, getting up in his face, she wasn’t backing down, “I was just ripped off the street by several of your men who seem to have quite the wandering eye who thought that you’d have a good time with me. What type of message do you think that sends out? That you’re kind and caring? Or that you’re some perverted scum who takes advantage of girls in his spare time?”

His jaw had clenched at her harsh words, “I never thought I’d see you again. What happened between us that night was supposed to be a one time thing. I’m sorry that you’ve gotten tangled up in this, truly, I am but there’s nothing that can be done to fix it now.”

And there truly was nothing that they could do to fix this predicament now that Soarynn knew where they lived, worked and looked like. So, she began to help them, work with them. It was a man’s world, sure, but that meant women like her were nearly invisible, always ignored until they were ogled.

And that suits her just fine.

Her first “mission” had been simple, she posed as a waitress at a nearby restaurant in hopes to seduce a known killer that Coriolanus and his men had been after for months. She got that man all the way to his car and just when his hands were slipping up her dress, Coriolanus put a bullet in between his eyes.

Although he'd never come out and say it, Soarynn knew how he felt about other men being around her, talking to her, touching her. Even if was for the greater good of everyone involved.

In the end, he had given her an ultimatum once she had calmed down from her previous fury. He'd walked around his desk once more, slowly reaching into a drawer until he pulled out a gun. Soarynn's blood had run cold once again. He had been so calm, so quiet as he walked back over to her and grabbed her hand, placing it on the gun before bringing it up to his chest. Soarynn had tears running down her face but Coriolanus didn't seem to care, "Now darling, you can either pull the trigger and kill me, thus killing this web you've been tangled up in, or," he turned the gun around, pressing into her chest, "you can stay here, learn our ways and in return you'll be promised my protection."

To have a gun so close to her, pressed against her had terrified Soarynn. She never grew up around violence but the best option was clear, and so she stayed. She still had her apartment but she rarely visited these days, mostly sleeping in one of the bedrooms they had in the warehouse. Every once in a while Coriolanus would take her to his penthouse, give her a taste of normalcy before fucking her so good that she saw stars.

They weren't together, weren't a couple and yet neither of them seemed keen on talking to anyone else. Not like Soarynn had much of a choice. Wherever she went there was some scary man with a hidden gun behind her to ensure that no rival gangs tried to harm her. So that closed a lot of doors when it came to having a normal relationship. Coriolanus insisted on one of his men-usually Sejanus-escorting her at all times when she left the safety of the warehouse.

Soarynn had questioned it in the beginning. not because she was opposed to it because for the most part, she wasn't but she was curious.

She asked Coriolanus about it one night when she was in his office, sitting on his lap while he went through shipment documents. "Why does Sejanus always follow me around?" She'd asked, her hands absentmindedly playing with the buttons of his shirt. Coriolanus had dropped his pen at her question, "Did he try to touch you?" He asked her, his voice so calm yet scary. Soarynn had shaken her head, "No he didn't try anything. I...I was just wondering why you always have someone follow me. It's not like I'm the leader like you are."

A tired smile had spread across his lips, "Darling, you have no idea of the power you hold and I like to think that's a good thing but many men would try to hurt you if they knew it would hurt me." Soarynn hadn't quite understood that way of thinking but she nodded like she understood and let him get back to work.

But now as the days passed she understood more and more. She saw the way he looked at her, how he treated her and spoke to her. Coriolanus Snow was failing miserably at keeping Soarynn at arm's length.

He was falling in love.

꧁ ꧂

Her outfit for today was form-fitting. Nothing new.

She does her hair and makeup before deciding she looks presentable and gives Petunia one last scratch before leaving her room. Bringing her cat with her had caused quite an argument between her and Coriolanus. He was convinced that bringing a cat into his warehouse where crimes were committed almost on the daily would be the downfall of his gang. Soarynn argued that Petunia could help with their apparent mouse problem as well as keep her company.

In the end, Soarynn won, and the cat stayed.

"Wish me luck Petunia," Soarynn whispers before leaving her bedroom. She takes one last glance inside the space she's resided in for the past month or so. If everything goes well tonight, she'll be back to see Petunia in no time.

She met with a whistle from Festus when she walks into the makeshift living room and rolls her eyes, "Looking lovely as always," he purrs. It didn't take Soarynn long to find out that Festus flirts with everyone and she is no exception. She finds Coriolanus already looking at her from one of the distressed armchairs, his stare is penetrating and ice-cold. He's different when he's around other men, she has to remind herself of that. He was so gentle this morning but he will be nothing but distant and strategic until the night is over and their mission is complete.

"Let's get started," he says, finally tearing his eyes away from her.

They all gather around the coffee table, mahogany of course while Sejanus gives them a rundown of what's going to happen tonight. It's cute how he has a projector pointed at the bare wall so that his carefully detailed plan can be seen by everyone.

"Now tonight we are going to attempt to bring down the Ravenstills," he starts, nervously eyeing the room, "not only is it imperative that we take out as many of their men as possible but more importantly, we must kill Felix Ravenstill no matter what the cost." Several of the men let out grunts of agreement when a photo of Felix Ravenstill appears on the wall.

Soarynn can feel the nerves beginning to grow. It's one thing to kill a man, but it's another thing to kill the President's son.

꧁ ꧂

"You're nervous." Soarynn ignores his comment and keeps her eyes focused on the target in front of her. Just as she's about to pull the trigger Coriolanus steps in front of her and she scoffs, lowering the gun, "Do you have a death wish?" She asks, tilting her head as she looks up at him, "Because only an idiot would step in front of a loaded gun."

His face is as emotionless as ever, "You're nervous," he repeats, his tone gentler, softer, kinder. Soarynn feels the tension leave her shoulders and she sighs, carding her fingers through her hair, "Of course I'm nervous, you would be too if you were in my position." Her position is quite the perilous one where Soarynn's concerned, and she's very concerned.

Coriolanus rests a hand on her side, she knows he's trying to comfort her, but he also wants to just hold her, in case everything goes to shit and one of them dies tonight, "You know I'd never let anyone hurt you," he says quietly. Soarynn bites her lip, he's right, but he's not the one in control tonight, "You won't be there," she reminds him, feeling his grip slightly tighten, "I'll be all by myself."

They both stand there for a moment, not a word spoken between them. Coriolanus uses his other hand to gently cup her face as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Soarynn doesn't know what to do for a moment. She's kissed Coriolanus lots of times but never in front of everyone and she could feel some of the men watching the public display of affection. "We still have time," he mumbles against her lips. Soarynn sighs into the kiss, "Then let's make the most of it."

꧁ ꧂

For once, Coriolanus is gentle.

He's slow in taking off her clothes, her panties, her bra.

He kisses up and down her body as if he's trying to memorize every inch of her. He's kneeling on the ground while Soarynn lays on the bed, feeling his lips kiss her calf. Soarynn slowly sits up, looking down at one of the most powerful men in Panem.

On his knees for her.

"You look good like that," she tells him, smirking when he pulls away and looks up at her, "on your knees." If she had said that while they were fucking then she would've literally gotten her ass handed to her and Coriolanus would've fucked her harder and harder until she saw stars. But now he grins, "Well, normally the roles are reversed," he reminds her.

Soarynn blushes when thinking of all the times she's gotten on her knees for him, hidden under his desk while sucking him off. "Get up here," she orders and Coriolanus wastes no time in climbing onto his bed, his large body on top of her smaller one, his hands on her hips while his lips are on hers. They move in sync with one another, to the point where it frightens Soarynn. It makes her think that they might work, that this might work.

Coriolanus groans into the kiss when she ruts her hips up against his, "You're such a tease," he says, reaching down to undo his belt, his gun falling onto the bed. Soarynn hums, threading her fingers through his golden curls, "You love it though." She can feel the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance, it feels so good, so right. He slowly sinks in before muttering a set of words she never thought she'd hear.

"I love you."

Within seconds it feels as if her entire world has been flipped upside down. Coriolanus is slow and measured with his thrusts. "You don't mean that," she tells him, pulling away from the kiss, "love is dangerous in this line of work." He chuckles because those are the exact words he said to her one night when she asked him if he's ever been in love. "And yet I'm in love with you my darling," he replies, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Once tonight is over things will change, I will change," he promises, his blue eyes boring into her blue-gray ones.

Soarynn wants to believe him. But when has a man ever told the truth?

Tomorrow isn’t promised, they both know that. So she might as well enjoy this tender moment, and let Coriolanus enjoy it as well.

Soarynn lets out a soft gasp when the tip of his cock presses against her just right, causing her back to slightly arch as they move in sync with each other, "Right there," she whispers, her face buried in his neck. He smells like roses. Coriolanus tightens his grip on her hips as he draws his cock out of her cunt oh-so-slowly, "You feel so good," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her neck.

Coriolanus is a rather possessive man, no surprise there, but Soarynn found that he loved to leave her neck littered with bruises, love bites. Anything to let his men know that he was the one who fucked the pretty girl each and every night. They didn't always fuck. Sometimes they talked, got to know each other in the company of a bottle of wine and the dim lighting of his study. Other times he'd fuck her up against the door while making her scream out his name.

They were two wild cards.

"I'm getting close," Soarynn whines, her walls fluttering around his cock as she feels that wire inside of her getting tighter and higher. Before Coriolanus, she hadn't experienced a good orgasm, an earth-shattering, thigh-shaking, eye-rolling orgasm. Now he gave them to her without even trying. Unlike the other men she'd been with in the past, Coriolanus learned her, learned from her.

Coriolanus moans and Soarynn could've finished right there and then. His low, timber voice sounded heavenly whenever he let a moan slip out which was rare within itself. "Please," she whines, "please Coriolanus, please." He loves it when she begs, when she's his good girl. Soarynn tries to be good, for the most part.

The past month she'd done her very best to rile him up, tease him in front of his men, really push his buttons. If he wanted to drag her into his dangerous lifestyle then the least he could do was suffer just a little. Coriolanus slightly picks up the pace, their breaths getting heavier as they roll towards their peaks, "Come on Soarynn," he grunts, "give it to me, fuck, it's perfect, you're perfect."

Soarynn feels her eyes roll back when she reaches her orgasm, her mouth open in a silent scream as Coriolanus continues to thrust into her. She feels Coriolanus finish inside of her, filling her up to the brim as he often likes to do. "You're a little too good at that," Soarynn mumbles against his neck, her hands resting on his shoulders. Coriolanus lets out a breathy laugh before looking into her eyes, "I've had my fair share of practice."

They both smile and share a laugh, the moment almost feels genuine, tender, and soft. Neither of them are those things though. Genuine, tender, or soft.

He presses a soft kiss to her lips and it feels like a promise, "Tonight will change everything," he says. Soarynn nods like she believes him, "Yes it will," she agrees. Coriolanus nods like he believes her.

꧁ ꧂

It's tense in the car. The car filled with gang members on their way to assassinate the President's son and anyone who works for him. Festus tries to keep things light but one glare from Coriolanus in the front seat shuts down any room for joking.

This is no joking matter.

"Here," Sejanus says, handing her a gun. Soarynn's dainty fingers wrap around it, "Thanks," she mutters. A gun is a last resort, it means that it's come down to the wire and Soarynn doesn't want things to come to that if she can help it. She knows how tonight will go.

According to the plan.

The car whines to a stop in the back alley and Soarynn's nerves are steadily rising. Coriolanus turns to look at everyone, a rather calm expression painted across his face, "Tonight we change the history of Panem, for better or for worse. Everyone remembers their roles and sticks to the plan," his eyes linger on Soarynn long enough for her to feel anxious, "when we get back the drinks are on me," Coriolanus finishes. A few excited whispers fill the car as the promise of free alcohol settles in everyone's brains.

Sejanus pushes the door open and extends a hand out to Soarynn, one she gladly takes, "Thank you Sejanus," she whispers, giving his hand a tight squeeze. His expression falters and for a moment he looks somewhat confused but he recovers when Coriolanus steps out of the car. "Of course, I'll see you when it's over," he promises.

So many promises tonight.

Coriolanus sighs and nods at Sejanus who takes himself and five other men down the alley and around the corner where they'll infiltrate the establishment from the back door. "Look, I want you to be careful, okay?" Coriolanus asks, his tone pleading as he takes her hands in his, squeezing them as if she's his lifeline, "Shoot first and ask questions later huh?" Soarynn teases, giving him a playful smile even though she's as nervous as he is. Just for different reasons.

A small smile graces his lips, "Yeah," he mumbles, "ask questions later. I'll see you once it's all done, okay?" Soarynn nods and doesn't hesitate to lean in and press herself to her tiptoes, her lips finding his. Coriolanus responds immediately as they share one last kiss. She's not even surprised when he whispers those three words again.

"I love you."

Soarynn gives him one last peck before she pulls away, giving him that dazzling smile that he fell for when they first met.

"Love you too."

꧁ ꧂

It's loud in this club, so loud. But Soarynn didn't come here for peace and quiet.

She weaves her way through the crowd, ignoring the blatant stares she gets from all the perverted men who frequent this establishment. She finally reaches the bar where she orders the strongest alcohol they can serve before she sits on the barstool, bringing her drink to her lips as she surveys the room.

She sees many familiar faces, all the men who work for Coriolanus have filtered their way into the crowd and are dancing like a mass murder isn't about to occur tonight. Coriolanus had instructed the men to act normal, dance with people if they could help it. She finds Festus letting it all out on the dancefloor, having a little too much fun for someone who's supposed to be working.

Finally, she sees him, her target.

Felix Ravenstill is sitting in a private booth surrounded by both girls and alcohol, having the absolute time of his life. Soarynn finishes the last of her drink before she propels herself towards his private section, her eyes sultry, her body on display, her lips curled in a flirtatious smile. She can feel a pair of eyes on her and they don't belong to Felix. She suspected that Coriolanus might get jealous, but she needs to do her job, his feelings don't matter right now.

She finally locks eyes with Felix and does her best to act as if she's fallen in love on the spot. It works like a charm. She approaches his section but is stopped by a giant-looking bodyguard who could snap her neck in seconds if he wanted to. "Let her in," Felix slurs, waving her towards him. Soarynn gives the bodyguard her sweetest smile as he unclips the velvet rope and lets her pass.

Felix is quick to shoo all the other girls away and they all give Soarynn their most lethal glares as they pass by her, their chins held high. Soarynn grabs the last girl by the arm and leans in closer, "Get you and your friends out of here," she whispers, momentarily locking eyes with the girl whose eyes widen and she nods, pulling away from Soarynn and chasing after her friends.

Soarynn turns her attention back to Felix and smiles, "Hello," she purrs, sliding in next to him. His hands wander quickly until he has one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight against him, "You're too beautiful to be a dump like this," he tells her, and his breath reeks of alcohol. Soarynn ignores it though and giggles, "You think I'm beautiful?" Felix eagerly nods, "So pretty," he slurs, his other hand fumbling to find another drink to throw back.

Soarynn keeps him talking for a while, keeps him drinking more importantly. She flirts and laughs at all his bad jokes and acts surprised when he tells her who he is. "You're President Ravenstill's son?" She asks, feigning surprise. Felix smirks, his hand traveling down her body and squeezing her ass, "Sure am. Have you ever been fucked by a future President?" Soarynn has to fight the urge to throw up as she shakes her head, "Not yet," she answers.

That's all he needs to hear before he suggests they go upstairs. Right according to plan. Soarynn follows him up the creaky stairs that are sticky from all the drinks that have been spilled no doubt. His bodyguard lingers at the bottom of the stairs, "Don't come up here!" Felix calls, wagging his finger, "You don't wanna hear her screaming my name for the next hour." Soaryn giggles and throws her arms around his neck, "Hurry Felix, I need you."

She's never been up here, or inside this club for that matter but she knows the layout like the back of her hand since Sejanus has drilled her on it a thousand times. She knows exactly which door to open and which room to stumble in. Sure enough, they stumble into a room with a small bed and wallpaper that has little roses all over it.

Felix is on her in seconds, his hands roaming all over her body, trying to literally rip the dress off of her, "C'mon take it off," he whines, "you know you want it." How many times has she heard that before?

"Haven't you ever heard of foreplay," she quips, her hands running up and down the front of his shirt. She shoves him towards the bed and he nearly topples onto the floor but manages to get onto the mattress. It's only a matter of keeping him busy while work is done downstairs. Soarynn sits on his lap as they kiss, all the while gunshots can be heard from downstairs.

Felix hears a gunshot or a scream once or twice but Soarynn quickly pulls him back into their lustful little bubble. Soarynn is getting more and more nervous with every second that passes by. Where is everyone?

Felix is getting more and more handsy and right before he can unzip her dress, his bodyguard busts through the door, his face smeared with blood, "Boss! It was an ambush! The Thorns are here!" Before he can utter another word a gun goes off and he falls to the floor. Soarynn makes a big show of gasping as they watch the big man topple to the ground, his eyes wide as he dies.

Felix swears and shoves Soarynn off of him, his eyes nervously looking out into the hallway where Festus is standing, a wild look on his face. "My boss told me to wait for him,” Festus drawls as he walks into the room, but I think I'll have you to myself Felix." Soarynn shoots him a look, "Festus," she hisses, knowing how furious Coriolanus will be if Festus fucks this all up because of his pride and lack of control.

Fexlis's eyes widen and he looks back at Soarynn, realization dawning on him. "You knew?! You bitch!" Soarynn feels frozen in her spot while watching this all play out but she snaps out of it when Festus aims his gun at Felix, "The odds were never in our favor," he says. Soarynn slips her hand under her dress, her fingers finding the knife she strapped to her thigh and she doesn't hesitate to pull it out before throwing it at Festus, the blade catching him right in the throat.

He gasps and drops his gun, his hands flying to his throat. Soarynn watches the pitiful scene as Festus attempts to pull the knife out, only making it worse. He stumbles backwards out into the hall where he hits the wall. There's too much blood and not enough time. Soarynn watches Festus take his last breath before he slides down the wall, his eyes wide open as blood begins to pool from his mouth.

Felix swears and grabs the gun Festus dropped, tucking it behind him in the waistband of his pants, "Fucking Thorns," he mumbles, wiping his brow, his hands are shaking, He's in shock. He looks over his shoulder and glares at Soarynn who's sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the bed, her breaths growing uneven, "He tried to shoot me!" That stupid statement is what draws Soarynn out of her haze and she slowly pushes herself from the floor, "He didn't," she says calmly. The bodyguard is too heavy to move but he isn't entirely blocking the doorway.

She can hear more shouting from downstairs, she hears Sejanus let out a pained scream. It seems this ambush hasn't gone according to plan. Then she hears it, hears him.

"SOARYNN! SOARYNN WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Her heart clenches at his pained voice. At how Coriolanus still cares enough to try to find her amidst the chaos. She can hear him climbing the steps, hear the gasp he lets out when he sees Festus. Soarynn sighs, it's all gotten so much more complicated now. Felix is slowly collecting himself behind her and she listens to him shakily push himself up from the floor, "This is a mess," he mutters, "a bloody fucking mess."

She sees Coriolanus crouching down to check on Festus, swearing when he finds no pulse. Then she feels a hand wrap around her throat and another around her waist, "You little fucking whore," Felix hisses in her ear, "almost got me killed, and for what?" He steers them towards his bodyguard where he crouches down, bringing her with him as one of his hands fumbles around until he finds a gun hidden on his bodyguard's body and grabs it before pressing the barrel to the side of Soarynn's head, "There we go," he whispers, "now we're even." Soarynn lets out a whimper and watches Coriolanus slowly turn to look into the room, a sheer look of horror washes over his face when he sees her with a gun to her head.

Coriolanus takes a few steps toward them but Felix tightens his grip on the gun before jamming it into her head and Soarynn lets out a pained cry, "Don't come any closer," he warns Coriolanus, his voice manic, "unless you wanna see her paint the walls red."

Coriolanus clenches his jaw and gives Soarynn a look full of sorrow, "I told you to get out as soon as you could", he says, his voice so hoarse. Soarynn feels tears pricking in her eyes, "I know you did," she whispers. Felix lets out a bitter laugh, "Looks like the little bitch can't take orders, huh Coriolanus?" Soarynn's throat closes up at the snide remark and it does nothing to calm down Coriolanus who's already fuming. "Just let her go," he says calmly.

Felix presses the gun further into her skin, "Now why would I do that? I clearly can't trust any of these idiots in here so why would I trust you? A thorn in my side since the beginning." Coriolanus meets her eyes again and Soarynn desperately wants to convey a single message.

Run.

But she can't. She's trapped between a rock and a hard place. Coriolanus turns his gaze to Felix and he looks downright murderous as he drops his gun onto the floor. "There," he says, kicking it towards her and Felix for good measure, "just let her go and I'll call my men off. You can walk out safely, you have my word." The mission isn't jeopardized anymore, it's fucked. Soarynn lets out a shaky breath, "Coriolanus please, just go."

Coriolanus shakes his head, his eyes trained on her now, "No. No, I love you, I'm not losing you."

Soarynnlets out a sob as she knows what's bound to happen next, "I'm sorry." His expression softens, "It's not your fault."

The next five seconds seem to move in slow motion as she reaches behind Felix, grabbing the gun from his waistband. All that training Coriolanus forced her to do pays off when she brings the gun in front of her and pulls the trigger.

The sound of a gun going off is what wakes Soarynn up from the lie she's been living for the past three months.

She lets the tears fall free as they watch Coriolanus fall to the ground, a bullet piercing his heart.

Felix lets out a sigh of relief and releases her from his grip, "For fucks sake, took you long enough."

Soarynn is silent as she sinks to the floor, her hands gently reaching out for Coriolanus. He's crouched down, gripping his chest. Soarynn cups his face with her hands, slowly pulling him up to face her, "I loved you," he croaks, his eyes full of betrayal. Soarynn sniffles, "I know. I know you did." His breaths are labored, his hands trembling, "Goodbye Coriolanus," she whispers, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

It's pitful how he returns it, sounding like a wounded animal seeking out comfort as he returns his kiss. She feels it, his last breath before he dies.

A hand on her shoulder reminds her of the harsh reality she lives in, "You did good," Felix says, "I knew I could count on you." Soarynn nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hand before looking up at the man she loves.

The man that she loved who sat her down that night and told her that it was over.

What a clever lie they had come up with for her to infiltrate the Thorns and take them down from the inside.

And Coriolanus had believed every one of her lies. He fell in love with her.

Dumb decision.

Soarynn doesn't wanna feel her her heart is ripping, since she was out on the town with a simple mission.

She pushes herself up from the floor and regains her composure, letting Felix rest his hand on the small of her back.

He laughs as they walk past the dead body of Coriolanus Snow, “He looked so heartbroken,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to the side of her temple. Soarynn feigns a smile, knowing that it’ll be a grand celebration once they go downstairs now that the thorns are defeated. “Sorry for calling you a bitch by the way,” he says, “just got caught up in the moment.” Soarynn simply hums, not trusting herself to respond right now. Soarynn at the top of the stairs.

A roar of cheers hits them as they appear at the top of the stairs and Felix lets go of her to run down the stairs and celebrate with his men, leaving Soarynn at the top of the stairs.

She looks back at the room one last time where Coriolanus is lying on the floor. She shakes her head and mumbles to herself before heading downstairs to celebrate. 

“Just a heart broke bitch.” 

| Part 2. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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[elisysd]

10. If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Time After Time - Cindy Lauper  

You spent the next few days in a happy bliss, far away from your daily worries which seemed to have faded away whenever you would end up in Charles’ arms. He was taking you to work in the mornings and was driving you back home when your shift was over. Sometimes, he was even staying at your place when you were working from home. The demand came from you, to his surprise, but never would he dare to deny it to you. You were living in your own little bubble and when he finally had to leave, it felt weird. You had been so used to having him around. He fitted in your world, as much as you fitted in his. 

“We’ll see each other in Canada, right? It will happen fast, I promise. I wish I could stay longer but duty called… I can’t stay far away from them even if I would love to be there with you.” he said, as your head was buried in his chest, his arms protectively around your shoulders and his lips against the top of your head. 

“I’m going to miss you.” you mumbled.

“Yeah, me too. I became used to you so quickly it’s concerning. But hey, maybe we can sneak away in Montreal. Living dangerously, it’s going to be thrilling. I kinda like that.” he smiled as you looked at him.

“About that… I won’t be able to make it. I can miss one race a year and I chose Canada but it was weeks ago, when I didn’t even like you.” you explained, feeling suddenly very guilty and even more when you noticed him frowning, visibly disappointed. “And maybe it’s good? We’ve been glued to each other lately. Putting a little distance between us.”

“Maybe. I don’t like that. I just want to be with you. But I suppose you’re right. I’ll call you. And text you. I’m going to be very annoying now that I know you won’t be next to me.”

“Are you sure you will have time for that?” you asked.

“For you? Always. 

In fact, he didn’t have as much time as he hoped he would, resulting in barely a few texts and even less calls. You were both way too busy and with the different time zones, synchronizing your schedules was just way too hard. The whole situation made Charles more on edge than usual. He was missing you more than what he expected and what he had ever felt before. But he wasn’t resenting you for it. You were working on the Alpine’s documentary which you were voicing over and it was taking every bit of your time. Still he was brooding and being an easily readable man, everyone in the paddock and in Ferrari knew it was better to leave him alone. Everyone but Pierre, who had made it his mission to find out what was annoying his best friend. 

“ Come on! What is wrong with you? The car is shittier than usual? Carlos is being an ass? The tabloids took pictures of you with someone you shouldn’t see? Or maybe it’s the weather. You know you’re too water sensitive for your own good.”

“Shut up, Gasly. Go bother someone else.”

“Or maybe you’re in love and she rejected you?” This earned him a glare from the monegasque. “Oh shit. You’re in love. Damn… I didn’t see that coming. This is gold. Who is she? Do I know her? Is she a model? An actress? The daughter of a sponsor? I strongly advise you against that option, nothing good ever comes from that kind of situation and…”

“Y/N.” Charles finally snapped, before blushing furiously and watching around him, scared someone might have heard him.

“Y/N? The journalist? The one who is shooting a documentary about my team? That Y/N?” repeated Pierre, not believing it.

“Because you know other Y/N?”

“ I didn’t see that coming… Wasn’t she supposed to hate your guts?”

And Charles proceeded to explain everything to him, without telling him too many details about your life, knowing you wouldn’t appreciate it. But he talked about how much he liked you, what he felt for you and how you were a welcoming rainbow in a cloudy season. You were his escape.  He didn’t know how long he talked about you but it must have been very long if Pierre was checking his watch from time to time.

“You’re down bad. Really bad. Some might say you’re in love.”

“It’s too soon to talk about love. We are just getting to know each other. But… Pierre, she is perfect. She is everything I’ve ever wanted, I swear.”

“Okay, Romeo. Just be careful. You are a big romantic and everything and you’re cute, but hold your horses. Take it slow, see where it goes and don’t be too much.”

“Pierre.. don’t say anything to anyone. We are not public. Not yet, at least. It’s a tough situation with her work, she needs to sort everything out and she needs time.”

“I might love gossiping but I would never gossip over something so big it could ruin careers. I’m not cruel.”

Charles spent the weekend giving his all, trying to make the best out of the car he had and for once he felt like it paid off. It wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted to be, but a good strategy, a bit opportunistic from Ferrari, had earned him a good place at the end of the race. He was happy and a bit hopeful for the future even if a tremendous amount of work still needed to be done. 

When he came back to his hotel room, his first thought was directed to you. He knew you had watched the race and he wanted to share his happiness and pride with you. He laid down on his bed and took his phone, scrolling to find your number. He ignored his family words of congratulations, thinking he would answer later, and called you. You were quick to answer which made him think that you were waiting for his call. 

“I’m so happy for you Charles, I was rooting for you so hard! Thankfully I was home.” he could hear the emotion and pride in your voice and it made him melt. “ You deserve it. You were amazing.”

“Yeah? You think?”

“Of course I do. You made me happy for a little moment.” you said and he could hear something was off in your voice. He didn’t like it and pressed you for an answer. You sighed and the line fell in silence for a few seconds before you started to talk again. “My dad’s birthday is right around the corner. I got a text from my mom asking me if I intended to come. It’s not an invitation, she expects me to be here.”

“ And what are you going to do?”

“ I don't want to go but if I don’t, it will only make everything worse.” you were on the verge of crying.

“I’ll be there for you. When is it?” he said, out of the blue, surprising you and himself.

“It’s after Silverstone but Charles… you… you’re not serious, right? You are not seriously saying you’re coming with me?” you nervously laughed. 

“I’m completely serious. You don’t want to go there, I’m offering you support.”

“And what am I going to say to them?”

“Easy. That I’m your boyfriend.” he shrugged.

When he didn’t hear you reply he was scared for a minute that you hung up. He knew he was overstepping, you still had not talked about labeling your relationship, it was too early. But at the same time, he was serious about you and he wanted to know he wasn’t taking your relationship lightly. And that was exactly what he told you, determined. You needed reassurance and you needed him to show how much he cared and he wanted nothing more than to prove it to you. 

“Thank you for being honest. And for taking things slow with me. I know I’m hard to handle.” you barely whispered. 

“First of all, you’re not hard to handle, whatever that means. And it ‘s nice to take things slow. I’m used to going fast all the time, going slow spices up my daily life.” he laughed, hoping his joke attempt would at least make you smile. 

“Well, then, in that case, I guess I need to tell my mom that I’m bringing a guest.”

Coming back from Montreal, Charles first thought was to head straight to Paris. More than just a want, it was a need to see you that led him to your door by the evening, his suitcases by his side. He knocked on your door but not hearing a word or a sound from the inside made him think that you were not there. It was fine, when it came to you patience was not his worst flaw. He could wait. He sat down on the greenish rug of the corridor and scrolled down on his phone, going through fan reactions, race recaps and articles for a good hour until he heard heels walking in his direction. He looked up and saw your surprised face, two bags full of groceries in your hands. He stood up and took them away from you, letting the bags rest on the floor before taking you in his arms and kissed you like he had never kissed you. You couldn’t help but melt in his embrace. You missed him more than you had initially thought. 

“I thought you would be back in Maranello or in Monaco.” you said when you finally let go of each other. 

“I have to, yes. But I needed to see you and to kiss you first. They don’t need me before three days. I missed you so much.”

You smiled as you kissed him again, letting him feel how much you had missed him too. 

“Let’s not stay here. Come inside. Have you eaten anything? Do you want a drink?”

“I only want you.” he simply said as he put down his coat on your sofa as he instantly gazed at you. The mood shifted and you were suddenly feeling very hot. Slowly he walked to you and trapped you against the counter looking down on your parted lips. “ I want to kiss you and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop myself from going further.” he admitted, his voice raspier than usual.

You gulped and threw an arm around his neck, bringing him even closer to you. 

“What if I don’t want to stop you?”

He didn’t need more to kiss you one last time before making you jump into his arms and carry you to your bedroom. 

Austria went on in a blink of an eye. You had not been this excited for a race in a very long time, if not ever. It was the first time you were there as Charles’ girlfriend and you had to admit that sneaking away to spend some time together here and there was making the whole experience thrilling. You would hide every chance you would get for a quick kiss. Flirty jokes were told whenever you would cross paths and you would even dare to brush slightly your fingers with his. His post qualifying interview was a mix of professionalism and subtle flirt attempts that made you blush and you blessed everything that you could think of that your face wasn’t shown on camera or it would have caught you blushing. And when he finally came back to you after the race and after a wonderful P2, it was almost like he wasn’t giving a fuck about being subtle anymore which earned him a glare from your side as he was leaving you with a wink. Walking out of the media pen, you quickly texted him. 

No reward for you mister. 

And you made your way out of the paddock and to your hotel. It had been a hell of a weekend and all you were thinking about was a good bath, with a book and classical music playing in the background. When you were done, feeling fresh and relaxed, you started to pack your bags and clean your stuff as you had a plane to catch early the next day. You replayed the interviews you had done the whole weekend to try to see if there was any way you could improve for the next race and paused them when needed while you were sometimes taking notes. You didn’t hear at first the knock on your door and it only startled you as it got louder. Annoyed, you went to open it and barely had time to recognise your boyfriend as his hands circled your waist and his lips found yours. It was urgent and feverish. Nothing slow or romantic, he wasn’t there to talk. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked but was quickly reduced to silence as he threw you on the bed and soon joined you, his interview realized a few hours earlier still playing. 

When you woke up the next day, he was already up, tenderly looking at you, carefully drawing patterns on your arms from the tip of his fingers, making you shiver. He was far from the devilishly handsome act he had played for you the previous night. He brushed a strand of hair falling down on your face and kissed your forehead as you got closer, resting your head on his bare chest and your hand where his heart was beating loudly. 

“You know what you are to me?” he whispered.

“Your girlfriend?”

“You’re my sweet escape. My little piece of heaven away from the mess which is this season.”

You felt yourself melting at his words. 

Silverstone was not as joyful as Austria, unfortunately. Even if Charles wanted to perform, he knew it would be tough. He was stressing out, pacing around his room, trying to find a sense of peace he knew he could only find if you were around, which was not the case. You were busy, probably the busiest you had ever been since the beginning of the season and didn’t have time for him. He was annoyed. You were so close yet so far away from him. It only made his bad mood worse. Bad mood which was accentuated after he ended up P9 after the race. He was more than just disappointed and not even seeing you waiting for him, a pitying smile on your face, could help making him feel better. 

“Charles, what a disappointing race today after your P2 in Austria. Do you feel like it is a step back?”

Your question almost made him snap but he could see in your eyes how much it pained you to ask. He tried to stay professional and answered the best he could. He was relieved when you were done. For the first time in his life, he didn’t only want to perform well for his team and his family, he wanted to see your eyes shimmer too when he would step in the media pen. He didn’t want to see sadness in them and more than anything, he didn’t want to be the reason why. He met you in an empty area, where the garbage from the food court was displayed and thought to himself how shady your meeting place was. But his worries soon faded away as he saw you running to him and took his face into your palms to kiss him. 

“I’m so, so sorry about the race, Charles. I swear my heart was beating so fast, I was so frustrated. And I wanted nothing more but to be there for you.”

“It’s like this… And you’re here now. That’s all that matters.Let’s go back to the hotel. Mine. I don’t want to let go of you tonight.”

“I’ll meet you there. I have to go to the post race debrief first. And I still have an interview linked up in an hour with an Aston engineer. This weekend is never ending, I swear.”

“It’s okay. Go. I’ll wait for you there.”

You kissed him one last time before leaving. 

He waited for you in the lobby of the hotel, watching people and clients passing by without a care in the world. He was replaying the race in his head, overthinking what he could’ve, would’ve, should’ve done better but was interrupted by your arrival. 

“I got lost on the way. It took longer than what I expected, I’m sorry.” you apologized. 

“I don’t care. I’m just glad you made it. I was starting to think you got cold feet.”

“When it comes to you? Never, Leclerc. You have me now and I’m all in.”

He smiled, took your hand in his and guided you towards the elevator barely able to keep his hands to himself, making you laugh. You both acted careless and when he saw you froze, like a doe caught in the middle of headlights, he didn’t understand why. But when Pierre emerged from a dark corner, a teasing smile on his lips, he got it. He had forgotten to tell you that the Alpine’s driver knew about your relationship. He felt a wave of panic washing over you and making you stutter. 

“Relax, Y/N. I promised Charles I wouldn’t say a word and I intend to keep that promise.”

You turned towards Charles. 

“You told him?”

“I… It wasn’t planned… it just happened. I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy for you. Both. And I’m glad Charlie boy finally made his move on you, it was painful to watch him be so jealous. A bit pathetic too.” Pierre shrugged. 

“What do you mean, finally? you asked Charles as Pierre was leaving, laughing. 

Once in his room, Charles was very determined to make you forget about your encounter with Pierre. But as soon as the door closed behind him, he felt you being everywhere but with him.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I realized something today.” you said, making him curious. “It’s getting harder and harder to interview you. Especially when I can see how a bad race is affecting you and all I want is to drop the mic and take you in my arms and hold you tight. At that moment, when you stepped in the media pen, I wanted to be everything but a journalist. The line between my work ethic and my personal life is getting blurrier by the minute. It’s scary, Charles.”

“I don’t want to be an obstacle to your job… or a chore.” 

“You’re not.” you quickly reassured him and not wanting him to get your confession in the wrong way. “ I just have to find the right balance. But, I suppose it was bound to happen, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m falling for you. Hard and fast, Charles.”

Author's note: She finally admitted it! Still a fluffly chapter... for now. Not sure it will stay that way heheh. Enjoy it while you can.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

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#charles leclerc 16 #formula 1 #writing #fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x oc #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 #scuderia ferrari #ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc fic #f1 x reader #cl16 x reader #driver x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you

[damn-stark]

Part 1 The Lady & The Prince

Part 1 of The Lion and The Dragon

Summary: You’ve been married off to the one eyed Prince will time tell that he’s everything you dreamt for in a man, or will he be the greatest nightmare that has been foretold.

A/N- Ahh okay I really love how this turned out! Should I continue with this series, at least until we get to episode 10? Also this readers features are ambiguous y/n comes from a first marriage not Jason Lannister’s canon one!

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!fem-reader

Warning- Angst, creeping prince Aegon, language, forced marriage.

Episode- takes place before 1x08

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Decisions aren't an option you have, not when it comes to a suitor.

You liked to pretend you did.

“A prince…every lady's dream,” you sigh and slowly walk to your balcony towards your friend. “Or perhaps this charming man?” You point to the portrait of the same man, only he doesn't have his iconic eyepatch in this one.

“He has a dragon. The largest in the world.” Your friend giggles and pulls the portraits away from her face to watch you pace back inside. “If you’re nice, maybe he’ll let you ride it.”

You sigh. “At least it’s not prince Aegon. I’ve heard he’s….well not the most loyal or sane man.”

“Or his grandsire,” your friend adds in a teasing tone. “He looks like a malicious old man.”

You stifle your laugh and spin around to gasp dramatically. “Nyra, he’s the hand you hold more respect for the lord.” You plop down on a bench by the bed and grin mischievously. “It’s a good thing my future husband didn’t get his grandfather's looks. A beard on that strapping chin would be a shame.” You throw yourself back on your bench. “I wonder what his eye socket actually looks like under the patch. Sometimes,” you say and clasp your hands over your stomach. “I like to just imagine the reality of it, scarlett flesh and veins. Keeps me in check just in case.”

Nyra lays on the foot of your bed and begins to trace circles on the silk sheets. “I hear he has a dragon's eye.”

You giggle and sit up to meet her amber eyes. “A dragon's eye?” You retort.

Nyra nods with confidence. “Just like his dragon's eye.”

You hum and watch her with a pointed look for a second before you begin laughing. “I’ll bet you half of my wardrobe that is not true.”

Nyra flips around to lay on her stomach and offers you her hand. “Half of it.”

You narrow your eyes and nod as you shake her hand. “Deal.” You pull your hand away and lay back down.

“So,” she continues to speak this time with a cocky tone. “Which strapping lad will you choose?”

As if there is a choice you think between Prince Aemond with the patch, and the portrait of him without the patch on to pretend that’s how he’d look if he didn’t lose his other eye.

“Prince Aemond with the patch, I think he looks more brooding and handsome that way.” You point to the portrait.

Nyra laughs and stays quiet after that, letting you look at the painted ceiling with sadness. “I’ll miss home. I’ll miss the peace, the silence,” you sigh. “It’s not fair that I have to leave home.”

“Nothing in this world is fair,” Nyra whispers to you. “But we either adapt to what comes our way with our heads up, or life drags us under and drowns us.”

“Hm,” you hum and let her words sink.

“Besides,” she adds with a quiet laugh. “He’s a prince.”

You shrug. “He is a prince, his family brings more power to my father, protection, but what about me? It's nothing more than a marriage for political gain. A loveless marriage.”

“I’m going to say something but don’t take it the wrong way, okay?”

You draw in a deep breath and prepare for what’s to come out of her mouth. “Okay,” you breathe out.

“So what? Many people would kill to have the life you have. A loveless marriage is nothing compared to what other people suffer,” she shares with no shame. “You’re going to live pampered in that castle, and if you are unlucky in your marriage you’ll probably just have to see the Prince every few days.”

She’s right but is it a sin to wish to be loved by the man you’re meant to marry?

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The day had finally come, the quote on quote happiest day of your life. From now on you'll be referred to as the ‘Prince’s wife’, ‘Prince Aemond’s wife’, you’ll be his property—not like you ever belonged to yourself in the first place.

Free days in the ocean and galavanting down the green fields are gone. From now on you’ll be nothing more than a polished ornament who has to live by a schedule or else they’ll gossip—they can’t see the prince’s wife flaunting around.

Sure home wasn’t so different but at least there you were in the comfort of your own home, freer to a point, a daughter who didn’t have to worry about carrying the family name or run a noble house. It’s all over.

“All done,” Nyra lets you know and steps away to turn you around so she could take a better look at how you looked in the white dress. She grins from ear to ear as if she were the mother seeing her daughter off—“You look beautiful.”

You duck your head and catch the gleam of the golden dragons embroided along the sleeves of your dress, another reminder of what today was, of what was going to happen.

“I can’t go back, can I?” You quietly ask Nyra.

Nyra sighs and grabs your hands so you’d face her. “No,” she says bluntly. “You can’t.”

You slowly let your eyes fall and feel your eyes sting with tears.

“But it’s okay,” Nyra tries to assure you as she pulls away to go grab one last thing. “This is where your life changes!”

You smooth out the white silk long skirt and draw in a deep breath and nod softly. A knock then proceeds to sound on the door as Nyra returns to you with a red cloak decorated with a large beautiful embroidered golden lion in the middle, and darker gold stitchings along the collar.

“Come in,” you shout to the visitor.

The doors slowly open while Nyra puts the cloak on you, and a long term family guard walks in, Ser Robert.

“My Lady,” he greets and looks at you through the mirror.

You smile at him through the mirror. “Ser,” you greet. “Please tell me you’ve come to take me home.”

He shakes his head and then raises it up high to smile at you faintly before he gives the most unfortunate news. “It’s time. They’re waiting.”

You let out a deep breath. “Right,” you whisper. “Let’s go.” You turn slowly and walk towards the knight to hook your arm around his.

He then slowly walks you down to the great hall with no intention to take you away. He passes by guests who begin to gawk and whisper, servants who stop to wait for you to pass and knights who keep focused on their duties.

And slowly as you get closer to the great hall the louder the music travels out and fills the candle lit halls with peaceful music, giving a gentle reminder of what stood there for you. The guests' voices from inside mix but don’t grow as loud.

The moment you reach the hall's doors there your father stands in his red and gold suit waiting to walk you to your future, your future waiting inside that great hall with all the guests, his mother the Queen, his father the King and his siblings. Now that you stand outside the doors and know they’re waiting, your heart drops and being in your father’s presence, grabbing his arm brings no comfort.

Jason Lannister is cold, he’s always been so as far as you can remember, after all you are no son. After his son and heir was born to his second wife, you were forgotten. You are simply a reminder of your mother who no longer lives. Even when she was alive he showed you no kindness.

Still it felt better off with him than the stranger who awaits at the end of that hall.

“Off you go, sweet child,” Ser Robert says as he gives you off to your father.

You glance at the old knight and share a sweet and faint smile before drawing in a deep breath and facing the grande doors.

The guards notice and slowly begin to open the doors, instantly causing your breath to slowly unfurl from your nose, causing the tempo of the music to change to a much softer and slower tune, making the guests' voices grow quiet as they create a path towards him. The prince Aemond.

The moment the crowd departs, you see him standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of the septon like a shining knight in armor. His stance shifts and his eye focuses solely on you just as the crowd fixes their eyes on you as you slowly make your way down the aisle.

It’s not until now as you can’t look at anyone else but your betrothed that you notice how much taller he is than people say, he’s slender, and looks elegant in his black suit. He’s also much more intimidating, more menacing looking as you finally see his scar and eyepatch in person. If looks could kill his icy cold look would. It’s like he’s piercing into your soul.

Nonetheless, when you reach the bottom of the stairs your father lets you go. You try to hold onto his arm a bit longer but he yanks his arm away and walks behind you to take the cloak off your shoulders. Finally relieving himself of the responsibility of taking care of you and handing you off to be someone else’s problem.

The septon sees the interaction and then steps down and points his hand to you. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” he says to the Prince.

The Prince breaks his stance and pulls his cloak off his shoulders and walks behind you. You feel his warmth against your back, feel his stare into your neck before he carefully drapes the black cloak around your shoulders.

This cloak is lighter, softer against your skin, warmer.

Regardless, the prince then returns to his spot and the septon continues with the ceremony, making this much more real.

“Join hands,” the septon instructs.

A small breath unfurls from your nose as you slowly raise your hand and place it on top of the prince’s palm, letting him secure his hold around your hand, letting you feel how warm his hand really is, and the roughness of the callouses he had on his palm.

The septon then proceeds to tie a ribbon around your hands, and as you glance over to watch you see how much bigger the prince's hand is compared to yours. It's almost like he’s guarding your hand under his.

That’s not all, when you’re looking, from the corner of your eye you catch him looking too. His eye shifts up and for a split second you meet each other's gaze before you avert your gaze.

“In the sight of the Seven,” the septon says as he ties the ribbon. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.” The septon then steps back and instructs, “Look upon one another and say these words.”

You swallow thickly and turn to finally be face to face, to finally meet his gaze from up close.

He’s still just as intimidating. His scar is longer than you thought, his jaw more defined and sharp, longer than in the portrait. His eye is icier blue, his lips just as thin and pursed together. His face is just as attractive, perhaps even more than the paper does it justice. His hair is the most impressive, white-silver and long, soft from the looks of it; it suits him. As far as arranged marriages go, his looks aren't a bad thing.

“Father, Smith…” the septon whispers so you both could recite them to each other.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you repeat as you hold his gaze, and feel your heart pound and feel your stomach…flutter? Under his gaze. “I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden Crone, Stranger,” he repeats at the same time in a softer elegant voice. “I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile you don’t let fully emerge.

“With this kiss,” the prince says additionally. “I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

You draw in a deep breath and feel your heart beat harder. “With this kiss,” you breathe out. “I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

Now it’s all sealed with a kiss, the prince cups your cheek and pulls you in for a lingering, deep and sweet kiss that you find yourself relishing in.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The septon declares and finishes the ceremony.

*LATER*

Perhaps now came the worst part of the night. The bedding ceremony. It was your duty you understood, but it’s what happens before that you don’t like the idea of. Having all those random men undressing you as you’re taken to his chambers is demeaning to say the least. Hopefully he doesn’t like the idea of it either.

“It’s almost time,” Nyra cheers as she dances around you.

You sigh. “You sound more excited than I am.”

Nyra waits to be close again to respond. “Have you seen him?”

You roll your eyes and look over at your husband and Prince still sitting around the table and catch his stare.

“Perhaps he is a good kisser.” You share with a small smirk.

Nyra grins and twirls. “He has not taken his eye off you the entire time you’ve been dancing, have you seen?”

You giggle and twirl around across the room and wait to be close to her again to respond. “How can I? If I've been busy listening to you?”

Nyra scoffs. “Well now you know.” She leans her towards you and whispers. “You tell me everything. I want to know it all.”

You shoot her a pointed look and turn to change partners, yet just as you were going to grab your partner's hand prince Aegon approaches you. “May I take this dance with her?” He looks to the side and smirks.

“Of course my prince,” the man says and moves away to let the prince take your hand.

“You honor me my prince,” you tell him.

Prince Aegon once again glances to the side before focusing on you. “I want to show you a good time,” he says simply.

You smile and stiffen under his touch.

“And I also wanted to advise you about my brother,” he snickers. “You might want to remind him where to put it.”

You clench your jaw and can’t help but glance at Aemond who seems to be actively watching now more tension.

“Of course I’ve taken him to practice, but,” Prince Aegon continues with a snicker. “He’s a prude, my brother. Says he wants to save himself for his wife. You show him—“

“Brother,” A familiar voice cuts in, making the prince turn you around to see Aemond. Thank the gods—“May I take my wife?”

The prince raises your hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles before departing and handing you to Aemond.

“I hope…” he finally speaks to you.

The ceremony passed, dinner came and passed and he hadn’t spoken to you, like you didn't speak to him. It’s startling for sure hearing him talk now.

“…My brother wasn’t too harsh, or abrupt with his words,” Aemond apologizes for his brother.

You get separated and wait to hold hands again to speak. “There’s no need for apologies, I have a handmaiden with quite the sharp tongue as well.”

Aemond hums and pulls away to spin you around and then swiftly pull you back to him. Instead of moving with the dancing crowd you stay at a standstill and hold each other's gaze for a moment, only feeling each other's breaths unfurl over each other since you stood very close. Feeling your heart pound once again and wondering if he could hear it.

“Let’s go,” he breaks the tension and begins pulling away from the crowd. “I don’t want them to—”

“It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” Someone announces when they notice Aemond pulling you away, causing everyone to stop what they’re doing to look over at the both of you failing to make an escape.

Fuck.

Aemond tightens his hold around your hand and slowly turns around to pierce his cold stare into the crowd, letting them all know with that single cold and hard glare that no one could come near you or touch you, and that this tradition of undressing the wife and husband wasn’t something he would do.

No one dared protest; it was impressive he could cause such fear in people with his look alone. Not even his brother dared to speak up, even if he was the only one who didn’t seem to be afraid of Aemond.

“Let’s go,” Aemond repeats and turns you again to continue towards his chambers.

Nyra was lying before.

This is where your life really changes.

.

.

.

.

#fanfiction #damn-stark #part 1 #aemond targaryen fanfiction #the lion and the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x Lannister!reader #aemond x lannister!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #the house of dragon #the house of dragon fanfiction #Lannister #forced marriage #angst #hightower #house of dragon #house of dragon fanfiction

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 2

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Drinking, sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count:   1947

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 2

“Bobbi!  Bobbi, are you home?”

Melody was buzzing when she got home.  The preliminary interview with Captain Steve Rogers had gone so well, and she currently felt this swirling mixture of excitement, relief, pride, and euphoria inside her.  It left her feeling slightly high, and her hands trembled every time she tried to use them.  Now, she wanted nothing more than to metaphorically vomit out everything that had happened to her cousin.

“I’m in here!” Bobbi called back from her bedroom.

She tossed her handbag onto the table and went straight to Bobbi’s room.  Her cousin was sitting behind her vanity applying makeup, already dressed in a black sequined romper that flattered her figure, and a pair of lace-up thigh-high boots.

“So tell me,” Bobbi said, gazing back at Melody through the reflection in her mirror.  “How was your first big celebrity interview?”

Melody flopped onto Bobbi’s bed with a squeal and kicked her legs.  “Oh my god, it was so good! He was so open!  I didn’t expect him to be so open!  He talked about all the health issues he had when he was a kid!”  She sat up suddenly and clapped her hands together.  Bobbi!” she said.  “We spoke about circumcision! I spoke about circumcision with Captain freaking America!”  She fell back on the bed and kicked her legs again.

“And was he pro or against?” Bobbi asked as she finished off the wings of her eyeliner.

“Against.  He doesn’t understand why society has changed so much that it’s now as common as it is.  Back when he was young it was just for medical or religious reasons.”

Bobbi uncapped her lip gloss and hummed.  “So Captain America is uncut.  That’s interesting.  I wonder if that friend of his is too.”

“James Barnes? I mean most likely.  I don’t think he’s Jewish.  Although, I guess he could be,” she mused and sat up again.  “He’s so fucking handsome, Bobbi.  I mean his skin is flawless. And I know we always see him with the cowl on so he just looks like this square-jawed jock, but he has such soft features.  They’re quite feminine actually.  And his eyes… fuck… Seriously. They are so blue, and his eyelashes are so goddamn long.  He’s really beautiful.”

Bobbi blotted her lips on a Kleenex.  They were now a dark red with a slight glitter to them, making them stand out against the warm copper of her complexion. She turned to face her and crossed her legs.  “Oh my god,” she said.  “You have a crush on Captain America!”

“No, I don’t,” Melody argued, huffing and folding her arms over her chest.  The pouting didn’t last long though.  It was hard to argue that she didn’t feel some attraction to Steve considering how kind and good-looking he was.  “Okay - so maybe I do.  Me and a few billion other people I’m sure.  He’s hot as hell and really kind.  I’m only human.”

“I’m more into the friend,” she said.  “But I did always go for the dark and brooding types.”  She gave a dismissive wave above her head and looked back at Melody.  “Be careful, chica.  You need to stay impartial and if you want this article to be good you have to be able to ask the hard questions. That’s not easy when you’re trying to impress someone.”

“I know,” Melody said.  “I will be.  I am aware of how big of a break this is.  Besides, it’s not a hard-hitting exposé.  I’m just writing a profile piece. I’m not trying to break the poor guy.”

“Alright.  I believe in you.  If anyone can get the Pulitzer and the guy, it’s you.”  She stood up and clapped her hands together.  “We should celebrate.  Come to work with me.  I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Where are you working tonight?” Melody asked.

“Stonewall,” she said.

Melody quickly jumped up.  “Oh, fuck yeah! If I have to sit through vampire dinner theater again, I would have to shoot myself.”

“Rude!” she said and gave Melody’s ass a playful smack.  “You love Dracula’s dinner show.  Now go get dressed.  You are not going to Stonewall dressed like a banker.”

Melody yelped and ran from the room, hurrying to her little nook to change.  She hung up the clothes that Bobbi’s friends had loaned her and changed into something more appropriate for a nightclub.  She opted for a pair of colorful trainers over heels for comfort.  The thought of being on them all night after spending the day in the ill-fitting pair she borrowed was too much to bear.

Bobbi clicked her tongue impatiently when Melody was ready to go, and they hurried out to catch the A train down to Greenwich Village.  The adrenaline high kept Melody babbling away happily all the way down to the bar.  They spoke about the interview, Bobbi’s upcoming auditions, and where they would move when they both made it big.

“I’m just saying that I am sure there would be a really nice place here in SoHo that we could share and it wouldn’t at all be weird that we were still sharing a home when we both are successful and have our own families,” Melody said as she followed Bobbi up to the bar.

“Fine.  We’ll pool out money and buy a huge mansion and you can have the east wing and I’ll have the west wing,” Bobbi relented.  She stepped behind the bar as Melody took a seat, and went out the back to put her things in her locker and punch in.  It was still early so there wasn’t a huge crowd, but it was still busy, with people milling around nursing beers as they talked, or taking photos with some of the historical items on display.

When Bobbi returned, she grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and brought it over to Melody.  Melody watched as she pulled out a tiny goblet-shaped glass, a filigree spoon, and a sugar cube.  She placed the empty glass in front of Melody and balanced the spoon on top of it.  She then put the sugar cube onto the spoon and poured a shot of the green liquid over it.

“Okay,” she said, setting the cube alight.  It began to drip flaming globs of sugar into the glass.  “When you’re ready just pour some water on top and stir the sugar into the glass.”

She put a small glass of water next to the glass.

“We’re doing Absinthe? Are we celebrating or grieving?”

Matthew, a tall, lithe man, with wiry muscles, and a deep umber complexion, stepped over from the other end of the bar.  Melody knew him well, he often shared shifts with Bobbi, as they tended to work on singing bartender nights - his voice was deep and rich and he attracted a crowd whenever he worked.  He and Bobbi had become close friends, and he had been to their apartment for most of the small gatherings she held.

“It’s a celebration,” Bobbi said.  “Our little girl just did her first interview for a proper magazine article.  Not a small one either.  A three-page spread.”

“Wow,” Matthew said, leaning back on the bench behind him.  “That is worth celebrating.  Who are you interviewing?”

“It’s kind of a secret,” Melody said.  It was a lie, but she wanted to tease him with the information.  “Come here, and I’ll whisper it.”

He laughed and came close, leaning over the bar toward her.  “This better be good.”

“It’s Captain America,” she whispered loudly.

He pulled back and held his hand over his heart.  “Damn... Girl!  You did not just drop that on me.”

“Pretty good, huh?” she said.

“Your first interview?  You are going far!  Do not fuck this up!” Matthew said.  “He’s fine… though I prefer his friend.  You know, the one with the metal arm.”

“James Barnes,” she said, trying not to laugh.  Matthew and Bobbi had very similar tastes in men.

“Is he as good-looking in person as he is on TV?” Matthew asked.

“Better,” she said.

“Damn…” Matthew cursed.

He was called down the bar by a customer, and Melody focused back on her drink, pouring some water on it and extinguishing the flame.  “I thought it was illegal to sell absinthe?” Melody said as she stirred in the sugar.

“It’s fine if it doesn’t have the wormwood in it.  But don’t think that without it you won’t get fucked up.  It’s over 60% proof.  Be careful,” Bobbi said.

“You’re the one that served it to me!” Melody yelped.

“Yeah, because you said one drink.  There’s your drink,” she said, pointing to the small glass of green liquid.

She picked it up and sipped it.  The water and sugar had cut through the strong burn of the alcohol and the aniseed and herbal flavor, but only a little.  She threw the rest back in one go.

It went straight to her head, and that one drink became two, and then three.  Then it was dancing with strangers and joining in singing anytime the waiters broke out into song.  Then it was making out with a woman in the line for the bathroom.  She completely gave in to the adrenaline of the night.  Everything seemed like a good idea, and on top of the fact that she hadn’t eaten since lunch with Steve, she was very drunk after not very long.

The night didn’t end until the bar closed at four, and Melody ended up singing on the subway with Bobbi on the way home at half past four in the morning.  She wasn’t home until five and she simply collapsed down into bed, still fully dressed, and passed out.

When the alarm went off two hours later, she felt like cooled-over death.  Her head throbbed and her mouth was tacky.  Thoughts came to her, sluggish and foggy, like everything was soaking in treacle.  It took far too long for her to remember that she had to go interview Steve in Brooklyn today.  When it finally sunk into her brain, she stumbled out of bed.  “Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed, making a beeline to the shower.

She spent way too long in the shower and then had to just pull on the first things she could find, which happened to be jeans and a T-shirt.  Thankfully, her jacket dressed it up a little.  She quickly did her hair and makeup to try and make herself at least look human, and then rushed out the door with her bag, not having time to even make herself a coffee.

Luckily there was a food truck on the corner of her street right outside the subway stop that not only sold coffee but also had breakfast croissants and doughnuts.  Extra luckily there was no line when she reached it and she was able to grab an egg and cheese croissant and a coffee before jogging down to the train and getting on the first one that would take her to Brooklyn Heights.

The car only had a few people in it when she got on, so she took a seat, put on her sunglasses, and began to slowly sip the bitter black liquid hoping it would revive her before she had to see Steve Rogers.  She hadn’t even been on the train for ten minutes when it stopped at the port authority bus terminal.  People flooded onto the train and she focused on her coffee and the last remnants of her croissant.  She didn’t even think twice about the person who was now standing directly in front of her.

“Rough night?” an all too familiar voice asked.

She looked up to see Steve Rogers smiling at her.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #ofc #smut #the interview

[slippinmickeys]

Scully and Missy talk about her work

Orrrrr early season, Scully is anxious about some presentation she has to give to Important FBI People and Mulder helps her get ready beforehand.

“But what’s he like?” Missy asks, hand curled around a chunky mug, her fingers playing with the string of a tea bag. She asks as though it’s a question with an easy answer, like Mulder’s some sandy-haired podiatrist who enjoys cooking and tennis.

“I don’t know,” Scully answers truthfully. “He’s… brooding. Quick-witted. Intelligent.”

Melissa’s eyebrows go up. She probably shouldn’t have led with brooding.

“Intelligent?” her sister gloms onto instead. “Is he as smart as you?”

The truth is, in the few months she’s known him, Mulder has proven to be more than just smart — his intellect is almost kinetic; his mind a ball rolling downhill, a current you have to throw yourself into.

Mulder not only expected her to keep up, but automatically assumed she was there, and Scully feared Missy would see through the fact that that kind of presumption was intoxicating to a woman like her, that she practically got off on it.

“Yes,” she answers simply, her eyes darting uncomfortably toward the front of the coffee shop.

Missy takes a sip, letting her get away with it. “Wow,” she says as she swallows, “must be a regular MENSA meeting.”

“If you’re implying my partner or our work is pedantic, it’s not,” Scully says in a rush of defense, feeling silly, even as the words are spilling out of her mouth. “It’s… it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. It’s heady. It feels… limitless.”

Melissa reaches out and puts a sympathetic hand over Scully’s own. “I wasn’t casting aspersions, Dana,” she says kindly. “I’m happy for you. I’m just… really curious about the person you’re suddenly spending so much time with.”

“He’s a good man,” Scully says, her face reddening as her thoughts flash momentarily to the sticky, caseless porn tapes in Mulder’s desk drawer and his obvious oral fixation.

Her sister holds her gaze for a long moment. “Is he cute?” she asks with a smirk.

“Not really,” Scully lies, pulling her lips in between her teeth, an old tell she hopes her sister’s forgotten.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #prompt

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

Jealous

Requested by @noahmaxim (sorry it took so long!)

Warning: swearing, drinking

“Dude, you’re staring,” Rook leans over to whisper to Colson. He turns his head slightly to look at his best friend for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “Why don’t you just go over and say hi?”

The idea of that makes Colson snort and shake his head. He takes a long swig from the glass of tequila in his hand, the familiar burn soothing him in an odd way. He doesn’t want to feel these feelings so getting blind drunk seems like a good idea. Watching you sit on the couch with some random guy, talking and laughing clearly isn’t a good idea because he can feel his blood boiling. His mind is creating multiple scenarios, all of which involve him splitting the guy’s lip open with his fist.

You don’t like feeling like you’re being watched. You check over your shoulder just as Colson turns to head out into the backyard in a huff. Rook gives you a sympathetic smile before following the tall, brooding man. You’re not really sure why he’s been so hostile since you go to his place but it’s starting to give you a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. You feel like he’s scrutinising every little thing you do and you hate it. It’s turning you into a self-conscious mess. You thought it was odd that when you showed up to his house, Colson could barely acknowledge your presence and now he’s watching you like a hawk? The guy is the most confusing person you’ve ever met and it’s driving you insane. You turn your attention back to the man you were talking to and laugh at the joke you half heard.

He’s a nice guy, Frankie, and you’re really enjoying his company but in the back of your mind, all you can do is think about Colson. You find yourself wondering if Colson is thinking about you, that he had to go outside to stop himself from doing something stupid, that he’s watching you because maybe he’s…jealous? The thought makes your stomach flip and your heart begin to race. Then you bring yourself back to reality. Why would Colson be jealous of a guy talking to you? He’s only ever seen you as a friend. Your mind is racing and it’s creating a nervous energy about you that you somehow have to get rid of.

“Hey, do you want to go for a swim in the pool?” you randomly blurt out while Frankie is in the middle of telling a story you weren’t listening to.

“I would but I didn’t bring my bathing suit,” he chuckles with a small smile. 

If you weren’t so preoccupied by Colson, you may even be able to focus on how attracted you are to Frankie. He’s tall, ripped build, with chocolate brown eyes, with lashes for days and dark brown curls. He wears a short stubble on the lower half of his face and the hair accentuates the sharp cut of his jawline. Classically handsome but somehow not attractive enough for you. For some reason, you love lanky, foul mouthed guys, with bleach blonde hair, covered with tattoos and ocean blue eyes that you could get lost in for days. Well, at least one man in particular.

“Who needs a bathing suit? It’s LA, live a little!” you grab Frankie by the hand and drag him off the sofa.

When you step out into the backyard, the silence is deafening. Everyone stops talking and just stares at you. You hadn’t even noticed that you were the only two inside the house. All of your friends, including Colson, are sitting around the open firepit now awkwardly sipping their drinks and avoiding eye contact but not wanting to speak to each other. Colson is sitting with his back towards you and you can tell he’s pissed off that you came outside by the slump of his shoulders. 

It’s so strange when you walk into a group of people who you know were just talking about you. It’s not a nice feeling by any stretch of the imagination and it kind of makes you wish you’d stayed inside on the sofa. Ashleigh is the first to finally break the uncomfortable silence.

“Hey, I was just about to come in and get you,” she smiles at you but you can see the apology in her eyes.

“That’s ok! Frankie and I were thinking of going for a swim. Does anyone want to join?” you ask the group and a few of the usual suspects perk up.

Rook is the first to begin stripping off his clothes before cannonballing into the water. Baze and Slim join him and Ashleigh and Sophie agree to dangle their feet in from the side. The boys don’t seem to like this idea and Baze tells them that if they don’t get their whole butts in the water, they will be dragged in fully clothed. They don’t like the sound of that so they agree to strip down and they dive into the water. 

Frankie smiles at you and leads you to the water’s edge where he begins to remove his sneakers and socks. When he removes his t-shirt, you can’t help but stare at his rippling muscles and abs that adorn his body. You figured there was something impressive underneath his t-shirt but his olive skin seems to make everything that much more pronounced.

Colson watches from his spot by the fire and his hand tightens into a fist again as he watches your admiring Frankie’s body. Part of him wants to get up and kick Frankie out of his house but a stronger part of him is telling him to chill the fuck out. The chill part wins out but only because he’s fairly sure he’s too drunk to stand without stumbling. His self-control wavers again when he spots Frankie ogling your body as you strip down to your bra and panties. He can’t help but stare at you a little longer than a ‘friend’ probably should, finally turning away as you slide your body gracefully into the water. 

“Your friend Colson doesn’t seem to like me very much,” Frankie murmurs as he leads you to the deep end. 

“Oh he’s fine, he’s just very protective of me. We’ve been friends for forever,” you dismiss Frankie’s concerns with a wave of your hand. 

You try to play it cool but inside your stomach is in knots at the idea of Colson caring about you in any way other than a friend. You’ve never really dated before so you’ve never really noticed if Colson cared or not but the fact that even Frankie is picking up on his hostility, leads you to believe that maybe he does. 

Frankie and you splash around and chat, off in your own little world, before a couple of the others decide to join you in at the deep end. Colson stays sitting next to the fire and when Rook comes over to talk to Frankie, you take the opportunity to go and talk to him. 

He doesn’t look away from the fire as you approach him but Colson can feel in his gut that this is not a conversation he wants to have right now. You sit beside him and snatch the beer from his hand, taking a long swig. He can’t help but roll his eyes about how unperceptive you are. He thought he made it pretty clear that he wanted to be left alone. 

“So are you going to sit here like a buzzkill all night or are you going to eventually acknowledge the fact that you have guests?” You ask nonchalantly but your heart is pounding so hard in your chest you can hardly hear your own thoughts. 

“Didn’t realise there was going to be extras tonight,” he looks over your shoulder, eyeing Frankie as he makes small talk with all your friends. 

“I didn’t think you’d mind considering all the women you’ve brought to my parties and gatherings over the years,” you snort and take another sip of his beer. He snatches the bottle from your hand before you even have a chance to swollow, causing beer to trickle down your chin. “Damn Kells, what the hell is your problem?” you yell as you wipe the beer off with the back of your hand. 

“You and your fucking Ken doll boyfriend are my problem!” he yells back before turning on his heels and storming off into the house. 

You feel your cheeks redden as you look around and notice everyone’s eyes on you. Frankie grimaces when you look at him and you feel so embarrassed that it enrages you. You decide in that split second that if Colson has a problem, he better damn well spit it out now or keep his mouth shut. 

You stalk off into the house, roughly pulling your jeans and t-shirt on, in search of his dumbass. You call his name as you go from room to room but come up empty. You figure that he’s probably gone to his room and you stand at the bottom of the stairs contemplating whether or not to follow him or not. The thumping around you did kind of caused you to blow off some steam and now you’re not nearly as mad. Then you remember the way he dissed Frankie in front of everyone and your anger returns. You storm up that staircase like a bat out of hell. 

Colson sits on the floor at the end of his bed with his head in his hands. He can hear Rook’s voice in the back of his mind telling him earlier in the evening to keep his cool and not blow up at you but he snapped. All he wants to do is tell you how he feels but every time he works up the courage something gets in the way. Usually it’s his career or Cassie so he kind of got used to you always being there in the background. He forgot about the chance that you might meet someone and he would miss his chance. You’ve dated occasionally in the past but it’s just been a date here and there. You’ve never brought a guy that you’re seeing over to meet your friends and the fact that you’ve brought Frankie absolutely terrifies him. Colson tries to shake off the fear and drags himself off the floor. He decides to take a shower in the hopes that by the time he’s done, you’ve already skipped out and taken your boy toy with you. 

You stand outside his door, unsure of whether to knock or just storm in. If you really want to convey the anger you’re feeling, you decide practically kicking the door down is the best way to get your point across. You fling the door open so hard that it slams into the wall behind it and you can hear the sound of drywall breaking but that’s not what takes your breath away. Standing in front of you, with nothing on but a towel flung over his shoulder, is a very confused and pissed off Colson. 

“Shit, sorry,” you screw your eyes closed and fumble around for the door handle before swinging the door shut behind you. 

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire but you’re not sure if that’s from embarrassment or arousal at seeing Colson completely naked for the first time. Your heart is thumping in your chest and your breathing is fast and laboured. You lean back against the wall to try and get your bearings. You close your eyes and immediately open them as a flash of Colson’s tattooed skin invades your mind. You bite your bottom lip to keep from groaning out loud as your mind continues to betray you with images of his body. All of his body. 

“What the fuck Y/N?” Colson spits at you from the doorway of his bedroom.

You hadn’t even realised the door had opened again until Colson’s enraged voice pierces your ears. You look up at his darkened eyes and flared nostrils. His teeth are gritted and you’re fairly sure you can see steam coming out of his ears. He looks like a bull before a fight and your mind and body immediately considers possible escape routes to avoid the world’s most uncomfortable conversation.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to be naked,” you quickly explain as you try to stop your mind from remembering. 

You feel your cheeks heat and a knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. It’s an overwhelming feeling that you definitely didn’t expect. You knew you found Colson attractive, you just didn’t expect the intense sexual attraction you’re currently feeling. It’s making it very difficult for you to concentrate. All your mind wants to do is create different scenarios in which you kiss every inch of Colson’s body, feeling him on top of you, listen to him moan your name as he climaxes. 

You shake your head and take a deep breath to clear your mind of any inappropriate thoughts. At the end of the day, he’s one of your closest friends and you would hate to ruin any friendship you have by creating some strange, sexual tension. Right now, you just have to focus on ignoring the fact that Colson is now only wearing a towel around his waist, low on his waist, and that he currently looks like he wants to murder you. 

“Maybe if you tried knocking, you would get such a shock!” he grits his teeth as if the words are painful to him. 

“Well, I actually barged in because I was pissed about how rude you were to me, for no fucking reason and-”

“No fucking reason? Are you insane or blind? Or maybe you’re both!”

“What in god’s name are you talking about?” you throw your hands up in exasperation, feeling like you two are having completely different conversations at the same time. 

Before you can stop him, Colson is dragging you into his bedroom by the wrist, kicking the door shut behind him. He twists you around so your back is pressed against the closed door and suddenly his lips are on yours. All of your senses are consumed by the feeling of his lips on yours. You can taste the beer and weed on his tongue, smell his cologne mixed with the smoke of the bonfire, feel his hot flesh beneath your fingertips as you graze your hands over his biceps. Your animalistic needs take over and you find yourself breathless and needy for all of him. You feel weightless and heavy at the same time. Every rational thought has escaped you. All there is is him. 

Then as quickly as it began, it was over. Colson pulls away from your lips but rests his forehead on yours. 

“Seeing you with another guy may actually be the end of me,” he whispers and your skin erupts in goosebumps, both at his words and the feeling of his hot breath against your face. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you tell him honestly. 

“I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t want anything to ruin this bubble that I’m in. We can just pretend that nothing else matters right now and that we’re just here, together.”

You stay like that for a little while longer. Just holding each other up, feeling each other, listening to each deep breath, watching the rise and fall of the other’s chest. If you could, you would stay in that moment forever with him. While he holds you, your mind is silent. There’s no intruding thoughts of his naked body, no reminder of the great guy waiting downstairs for you. Everything else has stopped and for now, it’s just the two of you. 

“Stay with me?” Colson begs as you begin to pull away from him. 

“Kells, I-” you begin but he instantly cuts you off. 

“Just one night with you, that’s all I need to get it out of my system. Then we can go back to exactly how it was, just friends. All I’m asking for is one night.”

You sigh but something in the way he watches you makes you nod before you can really think about what you’re agreeing to. You both know that things will never go back to the way they used to be, yet somehow you’re ok with that. 

Colson pulls you to his large ensuite with him and drops his towel. Your immediate reaction is to turn away but you resist your instincts. He watches you, waiting for your reaction. You let your eyes roam his body freely now. You notice tattoos you’d never really paid attention to before, you notice the way his torso is more defined than you’d expected, you notice the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as take him in. Your eyes continue to drop until you’re finally focusing on the one thing you’d been trying to avoid 10 minutes ago. 

His large erection makes you half choke on your own breath. The idea of getting it inside of you without causing serious damage seems impossible but it thrills you at the same time. You bite your bottom lip as you drink in all his male glory. It kind of satisfies your curiosity to know all the rumours about his well endowment are true. 

“Now you,” he breathes as he watches you. 

You bite your lip again but follow his instruction. You lift your t-shirt over your head and drop it to the floor beside you, your jeans following closely behind. You stand there in nothing but your wet bra and panties as you try to contain your nervousness. You reach around to your bra but Colson grabs your wrist to stop you. 

“Let me,” he instructs you and you stand still for him, holding your breath. 

He grabs the hook of your bra and unclasps it without any issue. He slides the straps down your arms before letting the bra fall to the floor. He drinks in the sight of your breasts. He runs a long slender finger down the valley of your breasts before lightly tracing your nipples. Your breathing is completely erratic, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

He leans down and kisses along the ridge of your collarbone to the curve of your breasts, taking his time to slowly tease your skin. He envelops you left nipple in his mouth and you gasp sharply. You feel his lips pull into a smirk. He uses his thumb and forefinger to tweak your right nipple as he sucks, nips and licks on your breast and nipple. Your insides quiver under the seductive assault.

Colson isn’t sure how much longer he can tease you. He’s waited what feels like years to finally have you melting under his skilled fingers and wicked mouth. He wants to savour every moment but he also doesn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind. He also is aware of all of your friends and Frankie downstairs, who could interrupt at any moment. Finally having you half naked, your taut nipple in his mouth, moaning and clawing your fingers through his hair, is muddying his rational thoughts. When he feels as though he is teasing himself more than you, he finally pulls away. Your skin is flushed, your hair is dripping wet, dishevelled and your eyes are wild but to Colson, you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

He grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the shower with him, flicking the water on, and holding you under the shower head. You gasp as cold water hits you, slowly warming to a comfortable temperature. In an instant his mouth is on yours and your back is pushed against the cold tiles of the wall. Colson grabs your thigh and lifts your leg to rest against his hip. He grinds into you in a delicious rhythm of friction and possessiveness. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him against you as he kisses your cheeks, your jawline, your neck. He sucks and bites every piece of flesh he can get his mouth to and you know by the frantic way he moves that he’s marking you. 

“Colson…I need you,” you beg as he sucks your nipple again. 

He growls against your skin in approval before pulling away to study the apex of your thighs. He pushes his hand between the two of you and grazes against your clitoris. You gasp and moan at the same time. You’ve never been this turned on by a man before. Every touch elicits an involuntary movement or sound. You’re putty in his hands, ready to be pleasured and used in any way he sees fit.

Colson grabs his erection firmly in his hand and lines the tip up to you. In one quick thrust, he pushes himself inside you and you cry out at the fullness you feel. You can feel every ridge, every vein of him inside you. He twitches and flexes and you shiver with excitement. E kisses you again, softly this time, running his fingers gently through your hair. When he moves, it’s slow and deliberate and you keel with pleasure. You try to move your hips to increase the friction but he simply grabs your thighs so you have to wrap your legs around him, giving him all of the control as he holds you up against the wall.

Colson wants to remember every moment he has with you as he’s not sure he’ll ever have you again after this night. He wants to remember the feel of your nails scraping down his back, the sound of your moans, the way you whisper his name, the feel of your tightness and warmth around his dick. He wants to make you so desperate for your release that you feel like it’ll never come. The pleasure he gives you will make you wish it never has to end. He reaches down and rubs tight circles on your clit, causing you to cry out. 

“Yeah, that’s it baby, scream for me. Tell me how much you love it,” he demands against your ear and you whimper, all words escaping you. “Tell me,” he growls before nipping your earlobe.

“Colson, I love it so much. I don’t ever want you to stop. I want to cum so hard for you,” you moan and throw your head back, wave after wave of pleasure building inside of you.

“Good girl,” he praises and before you can respond he begins to pound into you with unimaginable speed. His finger works harder and faster against your clit and before you can catch your breath, the biggest orgasm you’ve had breaks through you.

You scream and quiver against his body as he continues his pace. You’re not even sure how he can move that quickly and hold you up at the same time. His thrusts begin to feel sloppy and out of rhythm and suddenly he’s calling out your name and slams into you one last time before collapsing against your shoulder. His breathing is thick and unsteady against your neck and you stroke your fingers through his hair tenderly. 

You feel yourself finally coming down from your own high as Colson holds you. He gently places you down and you wobble slightly as you regain your footing. Colson washes your skin tenderly with a washcloth and coconut scented soap. Neither of you says anything and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Once Colson has finished cleaning you, you rinse yourself and return the favour. You’re slightly embarrassed as you notice the scratch marks you left down his back and you run the cloth over them as gently as possible.

Once you are both clean, Colson shuts the water off and steps out to grab you each a large fluffy towel. It’s now glaringly obvious to you that the silence is not a good thing and your chest begins to feel heavy. Colson can barely make eye contact with you and his whole demeanour is tense, like he can’t wait for you to leave. You eye your wet bra and panties on the floor and grimace at the idea of having to put them back on. Seeing your dismay, Colson finally speaks.

“Wait here,” he mumbles before disappearing into his bedroom.

He returns a few moments later with a pair of clean black boxers and an oversize black t-shirt. He hands them to you and you mutter a thank you before slipping into the briefs. The large t-shirt hides the fact that you’re not wearing a bra and you’re grateful for that. You feel somewhat naked without a bra and you know that if you feel uncomfortable, your friends will notice and wonder why. You slip your jeans, which is kind of pointless considering Colson’s tee is basically a dress on you, and check your appearance in the large bathroom mirror. You run your fingers gently through your hair to calm the frizz and you rub away the small smear of mascara from under your eyes. You feel somewhat more confident now that you’re dressed and your appearance is somewhat back to normal. You move to leave as Colson dresses himself in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie when you hear his small voice behind you.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers and you stop in your tracks. You turn around and he is watching you with the most heartbreaking expression on his face.

“What did you say?” you ask feeling dumb because you heard exactly what he said, you just don’t believe it.

“Don’t leave,” he repeats again. “Please don’t go back downstairs to him. Stay here with me.” 

The defeated look on his face is physically painful to you. You don’t really know what to say but you want to say something to make him feel better, anything. Maybe he didn’t mean to say it? Maybe he just feels uncomfortable that what you just did may have completely ruined your friendship forever and he’s regretting it or he’s trying to save it by pretending everything is normal. Either way, you feel an anxiety rising in you that is so overwhelming you may just burst into tears right in front of him. You feel that usual heat in your neck and face that you get when you’re upset. Your eyes begin to feel with tears that you’re desperately trying to hold back. You feel utter embarrassment that Colson is seeing you this vulnerable.

“I…I don’t want to hurt you, Colson,” you say barely above a whisper. He moves towards you, his arms out in comfort but you step back. You see a flash of hurt across his face but in an instant it’s gone. “I just…I don’t want you to feel obligated to me. What we did was-” your voice breaks and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself. “What just happened was a-amazing and I’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, ever. But I don’t want you to feel you have to make this into more than it is for my sake. I’m ok with it just being a one time thing.” 

You look down at your feet as a tear spills over and you feel completely betrayed by your own body. You know that your actions and your emotions are literally saying the complete opposite of your words but you’re hoping that if you say them confidently enough, Colson will believe you. You take another steadying breath and look up at him, a huge grin spread across his face. He steps towards you again and once again you step back.

“If you move away from me one more time, I will bend you over my knee until your ass is as red as your cheeks,” Colson threatens and you gulp.

He moves more deliberately towards you and envelops your body into his strong arms. He holds you against his body and runs a hand up and down your spine. You shiver against him and your tense muscles instantly relax in the feeling of his comfort. You’re trying to not over-analyse why he’s hugging you, you just want to enjoy these last few moments of time with him before you have to say goodbye.

“The fact that you even thought for a second that I would only need one night with you to get my fill of you, is insane and hilarious at the same time,” he murmurs into your ear and you stiffen and pull away to look at him. “Seeing you with that Frankie prick has been making me jealous all night. In fact, seeing you with any guy other than me, drives fucking me crazy. How can you not see how badly I want you?”

“I thought that- I thought that maybe I was just imagining things because I wanted you and I thought I’d just naively convinced myself that you felt the same,” you try to explain but now saying the thoughts out loud, they even sound ridiculous to you.

Colson doesn’t say anything. He just gently laces his fingers in your hair and angles your face towards him so he can press his lips to yours lovingly. It’s a gentle kiss but it sparks a fire deep in your belly that takes your breath away and leaves you satisfied at the same time. You’d never imagined a feeling like this before yet somehow you always knew if you ever got the chance to be with Colson, this is what it would feel like. You melt into him and he wraps an arm around your waist to hold you against him. You’re not sure how long you kissed for but eventually you have to pull away to gather your breath. Colson rests his forehead against yours and you close your eyes.

“Now, get that fucker Frankie out of my house so I can make you moan my name again without feeling guilty,” he growls in your ear. 

Your eyes shoot open to see him looking down at you with a face splitting grin and you can’t help but throw your head back and laugh. A real, carefree laugh that leaves you feeling breathless and light-headed.

#machine gun kelly #colson baker #mgk #tickets to my downfall #ttmdf #mgk imagine #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk x reader #mgk smut #mgk fanfic #mainstream sellout #est19xx #mgk fluff