#but that's not true. it's not the only way he's known him. it was always more than that.

[greatooglymooglyyy]

The Last Ride Chapter 9 (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: cursing, physical fight, verbal altercation, crying, cheating, lots of emotions, kissing, smut!, 6.9k words

a/n: holy shit y'all this is long. sorry. also links aren't working so you might have to go to the browser if you need the masterlist. love y'all

series masterlist

The silence doesn’t last long around us as Uncle Buck and Dad come running towards the commotion. But Chris doesn’t react to their shouts, leaning down and grabbing Jace up by his shirt. I finally make myself known, going to kneel beside Jace until one of Chris’ friends grabs my arm and shakes his head.

“Say it again.” Chris almost begs, his voice dark and dangerous like he’s looking for a reason to hit him again.

Jace’s eyes spew pure hatred back and he curls his lip up in disgust. “Get your fucking hands off me. Do you know who I am?”

“I think you’re a fucking baby who doesn’t know how to respect women.”

For whatever reason that causes Jace to get more upset, as if it isn’t partially true. I feel frozen, like I’m watching a movie unfold in front of me and there’s nothing I can do to affect what happens.

Jace attempts to get up, it’s unclear whether or not he’s trying to get back at Chris again or just simply standing up but the boy on top of him isn’t having any of it.

Chris slams Jace back into the ground, pushing his back into the slightly rocky dirt. “Let me get up asshole” Jace spits out, clearly embarrassed by the crowd of people watching him get his ass kicked.

All that can be heard is a petty laugh from Chris as he looks down at Jace one last time. “Nah. Go ahead. You’re tough. Speak about her that way again and see what happens, pretty boy.”

For once in Jace's entire life… he’s silent. He just looks to the side to avoid eye contact as Chris gets off of him. I thought this was the end, that the nightmare was over, but of course, it’s Jace we’re talking about.

“That bitch would never even like you.” Jace mumbles under his breath, eyes still trained on anything but Chris.

Unsurprisingly Chris looks down at him, both figuratively and literally. What does surprise me, however, is how Chris immediately spits at the pathetic boy on the ground. “Leave my girl the fuck alone, for good.”

This really set Jace off. Despite his inability to commit to a proper relationship, he was always possessive of me. “Your girl? She's only had one dick down her throat and it’s certainly not yours.”

He’s propped up on his elbows now, a familiar smug smirk on his face. All I feel is a pit in my stomach at his words. His words are spoken in front of everyone I care about.

I’m not a slut. It’s only ever been with Jace, and I never once enjoyed it as much as I thought I was supposed to. But Jace always told me I was good. For a long time, his approval was enough for me.

It became less about me finishing and more about having someone to tell me that I was doing a good job. And now he’s sharing my most intimate details in front of all these people. In front of Chris.

I feel eyes on me as the tears well up in my eye sockets, my arms crossed over my body to cover whatever dignity I have left.

Chris takes one look at me standing there watching in horror, before focusing back on Jace who’s now standing up. Jace clearly thinks he’s won this one since he still has a smug smirk even as he wobbles, but his nasty words don’t stand a chance next to the fuming boy who’s walking back towards him.

It all happens so fast, Chris’ sharp boot being kicked into Jace's side with full force. Jace is knocked back into the dirt as Chris shows no sign of stopping his painful movements.

Within a few seconds, my uncle is walking toward Chris to pull him back by his shoulders. “Get the fuck off me!” Chris yells out, eager to return to where he left off.

But Uncle Buck just pulls him back further, his grip strong. “Take a walk boy.”

“But-“ Chris tries to argue but it’s clearly a lost cause because the gaze in my uncle's eyes is more serious than Chris has ever seen it. He drops his head, breathing heavily, too full of respect for Buck to argue.

“Take a walk. Figure out your shit. Then come back, son.”

“Evie?” He asks softly, looking more like a kid being put in timeout than the man who just kicked someone’s ass for me.

“Birdie’s got her. Go.”

Before he does, we lock eyes one more time. But all the anger seems to have vanished from his features and he just looks… disappointed. Before I can even think of something to say, he turns and walks away with his hands on his head.

Once he’s out of eyesight, the crowd starts to dissipate since it’s clear the scene, and the party for that matter, is over. My uncle helps Jace from the ground with my dad’s help and I finally regain my ability to move.

As I come closer, Jace takes a step back like he thinks I’m going to take the next swing. Honestly, I really should. But I just clear my throat and narrow my eyes at him. “Bitch, huh? Too much baggage for you?”

He scoffs, his eyes damn near bucking out of his head. “That’s what you’re worried about? I was just viciously attacked! I need my fucking lawyer.”

My lip curls up in disgust as I watch him pat his pockets for his phone and come up empty. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. You’re such a fucking loser.”

He pauses and looks up at me, giving me a hateful look that turns slowly into a wicked smile. “You want to talk about losers, sweetheart?”

Since I know him well enough to know when he’s going in for what he thinks is a kill shot, I brace myself before shrugging and forcing a mask of indifference. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Jace.” I lie. “I don’t care.”

“What about her?” He says, nodding at Lydia from where she stands a few feet away. As soon as she meets my eye, she goes frozen and pale as if she’s seen a ghost. And before he says another word, I know.

Memories resurface so quickly, that it feels like I’m watching them happen to someone else. Lydia freaking out whenever I touched her phone. The way Jace always remembered only two of our group’s orders at Starbucks- mine and Lydia’s. How conveniently they always seemed to end up near each other at events and parties.

My breathing hitches as I face her fully, fighting as hard as I can to keep my composure. “How long?”

“Y/N, please-” She tries to croak out, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.

“How fucking long?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment and Jace chimes in behind me with an arrogant flair. “A year. About a week after we fucked to be more accurate. Great week for me.”

Before I can blink, my dad snatches him by the shirt and throws him against the side of the house. “I suggest you start watching your fucking mouth. It’s gonna get you hurt.” Dad lets him go and steps back with a warning look. “Go get your shit so I can get you back to your daddy.”

My head is reeling as I look around dazed. The expressions range from anger to shock, and even worse… pity. I can’t take it anymore, so I turn to rush to my room until I hear Jace call out behind me.

“And tell your little boyfriend, he can expect a call from my attorney.”

I freeze and look over my shoulder, surprising both Jace and myself when I burst into laughter. “Try it and I’ll tell your dad every fucking thing I know. I’ll start by advising him to check his gambling books.”

All the smugness abandons him as he goes white at my words so I give him a huge grin of my own. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

************

By the time I finally force myself to get out of the bath, I’m feeling completely numb. I’d sat in there for an hour, basically just staring at the wall and trying to figure out how I’d been so stupid.

I’m not even sad, not really. But there’s this ache in my heart like something is missing. I guess that’s what happens when you love someone for this long and lose them. Or maybe this is just proof of what my mind has been telling me all along- that I could never be enough.

When I’m dressed, I sit on my bed and check my messages. I’ve fallen out of the habit lately but tonight I’m longing for connection. There are a few worried texts but I ignore most of them, only answering Abby and letting her know I’m okay.

There’s a message from Brielle swearing she had no idea about Lydia and Jace, but I’m not sure if I can believe her, and I don’t have the brainpower to try to figure it out tonight. She’d left along with the other two at my dad’s insistence and I honestly think it was for the best. At least until I figure out who I can and can’t trust.

A sharp knock sounds on my door and I sigh deeply and toss my phone before telling them to come in. Birdie strolls in holding a plate of the Welcome Home cake we never got to cut and I can’t help but smile.

“Hi, my bunny. How are you feeling?” Her voice is so kind and the question is so genuine, I feel like I’m about to crumble in her hands. I try, I really try, not to Iet a tear fall as I nod quickly, but I fail.

She rushes over to me, places the cake on the nightstand, and takes me into her arms. “Let it out, honey. You’ve earned it.”

So I cry. Even though I’m not that surprised, even though I maybe even expected it. I cry for all the wasted youth I gave him. For all the effort I put into trying to be a girl he might love. For all the parts of me, I threw away to make room for him.

And yes, I maybe even cry for Lydia. For the days when I’d have called her my closest friend. I sob into my aunt’s arms until there’s nothing left to give, until my head throbs and my chest aches. Until, before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep.

*************

I wake up with a start to an empty and dark room thinking I must have slept through the next day, but realize it’s only been a couple of hours. What the fuck? Isn’t heartbreak supposed to keep you asleep or something?

Groggily, I wrap my throw blanket around my shoulders and head into the living room to see who’s still awake but, to my surprise, it’s empty. I guess they decided to go out since I did technically ruin their party. Fair enough, honestly.

There’s not much to do in the house alone, so I decide to go see the one girl I know who won’t ever let me down. I just hope she’s still awake.

When I get to the stables, the door is cracked a bit and I raise an eyebrow. There must already be someone here. I look down at my pajama pants that I haphazardly stuffed into my muddy work boots, trying to decide if it’s worth the humiliation. Then I remember the events of a few hours ago…yeah, way past that point, I guess.

I don’t know what I expected to find when I pushed the door open, but it definitely wasn't this- Chris leaned against the back wall, knees to his chest and his head in his hands.

He hears the squeak of the door and looks up, his blue eyes stormy and dark. We hold each other's gaze for a long moment, neither of us saying a word until he finally stands.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here, I’ll go.” He goes to rush out of the door so I move over to block it and panic, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

“Where’s Evie?”

He pauses, not expecting the question, and blinks quickly. “She..uh.. I took her home.” A look of guilt passes over his face and he flinches. “I can’t believe I fought in front of her. Thank god Birdie grabbed her before she could see me like that.”

He sounds so disappointed in himself that I want to pull him in for a hug but I hold myself back. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Chris levels me with a look so fierce a shudder goes down my spine. “Don’t do that. That’s on him. Not you.”

“I just don’t understand why you did it,” I admit, studying his boots instead of his face out of nervousness.

“If you think I was gonna sit back and let that bitch of a boy call you out of your name, you’ve lost your mind.” He grinds out with disgust, his skin flushing red as anger seems to settle back in over him. He starts to pace back and forth as my eyes track him in frustration.

"But what does that have to do with you? You’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with me." I say, fighting to keep my voice level and calm. I don’t want to make whatever has forced its way between us bigger but I’m tired of guessing at how he feels.

He laughs bitterly, still refusing to meet my eye as he shakes his head. “Have I? Is that right?”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. “There you go again, speaking in riddles. Why can’t you ever just be direct? I’m tired of playing these games.”

Chris finally stops his pacing and turns to meet my eye. “Games?” He asks, disbelief clear in his tone. “You think this is a game to me? I wasn’t ever playing with this, Scotch.” He gestures between the two of us widely before he spins away from me again, locking his arms behind his head.

The seconds stretch on as I stare blankly at his back waiting to see if he will say more. Just as I’m about to leave him to his thoughts, he faces me again, seeming to come to a decision.

“Fuck it.” He says simply as he crosses the space in three long strides and catches my mouth in a kiss. He braces his hands on either side of my face, the movement so abrupt and passionate that it takes several seconds for my brain to catch up.

The momentum of the kiss causes my back to hit one of the empty stalls slightly but I don't care in the slightest when Chris’ lips are on mine.

He pulls back for a moment, realizing his body moved before his brain had a chance to comprehend what he was doing. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I don’t ever do shit like that. I just-“

I cut him off with another kiss, my hands pulling down his head to attach his lips back onto mine. This kiss is a lot different than the others we’ve shared in our time together. Usually, it’s short and sweet with smiles and small talk in between, but the passion behind this one is much more clear.

His hands trail on my sides causing me to shiver slightly at the touch. He detaches his mouth from mine again, but before I can get confused about it his lips make contact with my neck.

The way his lips suck softly on my bare skin has my head thrown back in pleasure, his hands coming up to make contact with my chest. “Fuck, Chris. I need to feel you.” I breathe out, reaching my hands towards his belt.

I can feel him hesitate, stiffening when I make contact before he groans and pulls back. His face pulls up in a helpless look and he shakes his head. “Not here.”

I furrow my brows as I try to pull him back to me but he doesn’t budge. “Why not?”

He gives me a look of disbelief as he gestures at our surroundings, kicking his feet at the hay for emphasis. “Scotch, ain't no way in hell I’m having sex with you in this dirty ass stable.”

Disappointment and a tinge of rejection tug at my chest as I nod and take a step back. “Okay.”

Tutting, Chris tilts my face up to his and presses a gentle kiss on my lips. “Don’t give me that look, baby. You know how bad I want you.”

As he speaks, he drops kisses lower and lower down my jawline until he finds a sweet spot on my neck, running his tongue slowly over it.

“But you deserve a bed…” He swirls his tongue as he pauses, his hand on my hip slipping just below my waistband. “And I deserve time.”

Moaning slowly at the sweet torture, I let myself melt into him until the frustration is too much and I push against his chest. “You making me even more horny is just mean if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

His eyes widen slightly at my desperate words as he pulls away, clearly not expecting that from me. “I..uh..never said that.” He looks around the stable. “Just can’t do a thing about it here.”

His answer was not a no, which is all I needed. I reach my hand down once more, fingers making contact with his obvious boner before I lean into his ear. “If you can’t do it here, then you’d better find somewhere you can.”

He searches my face for signs of uncertainty but he comes up short, leaning down to place one more kiss to my lips before replying. “Yes ma’am.”

***************

“Okay, Scotch,” Chris says, turning to me as he throws his truck into park. “We’re gonna have to be very quiet.”

“Why? Are we hunting wabbits?” I ask sarcastically in my absolutely atrocious Loony Toons impression.

He gives me a completely unimpressed stare before he tilts his head up toward the sky. “God, why? Why’d you give me this cornball?”

“Okay. Okay. What’s the plan?” I ask through my laugh, my stomach doing an involuntary flip when his eyes land back on mine.

Instead of answering, he watches me for a second before leaning over the center console and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s short and sweet, his thumb caressing the side of my face. I feel the heat rising to my face even before he pulls away. “Just follow my lead.”

I do exactly that, stepping carefully over the gravel and stepping to the side as he slowly unlocks and pushes open his front door. It makes a long creaking sound and we both hold our breath as we slip inside.

His house has the same classic farmhouse feel as my aunt and uncle’s except for a more antique touch. I smile when I see the floral patterns that adorn almost all of the furniture in the room- a grandma classic.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to keep my steps quiet, Evie’s toys are scattered across the floor like little landmines. I see Chris grimace as he sends a toy car zooming across the carpet accidentally. Just when I’m about to laugh at his clumsiness, I land down on a giant piano mat and suddenly I’m playing Beethoven with my feet.

Our eyes widen at the loud notes before Chris wraps his arms around my waist and snatches me off it. We freeze like we’re in a spy movie and we’ve set off a laser but we don’t hear any movement.

We take the stairs two at a time, moving as silently as possible until we reach the top. As soon as we do, Chris bursts into quiet laughter. “I knew I should have made her pick up her shit before bed.”

After what feels like an eternity we finally make it to his room, one of only two doors on this floor. He opens the door for me and ushers for me to go in first but I can’t help but feel completely awkward.

It’s one thing in the heat of the moment, but the stinging in my foot from where I stepped on a Lego has distracted my mind slightly.

When he closes his door behind him, I study him nervously before whispering, “Do we still have to be quiet?”

Shaking his head, he walks past me and takes a seat at the foot of his bed. “It’s only me up here. I mean, don’t yell or nothin’.”

This pulls me out of my awkwardness a bit and I give him a teasing smile. “Damn. I guess I’ll just have to wait to hear you scream.”

He raises an eyebrow and laughs, prodding his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You wish.”

Still a bit too nervous to initiate anything, I take a moment to study his room. It’s a lot cleaner than I’d expect from a blue-collar boy, with only a few piles of clothes scattered around the floor. His bed is even surprisingly made.

His walls though are very typically bare, hosting only a small shelf of trophies, a framed Lil Skies vinyl, and a few pictures of friends and family on a corkboard. I scan them curiously, always desperate to know more about him.

I recognize a few of the friends but the picture of him being held by a woman with his eyes holds my attention. He looks about five years old, holding a cotton candy cone with a huge grin as he looks over at her. I run my finger over it gently, before deciding not to bring it up.

Instead, I go for something lighter and turn to point at the vinyl. “Okay, so, there’s being a fan, and then there’s an obsession. Why is it framed? I don’t even see a record player, you fraud.”

His eyes widen in faux offense and he puts a hand up. “First of all, don’t question me about the GOAT-”

“So debatable-”

“Second! You expect me to believe you don’t have a record player collecting dust at home? No chance.”

“Actually,” I say, rushing to defend myself. “It’s definitely been used, thank you very much.”

“How many times?” He questions, leaning forward and manspreading his legs.

At my very obvious wince of guilt, he scoffs and crosses his arms. “Lemme guess. It’s got Bluetooth, don’t it?”

“Okay,” I say, laughing and shaking my head in shame. “Shut up. I hate you.”

“You don’t.” He says with complete certainty and I roll my eyes. There’s that cockiness I’ve come to expect. But when I look back at him, it feels like the energy in the room has shifted a bit and I almost want to squirm.

He holds my eye contact with intensity before he gives

me a soft and firm, “C’mere.”

Anxiousness almost nails me to my spot but I fight it to walk over and stand between his legs, resting my hands delicately on his shoulders as I look down at him. He runs his hands up and down the sides of my legs, pausing to pull me in closer before continuing.

There’s nothing in the world I want to do more than kiss him at this moment so I do. Bending slightly, I press my lips to him in a slow and casual kiss that quickly turns more passionate. He lifts me onto his lap for more access before he hesitates and pulls away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his eyes bouncing between mine as if trying to detect if my mind has changed. “Nothing has to happen tonight just because you’re here.”

Even without the undeniable honesty in his tone, I would have believed him but hearing him say it out loud makes it that much easier. I nod profusely, leaning back in to kiss him again but he dodges it and takes my face in his hands.

“Gonna need you to say it, Scotch.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything than I am about this, Chris. I need you.” I make sure to keep my eyes on his so he knows I mean it. But the minute it’s out of my mouth, it’s like a switch flips as he pulls me back in roughly.

He kisses me wildly, his lips moving against mine with every bit of neediness that I’m feeling as well. When his tongue touches mine and coaxes a tremor out of him, I realize just how much power he’s handed over to me. But before I even have the chance to test it again, he flips us over, placing his body over mine as he slides me higher up the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss with him on top of me to take a turn. My legs are wrapped around him while his hands rest on my ass in order to pull himself closer to me. I can feel his bulge on me through the restriction of his jeans but it only makes me want him more.

He seems like he's slightly lost in the kiss. That or he’s too scared to do anything else. I pull back, a sight whine in my tone as I look him in the eye. “You do know you can touch me right?”

“I just want to make this good for you,” he replies, seeming uncharacteristically sheepish. It’s not often I see him so nervous which only makes me laugh through my breath.

“You’ve already made me more wet than I've ever been and you’ve only kissed me,” I whisper, causing a smile and a sense of relief to wash over him. “I just want to know what it’s like to do this sort of thing with someone who cares about me.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious, his hands sliding up my sides again. This time though they’re under my shirt and the feeling is overwhelming.

I nod quickly. “‘Of course I do, Chris.” He smiles, dropping his head back down to my neck to suck on the skin softly. I get lost in the feeling momentarily, his fingers slowly tugging at the fabric that keeps me from him while I try my best to remain still under his touch.

As amazing as it feels, I grow impatient quickly as the throbbing between my legs overtakes any regular thought. “Chris please.”

He pauses on my neck for a moment, lifting my shirt above my head to leave me below him in the Victoria's Secret bra Lydia bought me for my 16th birthday. His eyes linger for a moment before he finally responds, a teasing smirk on his face. “Please what?”

I shake my head and fix my messed-up hair slightly. Of course, the asshole on top of me is going to make me spell it out for him. “Stop making me wait for you.”

“A whole damn summer of driving me insane and you think I’m gonna rush this?” He scoffs playfully before his lips make contact with mine again. His hands find comfort on my chest, causing me to arch my back into the touch.

Expecting another cocky remark at my neediness, it takes me aback when instead he just instructs me to sit up, his voice taking on a deeper affliction. It takes me a second to comprehend why I'm sitting up for him until his hand snakes behind my back and unclasps the lacy fabric with one hand.

It feels very real suddenly but I try not to let myself get anxious under his gaze. I keep my eyes on his face, his kind open eyes reminding me there’s nothing to be worried about. He’s not Jace.

“You’re so beautiful. Like really fucking beautiful.” He whispers as he takes the fabric off me fully, leaving me exposed below him.

Before I can leave behind another snarky remark about how long he’s taking his head dips down to my chest. He places a few kisses on my collarbone before his mouth finally makes contact with one of my nipples.

His tongue swirls around the bud and my hands can’t help but falter to his curly brown hair. The feeling of his lips sucking on me while his hands explore the rest of my body.

He’s true to his word on taking his time with me, and for once I don’t feel the need to rush it and get it over with. For once sex doesn’t feel like a chore.

Slowly, his kisses on my chest travel down my stomach, a soft noise left behind with each one. I squeeze my thighs together in order to relieve some tension that I'm not entirely sure what else to do with.

His fingers begin unbuttoning my pants and tugging gently before I lift my hips to grant him access. He slides them off along with my socks in one swift movement.

“Wait,” I say, causing concern to overtake his face in the dimly lit bedroom.

“Are you okay? We can stop,” he replies, pausing immediately and pulling back.

I just reply by lifting his t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair slightly. “Now we’re more even.” I smile.

He returns my smile, relief in his eyes as he kisses me. A more intimate kiss than before, a softer one that reminds me there’s more than lust between us. “I really like you.” He says, voice low and urgent as if he needs to make sure I know.

For whatever reason this does it for me, more than the touches and the way his hands rest on my side. Not that I didn’t know but the confirmation lights me anew. He really likes me. He likes me for me and not some made-up version of who he thinks I should be.

“I like you more,” I reply, a huge grin plastered on my face as he lowers his body back down to align himself with my center.

He kisses just above the line of my underwear, his thumb placing light pressure on my clit through the fabric while he replies. “Impossible.”

His hands pull on my underwear slowly, as if asking for permission which of course I grant eagerly. Lifting my hips to help him out, I can’t help but flush at how slowly and sensually he pulls them off. He whispers something under his breath that I don’t catch but sounds a bit like ‘beautiful’ before he comes back to me.

Expecting him to slide inside of me at any moment, I sit up and reach down to undo his pants but instead, he pushes me back into the mattress and swats away my hand.

Just as I’m about to question him, I feel his hand reach down to make contact with the wetness that’s pooled up for him, his fingers exploring my entrance slightly as his palm places a light pressure to my bare clit.

I try my best not to moan out at the slightest contact, finding it embarrassing how sensitive I am. It’s not like I've never had an orgasm in my whole life; I just haven’t had one at the hands of another person.

His lips find comfort on my neck again to place a few light kisses before shifting his body down on the bed completely. I shift uncomfortably as his hands slowly slide down my body, the touch leaving prickly goosebumps behind.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, yeah?” He asks as his face is completely aligned with the section of my body that’s practically begging for him.

“Chris I swear to god if you ask me that again I'll-“ I’m cut off by his tongue licking a stripe through my folds, testing the waters and realizing just how easy it is to get me to shut up.

I place my hand over my mouth at the feeling of his nose brushing against my sensitivity, trying my best to keep my hopes still under his touch.

He pulls off momentarily before lifting my legs over his shoulders to grant him easier access. “If you thought I was going to have sex with you without getting a taste, you are out of your mind.”

I don’t bother replying, refusing to prolong the teasing any longer. But embarrassingly my heart can’t help but flutter at his desire to make me feel good. It’s nice being prioritized for once.

His lips wrap around the throbbing bud as he uses his tongue in an urgency I wasn’t expecting. My hips lift slightly up to meet his face but a hand pushes me into the bed by my lower stomach to keep me still.

My stomach is tensing at the pleasure of his tongue flicking repeatedly and it's near impossible to not let out any noises. A few small whimpers escape my lips without a second thought causing me to cringe slightly at the thought of anyone hearing this.

He slows his movements every once and a while to place delicate kisses on my lower half, practically cherishing me before he continues his relentless work on my clit.

My heavy breathing fills the room and it hitches at the addition of one of his fingers. It slides into me with ease and immediately curls upwards at a teasing speed.

A moan slips out of the palm of my hand and I can feel him smile against me as his finger stretches me out and his tongue continues the flicking movement.

I feel the build-up in my stomach approach but I’m scared of releasing my hand from my lips. I’m not used to having to hold back real moans during sex.

So I tap him on the shoulder, causing the boy to immediately look up at me with eyes that have my heart beating out of my chest. He watches me as pleasure coils inside my stomach, a look of satisfaction and wonder in his eyes.

He pulls his lips away from my core to place another loving kiss on my lower stomach. “Can I put another one in?” He asks, looking up at me for permission.

I nod with a slight fear lingering in my head. Chris' fingers are definitely larger than my own.

He dips his head back down to refocus his attention on my clit momentarily before carefully entering another finger into my core. It must be obvious that it’s been a while because he works slowly.

Soon enough the stretching turns into pleasure and a gasp slips from my lips as he curves his fingers deep inside of me, deeper than before. As his fingers curl up to hit the sweet spot I could never reach, his tongue swirls against my clit at its fastest pace.

His other hand rubs soothing circles against my hip as I cling to him, pleading for more as his tongue and finger find a rhythm.

When I feel my high building, it’s so intense, so unlike anything I’ve experienced before, I almost want to run away. But I’m like putty in his hands as he works over my body, every kiss feeling like worship.

I say his name through a moan and meet his eye as waves of pleasure crash over me, his movements pausing and giving me a break as I ride it out. He crawls up my body, a grin on his face as I settle down and go weak in his arms.

Chris presses kiss after kiss to my face until I giggle and pull away to look him in the eye. “That was-”

“I know.” He cuts in, his cocksure smirk snapping back into place as he raises a brow at me. I roll my eyes and shove him up, unable to hide my smile at his quiet laughter.

We both pause for a second, him seeming unsure how much further I want to go and me not being used to taking control. But something about the way he’s looking at me fills me with confidence and I pull myself back over his lap, straddling him.

He sits up against his headboard, moving me with him, and places his hands on my hips as he studies me. I can see from his expression that he wants to ask yet again if I’m sure, so I cut him off with a hungry kiss, grinding myself against his jeans.

Straining even harder against his pants, he groans and gives in, reaching down to tug off his belt quickly. I slide off of his lap so he can stand and get off the rest of his clothes, my eyes frozen on his bulge as he removes his boxers.

My jaw drops as his length is revealed and I tear my eyes away to give him an incredulous look. Before I can stop myself, I stutter out a stunned, “Is that going to fit?”

His eyes dance with amusement, biting his lip to keep from outright laughing at me before he nods. “You can take it.”

Stepping over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box of condoms before going to put it on. My heart starts to flutter a bit when I realize that it’s a new and unopened box and I hide my smile.

Finally covered, he walks back toward me so I lie down on instinct, figuring he’ll turn me around if he prefers backshots but he tuts and shakes his head. “Uh uh, baby. This ain’t a laid back kinda night.”

He lifts me and takes my place, bringing me down to straddle him again. Panic floods me as I realize what he wants. “Chris… I don’t know…I’ve never done that before.”

Embarrassment makes me look away from him but he grabs the back of my neck and gently tugs me down for a kiss. “It’s okay, Scotch. I got you.”

Nodding slowly, I let the feeling of safety settle over me before I give up control. Chris guides me up by my hips, placing me against his dick but letting me set the pace.

With a steadying breath, I slowly lower myself down inch by inch, gasping as he fills me. When I think there’s no way I could possibly take anymore, I look down and realize he’s only halfway inside. Meeting his eyes, I give him a helpless look and he squeezes my hips.

“You’re alright, baby. Just like that.”

I can hear the strain in his voice as he tries not to move to let me adjust and it spurs me on until I completely bottom out. Chris whispers a quiet string of curses, screwing his eyes shut in pleasure. “Fuck, I knew you’d feel like this.”

Moaning at his words and feeling my wetness pool around him, I rock my hips and throw my head back. I swirl my hips, trying to find a rhythm that feels right until Chris lifts me again.

This time, he’s more urgent and a bit rougher, tugging me up and down as he thrusts his hips up to meet mine. I move with him, letting him push deeper inside of me until I want to scream. I want to lean down and kiss him again but the friction between us feels too good to break the rhythm.

Deciding to fight for my sliver of dominance back, I brace my hands on his chest and set my own tempo. It clearly drives him crazy, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he moans out my name. Not a pet name. Not even Scotch. But my name. And the way it sounds on his lips is enough to have me clenching against him.

“Fuck.” He groans, his hands traveling up to squeeze my breasts as they bounce with our movements. “That’s my fucking girl.”

My moans must get too loud because he pulls me down and smashes his lips against mine, swallowing every whimper he coaxes out of me. I try to hold off when I feel another orgasm tearing through me, desperate to stretch this feeling out forever. But it’s no use.

“Chris, I’m coming-” I try to say against his lips but he already knows, pulling back to watch me fall apart on top of him.

I press my face into his shoulder as I come around him, my teeth grazing his skin as I shudder with pleasure. Knowing I’m about a second away from tapping out, he picks up his pace, his lips going to the base of my throat.

He lets out a strangled sound before going limp and wrapping his arms even tighter around me. Neither of us moves a muscle, not even bothering to pull out as we breathe heavily skin to skin.

There’s a moment of fear, of insecurity, when I’m not sure what will happen next. So I lie as still as I can hoping to prolong the moment when everything changes. The fear stays as he finally pulls away and goes to clean up. It persists when he comes back and hands me an oversized shirt and a pair of his boxers.

It isn’t until he’s laid down beside me, my body pulled flush against his that I understand. Not until he leans me back to press a sweet and casual goodnight kiss on my lips.

He’s not anything like the boy I loved before. He can be a safe place to land

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part One | Series Masterlist

Summary: his music school having been challenged by Riverrun Conservatory, Aemond is given the opportunity to come face to face with their top musician | Word Count: 4.7k~ | Warnings: smut (not with the main female character), toxic relationship, semi-public sex

Nothing quite compared to the low hum, and delicate whine of a cello. It had been that way for some time, ever since he'd discovered it.

Aemond still remembers the look on his mother's face, her chocolate eyes wide with pride and joy, when her son who was still freshly mutilated, resulting in the loss of sight in his left eye, took an interest in playing classical music.

The cello had become more than just an instrument to Aemond; it was his refuge, his voice in a world that had grown suddenly more silent and unforgiving. The accident had not just taken half his sight but had cast a shadow over his once bright future. Music, however, brought light back into his life, offering a path forward that he had never anticipated.

The Targaryen name, synonymous with power and prestige in other realms, here lent an aura of intrigue and expectation to his performances. Yet, it was Aemond's own skill, the raw emotion he channelled through the strings of his cello, that captivated audiences. His music was a blend of classical elegance and a palpable intensity that seemed to stem from the very depths of his being.

And Aemond was nothing if not a perfectionist at heart.

He perfected everything, to the point of madness some felt. And if he had not invited a feeling of deep, primal intrigue from every performance he gave, then what was the point? This innocent hobby at first, honed by his parents and caregivers alike, was now a way of life. A career. Something to strive for.

As he became older, this competitive nature never wavered once. He embraced it like a challenge to be met. And the conductor of this prestigious school, Otto Hightower, both a friend of his father, Viserys, a business giant well-known across all of Westeros, and conveniently his grandfather, expected nothing short of the best from his prodigious grandson.

He was never self-conscious either, even if he was easily noticeable and stared upon everywhere he went. And one might expect little attention from the opposite sex in a world of classical music and elegant instruments, but for Aemond this could not have been less true.

He attracted in every show, not only with his talent but with his haunting appearance. The straight long scar through his left eye was struck in the middle by a pale blue pupil, his other seeing eye stark in comparison. Women would watch his slender fingers strike fear, passion and energy into their hearts, wishing the very same could grip at their skin.

To their frustrations, he never acted on this popularity.

Alys Rivers was the only woman he ever reciprocated affections of some kind for. At least two decades his senior, his family had been less than impressed at her presence in his life. But there was no choice on their part. Aemond had made his, and Alys Rivers, like it or not, was his muse. A classical music lover at heart. And a professional critic no less.

One might be forgiven for thinking they disliked each other, they rarely exhibited romance. She was more akin to his manager than anyone else, critiquing his manner of playing and giving advice where he didn't want it. And he rewarded her, away from the prying eyes of the public, with quick, angry sex, exerting what control he did have, into intimacy.

She, like him, had a haunting presence to her, but one less mysterious. More overtly seductive. And though sometimes it seemed to irk Aemond, some felt as if they were still acquainted by convenience if nothing else.

Aemond always arrived early to Kings Landing Music College. The stuffy, wood-panelled room gave some semblance of comfort. There was something about the acoustics, the closeness, that felt almost womb-like. Safe. Familiar.

Meticulously, tuning his cello, he half-listened to the skinny, pink-faced Blackwood, practicing at the same time, “sound like a fucking dying pig.”

“Half dying,” Aemond murmured, with a roll of his eyes.

Otto waltzed in, clad in black slacks and a loose forest-green jumper, “Blackwood, get your fucking instrument in tune please. Fucking Cole could do a better job in violas.”

Criston twirled two Timpani sticks between his fingers, giving a look of mock offence from across the room, “just because I'm over here doesn't mean I can't hear you-”

“Alright, alright, before we begin today’s practice, I have an announcement,” Otto declared, his voice commanding attention. The room quickly fell silent, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“We’ve been challenged to a competition by the Riverrun Conservatory,” Otto revealed, his eyes sweeping across the room, measuring the reaction to his words. The announcement ignited a buzz among the musicians, the rivalry between the schools notorious for its intensity. 

“This isn’t just any friendly showcase. It’s a direct confrontation on neutral ground at the upcoming city arts festival. We will be judged on technique, emotional expression, and the complexity of our performance.”

Aemond’s pulse quickened. Riverrun Conservatory had a formidable reputation, known for their strict discipline and innovative performances. The thought of competing against them stirred a mix of excitement and nerve.

Otto’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on Aemond, then moving on. “I want crispness, I want emotion, and above all, I want precision. We will begin selecting the repertoire tomorrow. Today, I want everyone to focus on their sections. I expect perfection and I will accept nothing less than your best.”

With a decisive turn, Otto left the rehearsal space, his footsteps echoing his determination. The room erupted into whispers and hurried discussions; the stakes had been set.

Blackwood sighed, stress gnawing and weighing on his face. “Fuck me, no pressure then.”

“Don't fucking shit yourself. It's only Riverrun,” a lanky guy mumbled behind his flute.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Aemond tuned his cello once more, a determined glint in his eye. He was eager to prove himself, not just as a formidable cellist, but as a key player in leading his school to victory. As the rehearsal began, the sounds of strings, woodwinds, and brass filled the room, each musician pouring their heart into the notes.

Aemond knew that every session, every note, would count. The festival was not just another performance; it was a proving ground. And he was ready to claim his place on it.

With his cello perched on his back as if it were an extension of himself, Aemond strode toward Otto’s office. The familiar weight of the instrument reassured him, steadying his nerves as he prepared to discuss the imminent arrival of their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Aemond knocked with a confident rhythm and was quickly greeted by Otto, who peered out from behind a mountain of musical scores. His deep-set eyes and beard, more salt than pepper, gave him an air of aged wisdom.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Otto asked, noticing the urgency in Aemond's posture.

Stepping inside, Aemond carefully leaned his cello against the wall. "I've heard that Riverrun will be arriving tomorrow to practise here, in preparation for the festival. They’ll be using some of our facilities. I wanted to discuss how we can use this to our advantage, especially since their star pianist is said to be among them."

Otto raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he saw the cunning nature reflected in his grandson he perceived in himself.

"Indeed, they will be here. It’s a rare opportunity to observe them up close, to learn their strengths and possibly their weaknesses. We’ve managed to arrange different practice times to ensure there’s no direct overlap, but our paths will certainly cross."

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we could subtly observe their practice sessions, we might glean insights into their preparation and techniques. It could inform our strategy and help us focus our rehearsals where we need the most work."

Otto walked over to his desk and shuffled some papers, revealing a schedule. "Here are the timings. Riverrun’s sessions are slotted just after ours in the adjacent rooms. It’s crucial we keep our interactions professional, but keep your eyes and ears open. Understand how their pianist integrates with their ensemble— it’s not just about her solo performance."

"Should we consider adjusting our pieces or rehearsal focus based on what we learn?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

"Potentially," Otto responded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But let’s not be hasty. First, observe. See if there’s a particular piece they struggle with or excel in. We’ll adjust our strategy based on solid evidence, not assumptions."

Aemond felt a surge of tactical excitement. "I’ll make sure our section leaders are discreet but observant. We can use this chance to refine our performance to outshine theirs."

"Exactly," Otto agreed, handing Aemond a copy of the schedule. "Use this opportunity wisely. We need every edge we can get against Riverrun. Remember, they are guests in our school, so maintain the highest standards of respect and professionalism at all times."

With a firm nod, Aemond picked up his cello, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As he left Otto’s office, he knew the next few days could define the outcome of the festival. The challenge was daunting, but Aemond was ready to lead his school not just to compete, but to win.

Aemond was barely through the front door of his apartment before Alys was barraging him with questions. Her fine lips were lacquered with red, fingernails painted a charcoal black as she poured herself a coffee.

“I heard about the competition. Riverrun is notorious. Sure you can handle it?” She smirked behind the rim of her cup.

He sighed, setting down his cello, “yes, I can fucking handle it.” That was his only response before sinking into the sofa, laying his head flat back against the sofa, eyes shut, as if he wanted her to disappear.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit the way he tensed and then relaxed at the way her fingers expertly kneaded his shoulders, massaging the stress from him. But even more so as they trailed down, sharp nails ghosting over his neck had his lips parting and his trousers growing tight.

“Now, now. You know I only want you to do better,” she cooed, “and you will get better, with the right critique.”

He could hear her smile, her tone light and sensual as she trailed off.

Aemond turned his head and looked up at her where she was looming over him, her thumbs still pushing circles on his sore muscles.

“Critique?”

Alys’s lips curved up in a knowing smile, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his weariness. Her green, emerald like eyes, were like daggers, hooking and reeling him in somewhere dark.

"Of course, critique," she murmured, her voice a melodious blend of challenge and tease. "Every artist needs it, even the great Aemond Targaryen. Especially with Riverrun breathing down our necks."

She moved around the sofa with the grace of a cat, setting her coffee down on the table before moving her legs either side of him, brushing her clothed core beneath her skirt against his growing hardness. "I watch, I listen, and I provide feedback that no one else dares to give you."

Aemond sighed, shifting to look at her more directly. The red of her lips was stark against the softer hue of her face, a deliberate pop of colour that matched the sharpness in her words. "And how exactly does your 'feedback' help me tonight?" he asked, his tone a mix of scepticism and intrigue.

"It helps because it makes you think. It makes you feel. Isn't that what music is about?" Alys replied, her hands now moving down from his shoulders, her fingers tracing lines across his chest through his shirt. "Besides, seeing you tense up like that, only to melt under my touch—it tells me where you're holding back. Not just here," she said, pressing briefly into a particularly tight spot. Then, her touch sank to his belt, then drifting lower and stroking his growing erection, teasing his length slowly. 

"But here too."

Her approach was intoxicating, a dangerous mix of personal care and professional critique. "You're brilliant, Aemond, but even brilliance can be polished," she continued, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Let me polish you, make you shine brighter. Let me push you to be the best, and then push a little harder."

Aemond felt the dual edges of her influence—the softness of her caress, the hard truth in her critique. It was a manipulation he allowed, perhaps even welcomed. Her presence was woven into his life, a thread that was both comforting and controlling. Sometimes too tight. 

With two needy hands on her buttocks, he rolled up her skirt around her hips, dipping between her welcoming thighs, his ego somewhat inflated to find she was wet already. Alys did little else in reaction than assisting to undo his belt, taking his hard length in her hand and seductively massaging from base to tip.

He pulled her forcefully against him, fingers dug into her pale skin as she hovered over him and sank slowly, splitting herself open on his cock with a practised moan. Her hips moved instinctually, stretching to accommodate his thickness over and over. 

Between grunts and curses, Aemond was rarely vocal. Sex was a way to dispel frustration and invite inspiration in his clear head afterwards. Alys could be anyone. But he had to admit, he found her interesting, if not for her advice.

Her manicured and rounded nails dug into his neck as Alys moved on him with vigour, one hand stealing between them to circle her bud to try and hurtle herself towards completion.

It had occurred to Aemond that she was similarly using him in the same way.

With a bruising grip around her waist, Aemond jutted up into her shakily, coming hard within Alys’ quivering walls in the aftermath of her orgasm. And once she gained her breath, she peeled his hands off her as if he were suffocating. His member slid out of her, softened and slick with her moisture.

Alys straightened, stepping back to observe him, her eyes assessing as she wiggled her skirt back down. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the rehearsal. I want to see how you handle yourself with Riverrun watching. I'll be watching too, taking notes." Her tone was playful yet serious, a reminder of her dual role in his life.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Aemond lay there, a part of him resenting the ease with which she shifted roles from lover to critic, yet another part eager to prove himself worthy of her praise, his heart going fast still in the aftermath of their hastened sex.

 He knew that Alys's critiques, though wrapped in seduction, were aimed at forging him into a sharper, more formidable musician. In the complex symphony of their relationship, her motives played out in chords, each note crafted to challenge and change him.

The next day dawned crisp and clear, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the grounds of the music school. The building was abuzz with the nervous energy of anticipation, the air vibrating with the undertones of an impending musical clash.

As he made his way through the corridors to the rehearsal room, he could hear the murmur of voices, the tuning of instruments, and the occasional burst of laughter or a sharp command. Today, the halls of his own school would play host not just to its students but also to their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Aemond entered the rehearsal room to find it already half-filled with his peers, each one keenly aware of the significance of the day. The room was set up with chairs and stands arranged in a precise semi-circle, awaiting the arrival of the Riverrun musicians.

Before long, the members of Riverrun Conservatory began to filter in, their expressions a mix of confident smiles and cautious glances. The room's atmosphere thickened with the tangible sense of competition, each group eyeing the other, assessing and reassessing.

Amid this tense backdrop, Alys slipped into the room, a notepad clutched in her hand and a pen poised for action. Her presence was a sharp reminder to Aemond of the dual aspects of their relationship. She caught his eye and offered a slight nod, an unspoken signal that she was here in her professional capacity.

The rehearsal began with Otto taking the lead, his voice firm as he called for attention. "Let's begin with a warm-up. Remember, while we share our space today, let's show our guests the level of excellence we strive for."

Aemond took his place, settling his cello between his knees. His fingers danced over the strings, tuning with meticulous care, his gaze occasionally drifting to the Riverrun musicians who were setting up nearby. Among them, he noticed a young woman, stood between two other boys who looked over her at one another with smug smiles. They were most certainly either violinists or cellists. But the woman between them, he saw, had such delicate fingers, this had to be the pianist he had heard so much about.

All watched them perform with a sort of challenging, stoic expression, as if judging every movement, every chord and sound made. Every choice scrutinised. In the corner of his eye, between glances at the music, Aemond noticed Alys scribbling down notes.

And when their performance came to an end, Riverrun Conservatory clapped, alongside their conductor, Lyonel Strong. He was burly, red-cheeked, strict but well-meaning, as far as Aemond had heard. But the way he and Otto Hightower looked at one another was akin to some secret rivalry nobody else was privy to.

Alys slid up to Aemond’s side as he began to tidy his instrument away, her presence immediately electric. “See that man?” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Lyonel. “He conducts with his heart on his sleeve, not a metronome like Otto. That’s why they play with such passion. It’s infectious, captivating.”

Aemond nodded, absorbing her analysis. He knew of her critical acumen, but there was a personal edge to her voice now. “You sound almost admiring,” he observed, watching her closely.

Alys’s expression darkened slightly, her emerald eyes flitting back to Lyonel. “I might admire his style, but not the man. Not after everything.” She sighed, a sound more resigned than angry. “He might be the maestro of emotions, Aemond, but off that podium, he’s a different story.”

Aemond did not inquire further. If he was being truthful with himself, he didn't much care for Alys' personal grievances.

“Keep a close eye on their cellist,” Alys warned from the sidelines, watching Riverrun tune and start up their instruments for their own warm up.

As Riverrun began their performance, Aemond’s attention initially settled on the cellist, analysing his fluid technique and the rich emotion flowing from his strings. However, his focus soon drifted to the pianist, who was poised before her instrument like a painter in front of a blank canvas. Her movements were almost ethereal, feather-like, as her fingers danced across the keys, each note floating into the air with a delicate precision that seemed to transcend the mechanics of the piano itself.

The pianist's performance captivated Aemond, her connection with the music evident in the subtle sway of her body and the gentle closing of her eyes as she played. It was more than mere execution, it was an embodiment of the piece, a true manifestation of feeling and artistry.

Alys, standing beside Aemond, watched the pianist with a discerning eye. After a moment, she leaned closer to Aemond and whispered, "See how she plays? It’s like she’s not just striking notes, but weaving a spell. Each touch is thoughtful, precise yet so naturally expressive."

Aemond nodded, fully absorbed in the performance. He could see what Alys meant—the pianist wasn’t just playing, she was performing in a way that made the piano speak directly to the audience. It was an inspiring display of how technique served as the foundation for emotional expression.

"Her approach is impressive," Alys continued, her voice a mix of professional respect and genuine admiration. "That’s what we need to aim for, Aemond. It’s not just about the notes, but how you make them feel alive, how you connect them to the listener’s soul."

Watching the pianist, Aemond felt a surge of inspiration mixed with a competitive drive. He realised that this was the standard he needed to meet and exceed. The way the pianist’s performance resonated in the room, how it seemed to stir the hearts of all who listened, including his own—it set a clear benchmark.

As the piece drew to a close, and the final note lingered in the air, a hushed silence fell over the room before applause erupted. The pianist looked up, her expression serene, almost surprised by the intensity of the audience’s reaction.

Aemond clapped, his applause thoughtful, infused with a newfound respect and a burning motivation. He turned to Alys, a determined look in his eyes. "I see it now," he said. "But she's nothing special. Our pianist is just as good."

“Just as good isn't enough. We have to be better. We need to surpass them—to be so outstanding that Riverrun feels like just a prelude to our performance. They shouldn’t just be impressed by us; they should be overwhelmed."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he processed her words. He watched the pianist from Riverrun mingle with the crowd, her presence still resonating with the lingering notes of her performance.

The shy, timid prodigy. A story written a million times. He felt as if he saw right through her, and no way was that washing with him.

“Meet me in the supply room before lunch,” Alys whispered, turning on her heel before Aemond could reply. The swing of her hips as she moved towards the Riverrun musicians and indication of what she wanted from him. All she ever wanted from him.

Aemond merely watched on from the sidelines, arms crossed. Alys mingled with them all, shaking their hands and wishing them luck in the weeks of practice and competitiveness to come. And when she finally shook the hand of the pianist, his gaze flickered between his lover and the delicate frame of this stranger he had yet to know.

Everything about her was different to Alys. She wore sheer black tights, and sensible shoes. Her skirt was flowy and ended mid tight, covered only at the top by her high-necked top, also black. And it was here he recognised a similarity in her and Aemond's dress sense.

Alys on the other hand exuded sexuality. Tight fitting skirts and dresses, no tights and heels at least four inches high. And while Alys wore a sleek straight style, the pianist was loose and free, if not slightly frizzy.

He watched the two women talking animatedly. Alys no doubt congratulating her on how well she plays.

He'd never been in more need of a cigarette then right at this moment.

“I apologise for him, he’s usually more expressive on stage than off,” Alys joked lightly as they approached, teasing Aemond in her usual manner.

The pianist extended her hand to Aemond with a firm, confident grip that surprised him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your performances online,” she stated, her tone straightforward, skipping the usual pleasantries. Her directness was refreshing yet unexpected.

Aemond took her hand, a bit taken aback by her assertiveness. “Thank you,” he responded, realising only after the words left his mouth that she hadn’t actually complimented his work, just acknowledged it. “Your performance today was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding politely, her smile brief. There was no reciprocal flattery, no effusive praise—just a clear, concise acknowledgment.

Her straightforwardness intrigued Aemond. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t engage in the typical exchange of mutual admiration among peers, especially when one had just praised the other. Her confidence and lack of concern for social niceties made him rethink the usual dance of compliments that often felt more obligatory than genuine.

Their exchange maintained a professional veneer, but Aemond felt a distinct chill in the air as the pianist held his gaze with an unyielding intensity.

“I'm interested. How do you prepare for a performance of this calibre?” She asked in a probing manner, clasping her hands behind her back. And when she swept her hair out her face, a dash of her perfume hit him, light and floral, he noted.

“I focus deeply on the composition's technical demands," he responded crisply, his voice carrying a cool, almost detached quality. "Emotional expression is secondary to flawless execution.”

She bit back a smile he noticed before she could hide it, “that is quite a disciplined approach.”

"It’s the only way to ensure a performance is beyond reproach," he stated flatly, eyes scanning the room. "Judges appreciate perfection.”

“And the audience?”

He shrugged, “whether they do or not, it doesn't change my approach.”

She nodded, leaving a long pause, as if laying a trap, “interesting,” she mused, "I always believed that connecting with the audience was the true measure of a performance’s success."

“Emotions are too subjective.”

Alys, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a light laugh. "Aemond here is all about the technicalities when it comes to music. He believes in precision over passion."

The pianist tilted her head slightly, considering his response with an analytical gaze before a playful glimmer appeared in her eyes. “Are all aspects of your life subject to such rules?” her tone light, but probing. “Musicians are usually branded as romantics, after all.”

Aemond's brow twitched, a subtle annoyance. “There is a time and a place. In a competition, it's about control. Discipline.”

She hummed, slightly amused, “how practical. Does it not get lonely, striving so often for perfection?”

He shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Wins are measurable, feelings not so.”

“Musicians are not remembered for their wins. They're remembered for the feelings they tease out of people.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady, impressed by her ability to intertwine light-hearted banter with serious debate. “Maybe so, but I’d rather be remembered for setting records than stirring hearts.”

There was a long pause, her eyes never leaving him as if trying to piece together a delicate and intricate puzzle. And she had to bite her lip to contain her smile, simmering frustration in his chest.

“Interesting,” she mused, releasing her lip from between her teeth.

She finally broke their intense gaze, stepping back slightly as she prepared to leave. "Thank you for the conversation, Aemond. It was... enlightening," she said, her tone serious and reflective. "I'll be interested to see how your focus on the technicalities plays out in the competition. Good luck."

With a formal nod, she turned and walked away, her demeanour composed and professional. Aemond watched her rejoin her group, the interaction leaving him with a lingering sense of disquiet. Her straightforward, no-nonsense approach had challenged his views subtly yet profoundly, pushing him to reconsider the balance between technique and emotion in his performances.

Something he'd considered very little.

And as he fucked out his frustrations with Alys in the supply room, pushing her front against the wall and plunging into the tight warmth and solitude she offered, the encounter had ignited a new sense of challenge within him, or perhaps it was a hint of doubt, unsettling the confidence he had always felt in his methodical approach to music.

The usual clarity with which he viewed his musical career was now clouded with questions, thanks to a simple yet impactful exchange. It was a confrontation of ideals that made him both wary and intrigued.

It was clear now that the competition had escalated to more than just notes and rhythms—it was a clash of philosophies, a duel of passion in dual meaning.

And he was prepared to meet it head on.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

#modern aemond #aemond targaryen modern au #modern hotd #modern!aemond #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond fic #modern!aemond targaryen smut #modern aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x female #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

summary: the human custom of sharing clothes had been an unfamiliar one for jade, but he has always been a quick study

pairing: jade leech x gn! reader (both have graduated nrc, but a lot of this is reliving school memories)

warnings: fluff, implied smaller reader; i think it made more sense in my head but have it anyway bc i never wanna shut up about him, please applaud my restraint to not name this ‘boyfriend material’

twisted wonderland masterlist

It was true that wearing clothes was a foreign feeling when Jade first came to the shore all those years ago. But he had come to like the human custom, no matter how tedious it might seem at times. Not only did he realise the way one dressed held a lot of power in the way one was perceived by others, it had also served him in making some fond memories.

The ones he remembered most vividly, however, were those which featured you at the centre of them. Through various means, like the course they had attended or familiarising himself with different types of media above sea level, Jade had learnt that sharing clothes was a thing done between close friends or romantic partners, often being hailed as a sweet gesture and being positively received by characters and audiences alike. So when you had caught the eel’s interest, he had decided to see what the fuss was all about.

Despite his tendency to curate situations which would bring about whatever outcome he desired, the first time the opportunity arose had been a happy coincidence. That day, it had started raining cats and dogs right as the bell signalling lunch break rang. Luckily, Jade’s last class of the morning had been in the building the cafeteria was in, so he could watch in amusement as students swarmed towards the building with various forms of rain repellent keeping them dry- or not.

You had been one of the poor, unfortunate souls who had left their umbrella at the dorm that day, a point made abundantly clear by the way you had sprinted with your PE uniform jacket held over your head in a feeble attempt of shielding yourself. By the time you had made it into the dry hallway, your jacket had been absolutely drenched, the rest of your clothes not faring much better. Witnessing your predicament and seeing a chance to put his theory to the test, Jade had slinked over to your side.

“Oya, if I had known you were this fond of water, I would have invited you to the Coral Sea before,” the eel had said, startling you with his sudden appearance. Your reaction had only served for the polite smile on his lips to grow a tad bit wider. “Yet, here I was under the impression humans don’t like getting their clothes wet. Perhaps I have been wrong?”

“You know well enough this wasn’t intentional, so drop the oblivious act, Jade,” you had sighed, rustling through your backpack for something and subsequently taking your eyes off him. “So what do you want? If you’re trying to rope me into a deal over a little bit of rain, I’ll have to disappoint–”

Something warm and dry had landed on your shoulders then, your gaze landing on the black fabric draped over your form first and wandering back to the tall student afterwards. With your mouth parted, opening and closing in the search of something to say, you had borne a strong resemblance to a fish out of water.  

“I heard humans get sick easily after walking in the rain,” Jade had mused, tugging at his vest and shirt to make sure they sat correctly without his blazer, “and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“What are you–” You had shaken your head, overcoming your initial confusion as you began shrugging the jacket back off your shoulders. At that point you had been sure he had some ulterior motive and you hadn’t felt like picking up any shifts at Mostro Lounge that week. “I can’t take this from you.”

“Oh, but you can,” he had insisted with a smile, a gloved hand landing on your shoulder to keep the clothing in place. “If you are worried about my health, I am most touched. However, us mers are used to the cold and therefore aren’t as prone to catching one.”

“That wasn’t really what I was concerned about,” you had mumbled, crossing your arms. “I’m more worried about whatever strings come attached with this thing.”

“You wound me. Do you really think I would abuse my fellow student’s misery for personal gain?” Despite his words, he had chuckled at your resolute ‘yes, you would’. The hand on your shoulder had pressed into your upper back then to bring you in closer in order to throw you off with the newfound proximity, disguised as shielding you from the throng of people heading to lunch. “If this is what stands in between you and caring for your health, how about this: In return for accepting my blazer, you accompany me to lunch? I’ll consider us even then, I promise.”

You had studied the vice housewarden more closely, yet, as usual, his expression did not give anything away. Just then a chilly breeze had blown through the corridor, making you tremble as you instinctively pulled the blazer tighter around your body. 

“Fine, I’ll accept,” you had relented through chattering teeth.

“Wonderful,” the eel had beamed down at you before guiding you forward, still with his fingers splayed over your upper spine. Students had parted like the sea when they had seen the second year approaching and it was a welcome change of pace from having to fight your way into a spot in the queue.

By the time you had found a table, you had slipped your arms through the sleeves of Jade’s jacket to better hold your tray. And when you rolled up the excess fabric to properly use your cutlery, Jade finally realised why lending someone your clothes was a popular trope in various media. 

To say the piece was ill-fitting was an obvious remark, with Jade easily being one of the tallest students around, you were practically drowning in his jacket. It had been eye-openingly endearing for him to say the least. And that was even without factoring in the expression on people’s faces when they realised whose clothes you had been wearing, the Octavinelle band around your left arm added to the context of the scene being a dead giveaway. Yes, as a born predator of the sea, a possessive side of him had revelled in the feeling of staking his claim over you in this way.

But he had shoved the notion down as you had asked him if he liked the food that day and how his morning had been. While he had been able to tell you were still a little wary, cautiously phrasing your responses at first, falling into a casual conversation with you was easy enough. When the anecdote of his brother doing something reckless again made you snort before laughing, he had filed it away as something he wanted to see and hear more of, especially when he was the cause for it.

Lunch had passed a little too fast for the moray’s liking but with one glance at his watch and then one at the still pouring rain, he had quickly devised a plan to monopolise your time to the fullest before returning to your classes.

“Allow me to walk you back to your dorm, so you can change before your next lesson,” Jade had smiled as he pulled out his umbrella, his arm hovering around your back as you had exited the cafeteria. “I assure you, this favour comes with no strings attached.”

Looking back at it years later, perhaps that last part had been a lie, though he was sure neither of you minded. Because after that rainy day, you had interacted more frequently with pleasantly changed feelings. 

On Jade’s side of things, he had been more fascinated with you and your reactions than ever and the image of you swaddled in his clothes had managed to stir these newfound emotions in him. You, on the other side, had started considering him as more than a devious loan eel and allowed the normally tightly locked thoughts and feelings for him to come out of their confinement little by little.

After playing cat and mouse for a while, you had taken all your courage, grabbed Jade by the collar and confessed, not able to withstand the tension and anticipation any longer.  Of course, he had reciprocated your feelings in teasing delight, which, as your relationship had become public, had easily catapulted you up the list of the school’s lunatics in the eyes of many. But you couldn’t have been happier and, the initial complexities of navigating a new relationship aside, Jade was a dream of a boyfriend if he wasn’t hellbent on prodding and poking you for his own amusement.

So it came as no surprise that, during your school years, you had spent a lot of time at each other’s dorms when Jade wasn’t dragging you up some mountain with him. At that point, you’d felt as comfortable in his room as in yours, even if half of it was shared with the sentient tornado that was Floyd, leaving one half to be pristine and the other opposingly messy. 

Jade fondly remembered the day you had come over to study for your upcoming potionology exam, your own dorm room too loud to concentrate and hoping to rope the merman into helping you with your prep questions, especially as his brother had been absent from their room that evening. While many regarded him as the sly and conniving one in the relationship, Jade had to admit you were very good at playing your cards right to where he found it increasingly hard to deny you. Perhaps this cheekiness was one of the things that drew him to you.

Considering you had given up on studying in your room pretty much immediately and had only grabbed your books before marching over to Octavinelle, you had still been in uniform when you joined him at his desk. Ever observant, Jade had quickly noticed the way you subconsciously pulled at the clothes or squirmed in your seat trying to get comfortable. 

So being the amazing and reliable boyfriend that he was, he had fished some comfortable loungewear out of his closet; he had initially bought it to round out his collection of essential clothing items, though frankly, he didn’t wear it much himself. With no plans to work at the Lounge that night, he had thought that it might be a good chance to give the comfy clothes another shot.

In retrospect, maybe he should thank your uncomfortable uniform. 

When you had both changed into the loungewear, he had not only been amused by the way the shirt, which was a regular fit for him, engulfed your upper body or how you had rolled up the ends of his sweatpants. With some playful huffs at his teasing, you had gone back to work until you had finished writing your study notes, at which point you had relocated to his bed, Jade joining you soon after.

Sitting side by side, your boyfriend had taken to quizzing you to see how much you had retained until he had felt your head drop against his shoulder, which was the first time he had taken note of how late it had gotten. For a few moments he had done nothing but study the way your chest rose and fell with deep breaths, your slightly parted lips inviting him to trace his thumb over the curve of them in featherlight reverence. To think that he of all morays would ever be treated to such a peaceful fragment of mundanity, it had made a warmth tug at his heart the same way the waves rolled over the shore in a calming rhythm, which persisted to this day.

It had pained him to wake you again, so could get ready for bed, persuading you sweetly into staying the night. Though he regretted neither getting to see your half asleep face while you had brushed your teeth, nor how he had been able to pull you close to him under the covers, curling his arms around you as his fingers had wandered over the warmth of your skin under his clothes. 

In the comfortable darkness of his room, you had exchanged hushed whispers and murmured confessions as you had settled in his embrace, lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart and the lips that  had spelled promises of safety and adoration against your skin. And for Jade, tugged deep into the crevice of his heart, there had formed the image of a future where this domesticity was normality. 

Years later, after graduation, Jade could proudly claim that this fantasy now lived at the forefront of his heart, that he could fall asleep and wake up to your body next to his, cradled by the allure of forever. After all, for no one but those closest to him would he be up with the rising sun to prepare breakfast, humming under his breath as he relived those memories. Though he considered all his efforts paid off when he heard you shuffle into the kitchen before two arms wrapped around his middle and your head leaned against his spine. 

“Good morning to you too, pearl,” Jade chuckled as finished plating the eggs on two plates, then knowingly slid a fresh cup of coffee within your reach. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, until someone decided to just leave me all by my lonesome,” you grumbled, detaching yourself from him so you could lean against the counter and take a sip of coffee, prepared perfectly to your liking. “I like seeing my beautiful husband’s face first thing in the morning but alas…”

As you stepped into his field of vision, Jade noticed you had chosen not to wear a piece of clothing of yours, but had instead plucked his black dress shirt from the chair he had draped it over the day prior. His dress shirt and nothing else. While it was long enough on you to hide what was for his eyes only, it still showed off the beautiful curve of your legs, ending tantalisingly around your thighs. The few buttons you had closed still displayed the sharp contrast between your collarbones and the softness of the skin peeking through below. It would be all too easy to slip the garment from your shoulder…

“That does seem rather unfair,” Jade agreed as he stepped in front of you, hands ghosting along the expanse of your thighs to rest at your waist, the look in his eyes reminding you of his origins and sending shivers of excitement down your spine. “If you allow me, I have a few ideas in mind on how to make it up to you.”

Within the blink of an eye, his hands had steeled their grip around your waist and lifted you to sit on the counter as he took the opportunity to stand between your legs. Then, with a gentleness which did not match the show of strength, he carefully cupped the back of your head in his palm and connected your lips in a kiss as light and soft as the golden rays bathing your kitchen in light. Your own hands busied themselves with tousling his bed head once again, slowly sliding his black lock behind his left ear as you parted from one another, like a painter putting the finishing strokes on their magnum opus.

“Hm, I might be able to be convinced about forgiving you,” you teased, the lovestruck look in your eyes mirroring his as you slung your arms over his shoulders and crossed them behind his neck in an effort to be even closer to him. 

“I must be the luckiest man alive,” he mused, meaning every word of his playful response.

Yes, after living on land for so long, Jade had truly taken a liking to the human custom of wearing clothes and all the different possibilities it held. Then again, the fondness those memories held probably had nothing to do with the clothes at all.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

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twisted wonderland: @savanaclaw1996 @honehbee42

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄ #twisted wonderland #x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst fluff #twst jade #jade leech x reader #jade leech fluff #jade leech #disney twst #twst

[glittergoblinzz]

Ghoap (well, Cbf!Soap mainly) asking Afab!Reader to be their surrogate (pt 1)

CW: Talks of surrogacy/pregnancy

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

The last thing you expected when you came home after work one day was your friend Johnny sitting on your couch. You two have been friends since childhood and have been inseparable, even after he joined the military. You trusted the man with your life and would let him come over whenever he felt like it, going as far as giving him an extra key to your flat in Sunderland.

At first, you thought something bad must have happened since you could see he was clearly stressed about something. You drop your bag down and go over to the couch, sitting next to him

"Johnny, what are ya doing here? Is something wrong?"

He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes, running a hand through his mohawk.

"Nah, there's nothing wrong per say, but...there is somethin' I need to ask ya, lass. Somethin' big...."

"What is it?"

Johnny pauses, unsure of how to ask this. After a moment, a voice from behind you two speaks up. A deep, gravely voice with a Mancunian accent. The unexpected voice causes you to jump slightly and turn around. It was Johnny's husband, Simon. Johnny had told you about him numerous times but you had never gotten to meet him in person before. His brown eyes bore down at you. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking but from the tone of his voice and how blunt he was, it was clear he wasn't exactly happy.

"He wants to know if you'd be our surrogate."

This makes you pause. They want you to be their surrogate? The MacTavishs? Really? You understand that you and Johnny are good friends and all, but you figured they would have gone through an agency or even adopted instead. You look back at Johnny, who was giving Simon a bit of a look himself.

"Johnny, is this true?"

Johnny turns back to you and his face softens quite a bit before he looks down at the ground.

"Aye...it's true, lass. I know this is a really, really big favour to ask, but...."

Johnny looks back up at you and gently grabs your hand.

"Could ya do this for us? We'll pay ya, take care of ya. Simon's done took a step back from the military for this next part of our lives so you'll always have at least one of us around at all times."

The look of desperation in Johnny's eyes makes your heart break for him a little bit. You knew he's always wanted to be a dad one day, have a family of his own. You fold your arms over your chest and lean back into the couch a bit, thinking it over....

"If I do this for you....how would we be doing this? Do you already have an egg from a donor? Are you just needing me to carry your child for you?"

Johnny sighs

"No. We'd be hoping ya wouldn't mind doing it....the ol' fashioned way...."

"The old fashioned way...? You mean... You'd sleep with me to knock me up?"

Before Johnny could say anything else, Simon interjects.

"No. Not him. I'd be doing it..."

You look up at Simon, clearly shocked. You barely knew this man and here he was saying that he'd be the one sleeping with you. You've only heard tidbits about him from Johnny. Sure, Johnny made him out to be a good man who liked to crack jokes and was a pretty laid back guy but from this first encounter, he doesn't seem like that at all. This made you extremely hesitant to help your friend out in starting his family....

Seeing the look of worry on your face, Johnny clears his throat causing you to look back at him again.

"Don't mind him, lass. He's just a bit....protective. Simon doesn't feel comfortable at the thought of me sleeping with someone else. I hope ya can understand that? And don't worry, like I said before...ya don't need to say yes now. Ya can give your answer later on, after you've spent a bit of time with Simon and have gotten to know him better. I wouldn't want ya sleeping with someone ya barely know."

You slowly nod. You could understand that. You and Johnny have known each other for much longer and it wasn't a secret he had a crush on you in the past....so Simon most likely felt the relationship would be threatened if Johnny was the one to sleep with you, worrying that would rekindle the old feelings he had for you from your younger years. Giving a slight sigh, you smile at Johnny and slightly give his hand a squeeze before letting it go.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot for you, Johnny. I'll try to get to know Simon better before I make my full decision..."

Johnny's face lights up and he immediately leans in to hug you tightly. He pulls away after a moment with a huge grin on his face.

"Thanks, lass. I promise Simon isn't normally like this. He just....has a hard time trusting people he doesn't know. He'll warm up to ya eventually."

This earns a scoff from Simon as he turns his head away from you two. Johnny laughs and gets up from the couch, moving behind it towards Simon.

"Lighten up, love. I know ya two pretty well....I think you'll get along in no time at all..."

He looks at Simon lovingly as he brushes his hand through Simon's short, black hair before giving him a kiss on his forehead. Simon frowns a bit, some of the scars on his face becoming more prominent; especially the ones on his upper lip and cheek.

"Really, Johnny? In front of her?"

Johnny only laughs in response, nodding.

"Aye, in front of her. Now come on, we should probably let her be now..."

He didn't need to tell Simon twice. The Brit immediately started heading towards the door without another word, only stopping in the doorway to wait for Johnny. Before leaving, Johnny turns to you again.

"Again, thank you. This really does mean a lot to me, and especially Simon....even if the brute doesn't want to admit it..."

Another groan is heard from Simon, who's barely...just barely....got a slight upward curl of his lips going on.

"...So I'll text ya soon with some dates and times so we can all get together and hang out a bit, so you can Simon can get to know each other better, yeah?"

You nod, smiling as you stand up and give Johnny another quick hug.

"Yeah. Sounds good. See you later, Johnny. Simon."

You give a slight nod to Simon, who hesitates before giving a slight nod back. Johnny turns and walks to Simon, taking Simon's hand in his before the couple leaves your house.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghoap au #ghoap fic #simon riley x you #john soap mctavish x reader #cbf!soap

[formula-nyoom]

Don't Get Squeezed | CL 16

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Driver!Reader

Summary: The unexpectedness of the Chinese Grand Prix brings the younger Leclerc sister placing higher than she's ever placed for the upcoming race. But with worries of a high placement and no experience racing this track, a crash seems like an inevitability.

A/N: Pardon my French(literally, I don’t know that much French and had to use google translate). While some would expect me to place this in Suzuka, I decided to go with China because I honestly had no expectations for that race and was stressed something bad was gonna happen the whole time. 

~~~

The Chinese Grand Prix seemed to have an air of tense unexpectedness. Having not raced the track since 2019, none of the teams knew what to expect from this race weekend. With new car regulation, updated track maintenance, and the fact that 5 drivers have never raced this track before, it was well known that anything could happen. 

Out of all the things, you never expected to qualify P10 at a track you’ve never raced before. It sounded like a miracle that you were able to fly your Haas into starting in the top 10. But while the team was proud of your efforts, you were very nervous.

 “I’ve never started in the Top 10, Char! I only know how to start from the back, and honestly I think I’d prefer it there since it’s easier to avoid first lap crashes from the back.” You said to your brother as you paced your hotel room.

“That’s not true. You started from the top 10 and even the front plenty of times in F2. How is this any different?” Charles asked. You scoffed.

“En quoi est-ce différent? It’s different because in F2 I had a good car and was constantly lapping the others. I still don’t know how I managed to get my Haas in front of Sir Lewis Hamilton today!” You exclaimed.

 “I don’t see what’s so surprising about you qualifying P10. That’s the same spot you ended the sprint race in.”

 “That’s because, in the sprint I was able to climb my way from the back.” You told him. Charles let out an exasperated sigh at your own self doubt. He could partially see why you were nervous. Starting in a much higher position than where you usually qualify puts more expectations on your shoulder to do better. They’re even higher expectations then the one you already have with being a Leclerc. But Charles knew that you could do well, not just because he was your older brother but because he’s seen you drive. You may start from the back often, but your racing skills are phenomenal to where you constantly end in the points. Even if you were to drop from P10 at the start of the race, Charles knew that you’d be able to work your way back up and higher. 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Charles’ thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, being met by Arthur with bags of food in his hands.

“Arthur, can you please help me reassure our sister that she will do amazingly starting in P10?” Charles asked as he let his younger brother into the room.

 “Arthur, can you remind Charles that the only reason I did good in F2 was because I outperformed everyone with a good car?” You asked, taking the bag that was offered to you from Arthur.

“I’m confused. What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he set the other bags down. You sighed.

 “I don’t think it’s a good thing I’m starting in 10th place for tomorrow’s race, considering how I’m much more accustomed to starting in the back.” You explained.

 “I think she’ll be fine.” Charles said.

“What’s the main thing you’re worried about with being in the top 10 at the beginning?” Arthur asked.

 “Getting squeezed. Everyone at the front is always bunched up trying to overtake at the start. I’m worried that I’m gonna get stuck in the middle since I can’t pull back or move forward starting in 10th place.” It was a common worry, one you had during every race. But it seemed to be much bigger now with your current grid placement.

“So don’t get squeezed. Keep your elbows out but be mindful of your surroundings.” Arthur said nonchalantly. You let out an exasperated sigh at your brother’s response. Charles saw that Arthur’s response didn’t help you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

 “Trust me (Y/N), as someone who has started in the top 10 multiple times, awareness of your surroundings is key. It may be tempting to overtake right from the start, but if you're that worried about possibly getting hit by someone, just remember to leave a gap.” He told you.

 “You’re one to talk about leaving gaps, Mr Inchedent.” You said, your own teasing managing to get you to smile. Charles sighed.

 “Peut-être que je te pousserai hors de la piste demain.(Maybe I’ll push you off the track tomorrow)” He mumbled. You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

 “Tu n'oserais pas!(You wouldn’t dare!)” You said, dodging the pillow that Charles threw back in your direction. 

~~~

The weather seemed to know how nervous you were and decided to make it worse by making it rain. It was only a drizzle, not hard enough to cancel the race. But every driver knew how unexpected wet conditions can be when racing. Even a drizzle can turn a driver’s race upside down. You’d just hoped you wouldn’t be one of them.

Before having to get into your cars, you and Charles managed to get away from your teams’ garages and give each other a hug for reassurance. It was your guys' tradition before each race. A promise that you would make it to the end. Arthur was able to join you two this time and you were glad that both of them were here. 

 “Don’t get squeezed.” Arthur said, giving you a shoulder pat before following Charles back to the Ferrari garage. If Arthur wasn’t Ferrari’s development driver, he would be in the Haas garage supporting you. But he had to settle for supporting both his siblings from only one team garage today. 

For the first time since joining F1, you slotted your car into the P10 spot after the formation lap while everyone waited for the lights to go out. You spotted your brother who was ahead of you in P2. You made eye contact with him through his car’s mirrors and gave him a thumbs up. Charles gave you a nod in return before you both directed your attention to the lights that were set to blink on at any moment.

Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink

The lights went out and everything roared to life. You slammed your foot on the throttle and your car cruised forward, steadily gaining speed. You immediately went to move to the outer edge of the approaching turn to hopefully avoid any front placement congestion.

 “Don’t get squeezed.” You thought to yourself.

A lot can happen on the first lap. Hell a lot can happen in the first turn.

You didn’t get squeezed going into turn one. Or turn two and 3. There was a bit of sliding on the track because of the wet conditions but you managed to get your car under control. It was the last turn, the turn that a lot of the drivers struggled with throughout the week, where everything went wrong.

You weren’t able to see who it was that was trying to overtake you. You felt the hit to the side of your car and could tell that it was too hard based on how fast you and the other car were going. But by then it was too late to break as your car started to spin out.

It’s when the ground switches from asphalt to gravel that the car starts to flip….

And flip…

And flip…

Your vision becomes a quick mixture of sky and ground as the car continues to roll. It’s too fast for you to properly brace for the impact with the barrier and all too quickly the only thing you see is darkness.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” The voice of Charle’s race engineer quickly comes over the radio as he brakes going into turn one.

“What happened?” Charle’s asked, trying to split his attention between driving and whatever his engineer is going to say next.

“Return to the pits. We are trying to get more details and will update you once you’re in the pits.”

“Did someone crash? Tell me what happened.” Worry started to build up in his chest as multiple scenarios flashed through his mind, his sister a part of many of them.

 “There was a collision between an…Alpine…and a Haas.” 

Charles almost lost control of the car going into turn seven upon hearing what cars were involved but quickly recovered.

“Tell me it’s not (Y/N).” Charles demanded. “Please, tell me it’s not my sister that was involved.”

The silence from his race engineer seemed deafening. He probably knew that anything but the confirmation that his sister was safe could send Charles into a literal spiral on the track.

 “Come back to the pits Charles. Please.” It sounded like his race engineer was almost pleading with him and Charles reluctantly followed the orders and headed into the pit lane.

As soon as Charles’s car stopped in the Ferrari pitlane, he immediately got out of the car, not even taking the time to disengage his steering wheel. The pit crew tried to stop them but Charles pushed them away as he ran over to Haas garage. Charles’s hope rose when he saw the familiar white of a Haas car pull in, but it was quickly dashed when he saw that it wasn’t his sister pulling in, but her teammate. 

 Charles didn’t want to take that as confirmation that his sister was involved with the crash. He immediately ran over to the pit wall. His sister’s race engineer would tell him she was ok, right?

“(Y/N), are you ok?” Was the first thing Charles heard out of the engineer’s mouth. 

“Tell me my sister’s ok. She’s answering, right?” The race engineer barely glanced at the Ferrari driver, focusing more on getting a response from their own driver.

 “Are you ok? (Y/N) please respond.” The engineer said again. Charles wanted to take the engineer’s headset off, and ask that question himself. Hear his sister’s voice. Get confirmation that she was ok. But Charles’s eyes finally landed on one of the screens that was showing the replay of the crash.

You were approaching the last turn. For some reason Ocon decided to attempt an overtake when it was far too late and he got too close. His front wheel hit the side of your car, hard, causing you to violently spin. Charles' heart dropped into his stomach as he watched your car flip over and over on the gravel and it might as well have shattered when he watched your car harshly collide with the safety barrier.

“I’m getting no response.” Charles heard your engineer say to the team principal. Charles’ vision started to tunnel and all the noise around him became muffled. He didn’t even register that Arthur was now standing in front of him, trying to speak to him, but Charles didn’t hear anything.

His sister wasn’t responding

There was no movement from the car.

Is she breathing? She had to be? She had to be ok?

She’s alive right?

She was so worried about her placement and crashing. She wasn’t supposed to crash!

Charles’ brain betrays him as it thinks back to the one person he didn’t want to think about at this moment. This crash reminds him too much of Jules. It hits too close to home because the person in the car is his little sister. The little girl who was so enthusiastic about watching his karting races when he was younger. Who wanted to be just like her older brother and managed to race her way up the motorsports ladder. His little sister who made it into Formula 1 and who he gets to race alongside almost every weekend. 

Both of you knew from an early age the dangers of being a race car driver. But despite every crash, you’ve always managed to walk away from it. But all Charles saw was your car. Upside down and wedged in a barrier. There was no sign of movement from what little he could see of the driver’s seat, and you weren’t responding to your engineer. 

He couldn’t lose anyone else to this sport. Not after Jules…you had promised him that you would make it to the end-

“Charles!”

Charles snapped out of his panic state as Arthur yelled his name. He could tell now that he had begun to hyperventilate, and tried to calm his breathing.

 “They want you to try and talk to her.” Arthur said. “Maybe you can get a response.”

Charles numbly nodded and took the headset that was being offered to him. 

 “(Y/N), it’s Charlie…can you hear me? Are you ok?”

The silence was so loud.

“....(y/n)....(Y/N)!”

Consciousness slowly came back to you as you started to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what was up or down. How did you get here? One second you were racing…and the next?

You had gotten squeezed.

“(Y/N)...can you hear me?” A voice came over your radio. Your arm trembled as you strained to press the radio button on your steering wheel. God, did everything hurt and you felt tears start to well up from the pain you felt. 

“Charles…” Your brother’s voice was the first thing you recognized. The one thing you could recognize in the darkness and confusion of your current predicament.

 “(Y/N)! Are you ok!” Charles asked over the radio. He sounded so worried and you mentally kicked yourself a bit knowing you were the cause of the worry.

“Charlie…everything hurts…I can’t move.” You told him. It was true. You felt trapped under your seatbelt and felt that one little movement would send pain throughout your whole body. 

 “Breathe sœur, breathe. Your car is upside down and wedged in the barrier. The safety marshals are trying to flip the car over to get you out right now.” Charles explained. That offered some comfort.  You listened to Charles' advice as you tried to take deep breaths. You moved your head a bit to try and get awareness of your surroundings, but even moving it an inch sent a wave of nausea through your body. You felt the car shake and braced your body as the car was flipped over and your vision was filled with daylight. You had to take in more deep breaths before you could lift your head and make eye contact with the safety marshal who was checking to see if you were ok. You managed to give them a thumbs up, a sign that you were conscious, and they immediately went to help you out of the car. Fans cheered as they saw you climb out of the car with assistance. Signs of relief seemed to echo throughout the pitlane and Charles and Arthur practically collapsed to their knees with relief at the sight of you alive and moving. Charles looked to the sky and placed a hand over his heart.

“Merci Jules…” He quietly whispered before hugging Arthur tight.

Despite the immense pain and the swimming feeling in your head, you managed to wave your hand to the closest grandstand, sending the fans a message that you were ok.  

Charles and Arthur watched as you were helped to the ambulance and placed on the stretcher. You would need to be taken to a hospital to assess any injuries and possibility of a concussion. Arthur told Charles that he would meet you at the hospital and call Lorenzo and Mama. Because despite everything that just happened…the race still needed to be finished. Charles would rather be in the ambulance with you than get back in his Ferrari and race on the same track that you had just crashed at. He wished the race didn’t need to be finished at all. But it had to. And if Charles had to race, then he was going to win. He was going to win for his little sister. 

~~~

Next to all the flowers and get well cards, on your hospital bedside table was a beautiful first place trophy. Charles barely stayed on the podium after receiving it, immediately heading to the hospital you were taken to once the celebrations were done. When he arrived, he was grateful to hear that you only had a sprained wrist, bruising and a concussion. He wished you weren’t injured at all, but compared to how crashes go, you got off on the better side. Charle’s sent another silent thank you to Jules, as doctor told him that the halo was one of the main things that prevented further injuries.

“I think I’ll purposely try to start from the back for the rest of the season.” You said while sitting up in your hospital bed playing Uno with Arthur. The doctors decided that you should stay overnight to monitor your concussion.

 “I think that may be a good idea.” Charles said as he sat next to you, watching the current card game take place. 

 “Or, you start on pole every race.  You don’t have to worry about being surrounded by the other cars if you’re already in the front.” Arthur said, placing a card down. 

 “Yea but then the only view Charles would get the whole race would be my rear wing and I don’t know if that’s a view he can enjoy every race.” You said. Charles rolled his eyes.

 “Maybe I should get the doctor to check your head again with all the nonsense you just spoke.” Charles said. “As I recall you’ve been chasing my rear wing throughout the seasons.”

 “Uno!” You declared, placing your second to last card down. “Please Charles, it’s only a matter of time before I beat you at a race. Like how I’m about to beat Arthur at this game.”

 “There’s no way you’re going to win. I know for a fact you don’t have any blues.” Arthur said, placing down a blue five. He gave you a sly smirk that quickly fell when you gave him one back. Without saying a word, you placed down a +4. 

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x driver!reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader

[fernandopiastri28]

sickly sweet ~ lando norris x reader

warnings: drinking, smut, pwp, angst 😬 mdni!

Lando Norris- known manwhore. When he's not in his car going 350 km/h, he chases that thrill in other things in life. Designer items, drinks, parties- women. But there's only one thing that he really wants, he craves her love- his bestfriend.

She felt a pair of sturdy arms wrap around her waist, almost suffocatingly tight. It made it hard to breathe, the paining sensation only increased by the already constricted airflow inside the crowded club. “Lan?” She murmured, her head turning each way in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her best friend. She felt woozy due to the alcohol seeping through her system and she really didn’t need to deal with an over insistent man who believed he had the privilege to her body in her current state.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lando’s chin rested against her shoulder, his hot breath tickling her neck. Those were his arms around her, holding her body closer to him then anything surrounding the pair. “I’m here,” One of his hands travelled up to her hair, his fingers gliding through her frizzing hair. “Don’t worry,”

Sure, Lando was a naturally affectionate person, often insisting on hugging as a greeting and goodbye, or resting his head on the shoulder of absolutely anyone who was near him. He liked touch, saw it as the easiest way he could express his caring and love for others. But drunk him was another level- hands anywhere he could get them, face buried into their shoulder or neck. 

“Lan, you’re really drunk,” She giggled, pushing her slight anxiety down to her stomach as his lips started moving aimlessly against her neck. He wasn’t quite kissing there, but only because he was moving too quickly to be able to actually press his lips to a single spot. 

He grumbled, dissatisfied with her comment. “So? You are too,” Lando was sounding pissy already which only usually happened later into the night. By this point, he was usually going to go seek off some other girl to spend the night with who would fawn over his every move and beg for more.

Her head tilted back, resting against his chest slightly, “I am,” A grin played across her lips, forcing his grimace to transition into a smirk, his eyes full of pure adrenaline without a single thought behind them. “Not as much as you though,”

A nod of agreeance came from him, his hands idly moving up and down on her waist, settling on her hips for a few seconds as her body continued to aimlessly sway along with the music. “It’s difficult to be more drunk than I am- especially since you’re such a heavy weight,”

It was true, and something that Lando was incredibly envious of. He wanted her ability to pour endless drinks down her mouth, consuming absolutely anything she wanted at once and manage to feel perfectly fine the next morning, while he would find himself with a throbbing headache, next to a girl he couldn’t remember the name of. Maybe he’d never asked her though.

“Or maybe you’ve just drunk more,” She dragged a finger along his cheek. Even if she didn’t show it as much, she was certainly feeling very drunk. For once, she wanted to be like Lando, feel like him. She craved his complete confidence and how he would feel as if he was on top of the world each time a drop of alcohol entered his system.

Maybe tonight she’d finally score a man to bring home, be the one to tell Lando all about her most recent hookup instead of always being on the receiving end of hearing it from him.

But at least for right now, all of his attention was on her. He looked at her like she was one of the girls he’d want for even just a night, instead of the one he left behind each time they’d planned to go out together.

She knew full well that the way Lando treated his one night stands was far from something that she should be dreaming about almost nightly, to be the girl that woke up to the sight of Lando’s peaceful sleepy face, his dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks and his unruly curls- but she knew a different side of him. The one that was loving, that cared. The side of him that would talk in the highest of praise about the girls he did really like, and how he never once spoke ill of someone to her.  

He was different then how he came across, she knew that.

He held a bottle of some blue liquid, the spout of it resting against his bottom lip. She ogled up at him, her eyes wide and pupils huge. “Hello,” He grinned, laughing at her dopey upside down expression as she leaned against him. “You’re smiley tonight,” He teased, his hand wrapping tighter around her stomach to keep her up.

“I am smiley,” A deep sigh left her chest, her cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide her smile was stretching out. “I like your face,” She mumbled out, each syllable oozing into the next. “It’s a good face- a true one at that,” Her body wasn’t used to this much alcohol, and she was feeling any kind of shame melting away and just a desperate need to be completely honest. 

A rosy flush was almost definitely covering her face at this point, given how hot it felt to the touch. “I like your face too,” He smiled, his nose nudging against her forehead. It felt unexplainable, like a thousand bolts of lightning crashing into her all at once. “It’s pretty cute,” His thumb swiped along her chin, nudging it open so he could place the finish of his bottle inside her mouth, the glass heavy on her bottom teeth.

He tilted it up, letting it run over her tongue and pool up inside her mouth. It was near sickening sweet, likely what his mouth tasted like given how much he’d already drunk the majority of it. “Good,” Two of his fingers tapped her chin again, his other fingers clasping the neck of the bottle so it didn’t drop. She shut her mouth, swallowing awkwardly due to the angle her head was at. 

Once her mouth was empty again, her lips parted, her eyes moving up further to where the whites underneath her iris’ were even more visible. “More?’ She mumbled, her back shifting back unconsciously to steady herself against him. He granted her wish, keeping her mouth open as he hooked his two fingers over her bottom teeth as more alcohol spilt into her mouth.

“Fucking hell,” He hissed, his pink tongue darting out between his teeth in concentration. Their eyes refused to move and break contact, tension just building the longer the moment lasted. “You’re so fucking hot doing that,”

Her body got hotter at the praise, her mind short circuiting and essentially spilling out of her ears. “You’re sexy,” Her lips wrapped around the bottle, suckling on it gently as the final few drops spilt onto her tongue. 

He went silent, his eyes darting across her face as a way to memorise each curvature and feature complete. He wanted to engrave this moment into his mind for the rest of time. The bottle slid down her mouth further, her lips pursing and stretching thinner around the thickness. His mouth dropped open ever so slightly, his eyes near bulging out of his head at the erotic sight.

He was hard, undoubtedly. His arousal pressed against her ass where her dress clung tightly around. He grinded against her, desperate for some sense of contact and pressure against his ache. “ Baby ,” He whined into her neck, pulling the bottle away from her mouth to rest it against some table.  

Her heart pounded harder in her chest, feeling like it could explode at any given moment. The mix of the nickname, the desperation in his voice, the way his crotch was rubbing straight against her. “ Lan ,” She moaned, turning around so her chest was pressed against his, the silk fabric of his button up gliding against her exposed skin. “Please,” Her voice cracked with straight need.

“Please what ?” His hand settled into place against her jawline, his palm flush with the front of her neck, the slightest pressure against it. He knew what she wanted, both of their intentions so crystal clear, but he wanted to hear her say it- needed it.

“Kiss me,” Her voice was so fucking weak at that point, her expression completely wanton and eager for him. His eyes went straight to her lips where a glossy whine of the remaining alcohol coated them, making them even more red and wetter. The grip his hand had on her jaw tightened, putting her head into the perfect position for him.

His mouth moved against hers quickly, her bottom lip slotting in between hers in an almost practised manner. Her mouth parted, his tongue slipping inside the warm emptiness within seconds. Moans from her spilt into his mouth, the vibrating sensation going straight to his dick, somehow getting even harder with each movement she made against him.

One of her hands trailed up to his hair, tugging on his curls. They were so delicate in between her fingers, perfect coils wrapping around each digit. Her other hand snuck up under his shirt, the back of her hand brushing against the soft silk while her palm and finger tips explored his hardened abs. 

“More,” She begged, her nose nudging against his as their lips finally broke away. His breathing was heavy, laboured almost. Their bodies were still resting flush against each other as his left hand sat heavily on her ass, squeezing it, while his other remained cupping her face. 

“What do you want, gorgeous?” His voice was lower, breathless from making out for so long. He’d tipped his head down, his mouth close to her ear. There were so many things she wanted- she wanted to kiss more, she wanted to feel his tongue all around her mouth, she wanted to taste him, she really wanted to fix the ache in between her legs.

So with not even half her brain working to put together a proper cohesive sentence, she mumbled out the first thing that came to mind, “ Hotel ,”. Whether it was her hotel or his wasn’t important, all that mattered was for them to have a private room to stay up all night together in private. Because despite how at this point she could probably be convinced to drop down onto her knees and suck his cock right then and there without much effort from the brit- it wouldn’t look too good for an f1 driver to be receiving a blowjob in a random club in Singapore. 

Maybe his one would be nicer on the other hand, a Formula one driver would likely have been supplied a higher star hotel then some girl in law school using her own money to pay.

With one swift move, each of her legs were on either side of his waist, her thighs bracketing his hips to keep herself up. One of his arms snaked around her waist for stability as he navigated his way out of the club, avoiding anyone who was clearly trying to approach him for either a photo or an autograph. 

She buried her face in the collar of his shirt, one of her hands trying to cover her face in a last chance attempt to conceal her identity in case anyone had been filming. It was something she should’ve considered before they started making out, but she couldn’t change the past now.

The humid Singaporean air struck them the second they pushed past the entrance doors. A thin sheen of sweat collected on the back of Lando’s neck, but she was unaffected. Singapore was a consistent visit of hers so she’d become accustomed to the near unbearable heat. 

A taxi rolled up right to where they were standing and before she even had the chance to ask when he managed to book one, Lando’s mouth was on hers again. She didn’t even notice the taxi door being opened until he was arranging her on his lap in the backseat, his eyes going directly down to her breasts. He placed a soft kiss to one where some cleavage was exposed from the dress’s style, while his hand worked at kneading the flesh.

A whimper of satisfaction passed by her lips, earning a shit-eating grin from the man. He continued his ministrations, tugging down some of the fabric over her breast to kiss further down her chest. Her head tipped back, hitting against the headrest of the passenger seat. As she ground her hips harder into his, each bump of the road that the car hit just pushed his boner further against her drenched cunt through her panties, a wet patch forming on his trousers.

“Pretty thing,” He trailed his lips up her neck, her jaw, then suckling on just her bottom lip. “So fucking wet for me,” He growled, pulling her body impossibly closer to him. Part of her wished she’d been sober for this- to be able to enjoy this moment with complete clarity and be sure to remember each and every event the next morning.

The drive seemed excruciatingly long, but had only been a mere few minutes in reality. Her body had essentially moulded into his by the end of it, her legs unable to work to take her to the elevator up to his room. They didn’t need to work though, he was more than excited at the opportunity to carry her as long as he could.

And she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to walk by the end of the evening. 

The second the elevator doors drew to a close, Lando’s hand was tugging her panties to the side, allowing a finger to slide along her clit, “Good?” He nuzzled his head into her neck, kissing the smooth skin there over and over. The touch was met with a string of pleasured moans, all more beautiful than the last.

He got prepared before the doors reopened, grabbing his phone out with his keycard secured in the back of it, ready to open the door the second they arrived so he could be on top of her as quickly as possible. The grazing of his finger stopped long enough for him to unlock the door, and resumed as soon as it clicked shut.

“Lando, fuck, please,” She begged, overstimulated by all the drawn out teasing of the night. “Just finger me already,” She was at her wits end, completely ready to just touch herself if he wouldn’t take it a step further right then.

She didn’t have to do that though as he answered her prayers, sliding a thick finger into her aching cunt. A sigh of relief left her lips, her hole clenched around his finger in reflex. He carried her into the bedroom, settling her down on the bed as he hovered over her, his knees on either side of her hips as he covered her face in chaste open mouthed kisses.

The pleasure turned to a quick flash of dull pain when he removed his finger, pulling her underwear down and tossing them across the room in a drunken hurry. His green eyes widened as he stared directly at her pussy, his pupils shooting wide in lust. “Fuckk,” He sighed, “Can I.. taste?” He wasn’t sure exactly how to word the request but she granted him permission regardless. 

He shuffled down, his massive hands grasping her thighs to position them over his shoulders. She lifted her hips off the mattress so as to allow him to push the bottom of her dress higher up before his head dipped down, his nose nudging at her clit. The sensation sends a rush of slick straight to where his mouth was readily waiting.

Tentatively, the tip of his tongue licked alongside her hole to her clit, emitting a shudder and a groan from the girl. He squeezed down on her thighs, rubbing the right one with his thumb to help her calm down. “What colour?” He murmured, looking up at her from between her legs. 

“Green,” Her head tilted back, hitting against the pillow as she moaned into it. With the go ahead, his tongue repeated the motion, pulling more noises out of her throat. He began to eagerly lap at her wetness, the taste coating over his tongue as he grew more desperate to make her cum.

He had become increasingly more aware of the pain in his trousers, his neglected erection tenting uncomfortable in his too tight boxers. Squeezing one of her thighs tighter to make up for the loss of his hand, he reached his hand down to his crotch and began palming at the spot. He tilted his head down, his tongue fucking her while his nose buried into her bundle of nerves.

She was feeling so much. The way his tongue was buried deep inside her, how his nose was expertly rubbing her clit, his hands stroking the insides of her thighs where goosebumps prickled, and most of all- the way his deep emerald eyes remained staring into her soul. He lapped at her wetness like he’d been deprived of sex for years- in reality it couldn’t have been more than a month. 

He had a one track mind, always did. His only goal in life was win, win, win. And today’s prize was making the beautiful girl laying on his bed, his best friend, cum with his mouth. Determined to make that happen, and make it happen right then, his teeth grazed against her slit gently to overstimulate her. 

Sure enough, the action got her legs shaking and her back arching. “Fuck, Lando,” Her hand yanked on his hair, effectively pulling him away slightly. His eyes went wide in shock, it certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected. 

“I’m sorry,” He kissed the inside of her left thigh, his hand idly tenderly rubbing her knee. “Did it hurt?” She shook her head, having to crane her neck to look down at him. His cheek rubbed against her leg, another kiss to the bend of her knee. That time he suckled the spot, hollowing his cheeks to leave a small red spot when he pulled away.

“No, no- just.. sensitive,” She had to take a few moments to breathe, her chest raising and dropping with forced effort. “You- you can go again,” It’s more of a request than a suggestion, and he took it seriously. 

His mouth returned to her heat, his tongue swiping up in a practised motion, each one met with more noises of delight and pleasure. A hand yanking his hair again signalled her orgasm, spilling into his mouth. He drew to a halt, going slower as she came down from her high so it wouldn’t ache from the abrupt ending.

He scooted up so his face was just mere inches above hers. He couldn’t even try to force back the smile that played on his face upon seeing how absolutely fucked out she was. Her half lidded eyes, bitten lips, sweaty skin- it was truly a sight. He kissed her, over and over, wanting nothing more than to experience the pressure of her mouth on his.

As he kept his lips on hers, he began tugging down the top of her dress to reveal her strapless bra, one of his hands moved underneath her back, his fingers toying with the clasp of her bra before snapping it open. His fingers inched the thick fabric away, the pads of his fingers grazing along her bare chest. “I’m surprised it took you so long to get that off,” She snickered, “Thought you’d wanna see my boobs first thing,” Lando felt a wave of shame rush over him, drowning in embarrassment of her comment. 

He puffed hot air up onto his top lip, a slight snarl twisting his lips. “Is that how I make you feel? Like all I want from you is your body?” His tone was harsh, piercing her skin and leaving a mark. Her expression shifted from her drunken daze to somewhat more alert. The sting behind his tone was solely just a cover for his genuine hurt, unbeknownst to her.

“No, no, Lans..” Her hand cupped his cheek, her voice softening as she said it. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it like that at all,” She angled for a kiss, receiving one almost immediately as he was an absolute sucker for an apology kiss. “If anything that’s more me, I was the one begging for you earlier,” That soothed his nerves, his mood switching back to aiming for pleasure.

He sat back on his heels as she shuffled her legs closer to her, her knees bending up towards the ceiling while still straightened enough to allow them to keep their eye contact. Lando bit his bottom lip, a cheeky grin sneaking out through it. “Sex?” He finally asked, watching her expression turn to match his. 

She leaned forward, hands tangling up in the fabric of his button up. Within seconds it had joined her panties somewhere flung mindlessly across the floor. Her fingers massaged into the groves of his back muscles, relishing in how each one ripples with each sudden movement he makes.

His fingers clasped around the zip of her dress, pulling it down tantalisingly slowly. With each bit of skin that was further revealed, his lips peppered kisses down her body. Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the pleasure and an overwhelming feeling of ‘ oh god, finally’. As she felt the last of her dress removed and likely joined the other discarded clothes, Lando let out a short breath of exhilaration.

His nose nudged her neck, lips focused on her collarbones. “Open your eyes,” He grumbled, his thumbs kneading into her waist. “Want you to see this, pretty thing,” Her eyelids were heavier than ever so opening them felt like a chore. 

A flush of wetness streamed straight to her core as she felt him rocking his hips against her cunt. With a flurry of hands and mouths on eachother, she tucked her fingers into his boxer’s waistband and shoved them down, his hardened cock smacking up to hit his stomach.

Her eyes practically turned black as her pupils grew beyond a size Lando deemed possible. “Happy?” A finger slid back inside her like it had been before, moving in and out before realising she’s definitely ready enough for a second one. 

“Horny,” His free hand tightened in place over her hips, lifting up to help his digits reach further into her. He ignored her clit, wanting her to finish for a second time when he was actually inside her.

The head of his cock was reddened and had drops of pre-cum lining all over it. He removed his fingers from inside of her, met with a groan of discomfort, and moved that hand to wrap around his aching shaft. “I needa fuck you right now,” Lando grumbled, his hand stroking his throbbing cock a few times before meeting her eyes, seeing only pure lust and want.

His hands gripped her legs, pulling them apart and locking them to wrap around his waist. One hand returned back to his dick, guiding it into her dripping hole. A gasp was punched from her throat as he got close to bottoming out. She was full, insanely full, as if he was to leave right then she wouldn’t have been a complete woman without him inside her.

Admittedly, there was definitely a fair amount of pain that accompanies the intrusion, but it doesn’t come close to the overwhelming pleasure. “Colour?” His voice was thick as he moved in and out of her with renewed energy.

“Green,” 

Lando went faster and deeper. 

“Greener,” Her expression was dazed and dopey as she looked up at him, her lips lax as she tried to express that she wanted kisses while he ruined her.

He didn’t get the hint, just pushed her legs further up and went quicker.

He finished first and she followed quickly after. He collapsed on top of her in an exhausted pile of a mess, his breathing heavy and manual. “That was so fucking good,” Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling, a sort of emptiness filling the void. She wished he would shut up as he kept rambling on about how pretty she was and how perfect tonight had been. Post sex clarity set in, and hit hard.

Because not only did she just hook up with an f1 driver in a random country, that driver was the man that had been her best friend for years and was a known manwhore. “I love you,” He mumbled, his hand playing with her hair. “Always have, for fucking years I’ve loved you” She didn’t hear him though, his mouth muffled with a blanket in front of it and her ears covered by her pillow.

He fell asleep with his body half on top of her, his arm draped across her chest. Of course he wasn’t the type to practise aftercare. She wiggled out from underneath him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and the desperate need for sleep. As soon as her feet hit the plush cushioning of the carpet and the city lights of Singapore nightlife illuminated her face, she realised the grim mistake she’d made.

So with that, she picked her bra and underwear up off the floor, nicking a pair of his smallest shorts and an oversized McLaren hoodie, wrapped herself up in those clothes and headed downstairs to the lobby, calling a taxi to her own account despite how the receptionist said the charge could go to the room she’d stayed in- to Lando.

Even though he had plenty of money to his name and on his card, and how a fifteen dollar taxi would hardly be noticed- she didn’t want to feel an obligation to him to pay him back for this. She needed clarity and space, and feeling like she owed him wouldn’t allow that. 

With a quick text sent to him, ‘ thanks for tonight, don’t think we should do it again,’ she stepped into her taxi and headed to her own hotel, showering his touch off under scalding water.

The next morning when he woke up tangled in a heap of blankets and pillow, he noticed how cold and empty the bed was. “Love?” His voice thick with sleep, his arms aimlessly reaching for her. They hit nothing though, he was alone in his bed. 

He sat up in a panic, every single moment from the night before remembered exactly. Dancing at the club, his drink in her mouth, the look in her eyes. Back at the hotel, his hands undressing her, their mouths attached to each other’s with undoubtable passion. Him buried inside her, how she’d sounded, how gorgeous she’d looked underneath him.

He’d fucking told her he loved her. And now she was gone. 

The now cold bed sheets wound tighter around his body, the false feeling of an embrace not nearly enough to heal the hurt.

~ part 2 ~

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #formula 1 #formula1 #f1 #f1 x reader

[nicksbestie]

Kittens (part two) - M. Sturniolo

READ PART ONE FIRST!! YOU CAN READ IT HERE!

Summary : One specific person becomes a regular at the animal shelter you work at, always visiting the cats <3

Warnings : mentions of anxiety but nothing graphic!

Word Count : 1146

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader

A/N : part two!! this won't become a series but i felt it deserved a little more!! it's written in a later time, a epilogue scene, if you will!

The cats being in a different room that day had been one of the best things to ever happen to you.

You hadn’t known it at the time, but that conversation with Matt, starting by leading him to a separate room, had blossomed into a relationship. Matt had started coming back every day, coming up with stupid reasons to talk to you, claiming he needed help finding a cat that had run away, only for the cat to walk right out from under the tower when Matt walked back in, but you let him do it every time. You felt like you couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend time with him, and if you weren’t busy, why should you?

He spent hours there every day, which made you wonder what he did for work, because how could he afford to not be at his job? After a couple of days where he came in one after another, you finally asked. It felt like a fair question because he clearly knew where you worked, so it was an eye for an eye, or something like that. He told you he did content creation with his brothers, and you looked him up later that evening, eyes nearly popping out of your head when you noticed just how famous they were. You weren’t someone who lived in the dark, but you didn’t keep up with every new thing going on, so there were a ton of famous people you didn’t know about. 

You weren’t going to lie, you stalked him that night. One thing hit you like a truck when you noticed it, though. Matt had told you that he came into the shelter when his anxiety was getting bad, and he had been coming in every Wednesday and Friday per week, and as you scrolled through their shared YouTube, you noticed that’s when videos were posted. You wondered how much he enjoyed his job, or if he did it because it made good money, or if the posting just really got to him because he worried about what people would think. Later you would ask, and you would learn that the latter was the reason, and that he really did love his job, it just got to him sometimes, knowing that so many people would pick apart everything he had done or said in a video. 

After about two weeks of him coming back to the shelter every single day, talking to you whenever he could, he finally asked for your number. He waited until you were off of the clock, making sure that he could never be accused of being unprofessional by anyone. He waited until the shelter closed, like normal, and you thought he had left, but he waited until you both stepped outside, and the door was locked, and then he asked. You let him have it with no complaints, and he texted you for the first time as soon as he got home, asking if you had also made it home safe. You responded much quicker than you would like to admit, letting him know you were home and safe. 

He would text you before he would come into the shelter, letting you know that he was on the way, and you two became incredibly close. Hanging out outside of work, spending time while he was at the shelter, if you were in the same vicinity, you were practically attached at the hip. You met his brothers, and they were so different from him that it was refreshing. You loved how they all got along so well, and even their banter in videos wasn’t coming from a true point of anger, but all lighthearted. You watched every video as they got posted, and sometimes all four of you hung out together before or after filming. You loved being in their company, and you had found a wonderful friend in Matt, but you had no idea that it would eventually become more than that. 

You’d hung out so much on your own, you knew you two worked together, you both knew that the other was attractive, you both knew that you liked the other. But you had no idea that it would eventually end up working out. Nick and Chris knew as well, being able to see it in the way that you interacted with each other. They kept it to themselves, allowing you two to navigate the developments of your relationship with each other by yourselves, but both of them were hoping that you would just get your head out of your ass already and get together. Matt was the first one to say anything. 

You knew he found love gestures sweet, you’d seen that in a video, and you’d seen it in the way that he interacted with people he loved platonically, being a gift giver, but when he showed up at your door with flowers, you were still in shock. He’d stayed the night that evening, soaking in the fact that the person he felt so strongly for had the same feelings for him. It had only snowballed in the best possible way from there. You did everything together, you went everywhere together, and sometimes that could cause codependency problems, but you were lucky to not have to deal with that. You were used to him leaving for a couple of hours to film, but he always came back as quickly as possible. 

It was refreshing for Matt to fall in love with someone who didn’t love him for the numbers, for the following, for the money, for the fame. This was someone who saw him off guard, who actually loved him for the person he was off of the camera, for all of the good in him and all of the bad. He wasn’t sure that he would ever find someone like this due to his popularity across the Internet, but he never took you for granted, not for a single moment. And those were the words that spilled out from between his lips, when he was knelt in front of you, ring box in hand, just three amazing years later, and the same ones that he would repeat at the altar six months after that. 

You didn’t work at the animal shelter anymore, but you and Matt were regular visitors and volunteers. Some of the people that you used to work with were still there, and shortly after you were wed, you picked out a kitten together, from the same Cat Cottages that Matt used to sit in for hours every week. Glancing over at the man you’d fallen in love with, sitting on the couch with the now one year old black cat in his lap, you knew that had been the best job you would ever work, and it brought you something much more rewarding than the money.

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[jinwoosungs]

{ 153 }

love me for me.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader x liu zhigang

warnings: mentions of s*icidal thoughts

“i’ll forgive you only when you’re crawling over broken glass to get to me.”

anonymous said: Okay so, what if Cha Hae-in had a sister who was an A-Rank healer and Jinwoo Likes Cha but can't get close to her. Sooo in a desperate attempt to catch her attention he courts her SISTER bUt reader is skeptical cuz this isn't the first time someone courted her to get close to her sister and the first time it happened she was heartbroken. The way Jinwoo courted her felt so genuine that she fell for it, thinking he actually liked her. So when she said she accepted his courting the look on his face realizing he fucked up cuz he lead her on and when Cha told him she was happy he wasn't using her sister to get close to her cuz she wanted her sister to feel loved made him feel even more guilty. When Reader saw his expression her face fell realizing she fell for one of her sister's suitors again. When the time was turned back she remembered everything and did her best to avoid Jinwoo when they met in school(college or high school either way everything works still) because she didn't want to be used and have her heart broken again[I can't think of a happy ending but i rlly want a happy endingTT]

jinwoo was desperate to get close to hae-in, for the blond woman with stormy grey eyes was all that he could think about. everything about her seemed so... perfect to him.

but he was hesitant to try and get closer to her, since she seemed to be so out of his league. despite how jinwoo had grown stronger thanks to the system's interference with his life-

deep down, jinwoo was still the weak and unconfident man he had always been-

he still retained the personality he had as an e-rank hunter.

lost in his thought, he walks out of the meeting held at the hunter association building, his hands hidden within the pockets of his coat when he catches sight of cha hae-in. he freezes immediately, seeing hae-in coming up to hug another young woman.

he hears hae-in call out her name with an eagerness, earning a smile from her as she hugged her sister back. jinwoo was mesmerized at the sight of hae-in's smile, yet at the same time, he couldn't help but look over at the woman she was holding-

her sister...

you.

he remembers your name and takes a chance to admire the sight of hae-in holding on to you. on paper, you were known as cha hae-in's sister, but in all actuality, you were adopted into her family, being the same age as hae-in as you both grew up together.

and despite how his heart sang for hae-in-

he couldn't deny the beauty you held.

as he was stuck admiring the two sisters caught in a loving embrace, jinwoo could feel his eyes go wider at the sight.

he was too much of a coward to approach hae-in directly-

but perhaps he could use you to get to her...

{ ... }

you always had a bit of an inferiority complex when it came to hae-in.

it was true that you were as close as sisters could be, even believing that she was your best friend and vice versa.

you truly loved hae-in-

but what you didn't love was how so many boys fell for your sister while leaving you in the dust. more often than not, when guys were too shy or intimidated to approach hae-in directly, they would use you to get closer to her-

and that fact always hurt you.

perhaps the moment that hurt you the most was when you were a freshman in college and met a great guy named shik. he was so attentive and kind towards you, yet the worst night of your life happened when you invited him over for dinner and shik immediately confessed to hae-in, telling her how he only wanted to use you in order to get closer to her.

but lucky for you, hae-in loved and cherished you more than that as she slapped the bastard across his face all while rejecting him.

ever since then, you had been close to hae-in, basking in your mutual love and respect for each other as sisters.

now that you were older, being 24 years old, you quit your university life and became a healer, managing to become an a-rank while hae-in became an s-rank hunter. and despite how envious you felt over her natural abilities as a hunter, you did your best to remind yourself that you were just as good-

that you were a highly skilled and proficient healer who had saved many lives in various gates.

that you were highly respected by other s-rank hunters during co-op raids with global hunters, all aiming to raid any massive gates that posed as a threat to humanity.

and such reassurances were enough to calm your heart and ease your sorrows.

currently, you had finished a meeting with the chairman and was about to head out of the building when you ran into someone. your nose ached in response to the impact, nearly falling over had it not been for the strong hand that kept a grip on your wrist.

you open your eyes and gasp, meeting with sung jinwoo's kind eyes.

"hey, sorry about that. i didn't see you." jinwoo chuckles while helping you stand back to your full height. you could feel the heat dye against your cheeks as you struggled to find the right words to say to him.

"i-it's okay, hunter sung."

another light chuckle was heard escaping from his parted lips, causing your to jolt pleasantly in surprise as a tremble courses through you from hearing such a beautiful sound.

"please, call me jinwoo."

your mouth turns dry, and you felt as though your head were spinning upon hearing his words.

"o-okay... thanks, j-jinwoo."

his smile seems to brighten in response to your words, and you watch as he runs his fingers through his hair, giving you a sheepish expression.

"uhm, i was wondering, if you're free... would you like to grab some coffee with me?"

your heart quickly began to pound in response. ever since you had first laid eyes on jinwoo, you held a deep crush on him. you had always admired him, even when he was still a level e hunter.

was he really asking you out?

wait. don't fall for it.

suddenly, your mind began to take over, quickly banishing the strange racing felt within your heart as the joy shrivels slowly in response.

remember shik and how he asked you out to get to hae-in? think about it, jinwoo never spoke to you before... and you know that he is aware that hae-in is your sister.

you harden your heart and look away from him, actually listening to the voice in your head. "no thank you... i... i have other plans."

your rejection seems to shock jinwoo, his eyes going wide when he reaches out to you.

"wait, why-"

but you didn't allow him to continue, immediately walking away from him as you left the hunter's association building-

never once looking back at him.

{ ... }

several weeks had passed since your interaction with jinwoo-

and you honestly weren't expecting him to be so... incessant in his attempts to date you.

each morning, you would find cute little bouquets delivered to your and hae-in's guild. she would give you a knowing smile while jong-in would constantly smirk at you.

but perhaps what made your heart really skip beats was when he had sent a rather... extravagant bouquet to yours and hae-in's shared apartment. the bouquet consisted of every known flower in existence, their colorful blooms seeming to blind your eyes as the rainbow petals overwhelmed you in the best of ways.

you sigh and try to calm your racing heart. as you were looking at the bouquet, you saw a slender white envelope caught in the midst of the array of petals. gingerly, you take the card and place it in your hand, taking the card out of the confines of the envelope as you saw a series of numbers and a note from jinwoo:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

i can't stop thinking about you... please, give me a chance?

i eagerly await your call.

yours,

s.j.

unable to ignore the strange pounding in your heart, you clench your eyes shut and thought about what to do next.

don't fall for it. what if he ends up breaking your heart?

but he's so kind... and persistent. never once did he mention hae-in's name.

neither did shik, yet the moment he saw your sister, it all went to hell, remember?

you ignore the looming voice in your head, filling you with doubt as you went back to your room with the card and bouquet in hand. grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you dial jinwoo's number and give him a call...

{ ... }

jinwoo was simply dosing off within his room when his cellphone begins to vibrate. looking down at his phone's screen, he sees an unknown series of numbers and smiles.

he answers the call within the second ring, smiling into the phone as he says your name.

"you're really persistent, aren't you?"

jinwoo felt his heart skip a few beats upon hearing your voice so close to his ear, making him feel the tiniest bit flustered as he tried to calm down.

"i'm guessing you got my latest present for you?"

silence permeates at the air, and jinwoo nearly let out a chuckle when he hears your sigh.

"i did get your bouquet... it's lovely."

smiling widely, jinwoo sits back on his bed while gently asking you, "so... would you like to join me on a date this coming saturday? how does a dinner and a movie sound to you?"

"...it sounds perfect... come pick me up at my apartment around 7pm."

you hang up the call first, leaving jinwoo speechless as he was left grinning like an absolute fool at the thought of you agreeing to go out on a date with him. after remaining in that same, shocked position for several minutes, jinwoo finally hangs up the phone with a pleased expression on his face.

how did it turn out like this?

at first, he wanted to use you to try and get closer to hae-in, to see if being close to you would make hae-in turn softer toward him-

yet why was he now looking forward to his date with you?

why did he not mind pursuing you so relentlessly?

why did he wish to be your sole source of happiness; wishing to bask in your sweet smiles and melodious laughter?

feeling like he was on cloud 9, he settles his phone on his nightstand and lays back in bed, his shadow soldiers seeming to surround him, sensing his happiness as they all congratulated him.

"the lady has always been a perfect match for our king."

"it is clear that his attempts at courting her has been successful."

"we are with you every step of the way!"

jinwoo was practically soaring with happiness now-

perhaps he was a king, after all...

you made him feel like he was king of the entire universe.

{ ... }

one date turned into two dates-

two dates turned into three dates-

and this kept going on until you shared at least a hundred dates with sung jinwoo.

somewhere in between your thirty-ninth and fortieth date with him, he asked you to be his girlfriend-

and you accepted his proposal without hesitation.

jinwoo was nothing but the perfect boyfriend to you. he doted on you constantly, and you found yourself loving his attention and affections so much that you ended up finding an apartment to move into together with him.

it was such a huge change for you, yet hae-in supported you every step of the way. she basked and cherished your happiness with a bright smile on her face, and you were so blessed- so happy to have a platonic soulmate like her in your life.

living with jinwoo for 3 months now, you decided it was time to pay your sister a visit. she had invited both you and jinwoo over for dinner and wanted to catch up with you. cooking your own plethora of side dishes to bring to dinner, you finished making them and packed them all into neat containers.

"jin, do you mind helping me carry this bag out into the car?" you call out to jinwoo, seeing him appear in the kitchen with a smile on his face.

"of course, sarang." you nearly melt at the mere sight of him, seeing his dressed in a black turtleneck with dark jeans. he meets you and wraps his arms around the front of your abdomen. pressing kisses against your hair, he takes the bag filled with containers and gets ready to place them in his car.

you follow from close behind him, eyes looking out the window to see the grey clouds beginning to come in. "huh, the weather looks kind of bad."

jinwoo takes note of the cloudy skies, "do you want to call your sister and reschedule this dinner?"

you immediately shake your head upon hearing his suggestion. "no, i'm actually looking forward to seeing her again. let's just tread carefully when the storm does arrive and do our best to stay dry."

jinwoo nods his head, "okay, if you say so..."

little did you know, it would have been better for you to not see hae-in at all.

{ ... }

you were just being paranoid, that's all.

jinwoo was not constantly staring at your sister throughout dinner-

even though she looked lovely with her golden hair falling gracefully across her features-

even though she was dressed to perfection in a cream colored sweater and a matching skirt-

even though she wore no makeup and was still by far the loveliest woman in this room-

you still couldn't compare to her.

even with the delicious side dishes you made coupled along with hae-in's cooking, you couldn't bring yourself to eat. jinwoo still sat next to you, his hand barely remaining held within the palm of your hand as he spoke animatedly with hae-in.

why was it that you were left feeling like the third wheel?

hae-in notices your lack of appetite and calls out your name. "ah, what's wrong? you barely touched your food!"

"i-i'm okay... it's just, i had a big lunch earlier."

hae-in hums, not quite believing you, but still didn't question you.

"i know what will cheer you up! i bought you your favorite dessert, strawberry shortcake! give me a moment and i'll prepare it for you!"

you were ready to thank your sister, but your words die within the confines of your throat when jinwoo stands from his seat, taking with him his empty plates and utensils.

"here, let me help you."

without even sparing you a second glance, he goes to quickly help hae-in-

and you felt as though your entire form was bathed in an icy coldness. you shiver and felt your throat close up in response, pushing back your plate of food.

it's all in your head, jinwoo loves you. he loves you enough to live with you-

but a sudden soft moan heard coming from the kitchen breaks you out of your reveries, making you stiffly stand from your seat. your breath becomes more labored and uneven, reaching the kitchen to see something that absolutely broke your heart.

jinwoo was kissing your sister...

and your sister was kissing him back.

a choked sob escapes from you, the sound making jinwoo and hae-in pull away from each other. hae-in held a mortified expression, feeling ashamed for betraying your trust as jinwoo shakily calls out your name.

"wait, sarang, it's not-"

you ignore his words, casting a hateful glare at both hae-in and jinwoo.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE CALL ME YOUR LOVE, SUNG JINWOO! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU USED ME TO GET TO MY SISTER! YOU'RE JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER MAN IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE! I HATE YOU BOTH SO MUCH! NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!"

your voice was dripping with venom, your throat aching from the intensity of your screams. yet still, the tears couldn't be stopped, with you running back to the living room as you grabbed your purse and sling the straps over your shoulder.

you ignore both hae-in and jinwoo's cries of your name, escaping the apartment while slamming the door shut.

running out into the downpour, your tears were blocking your vision, unable to see a damn thing. but truthfully, you didn't care where you went, or even what would happen to you.

your mind kept playing the image of jinwoo kissing hae-in over and over again-

and you kept berating yourself for falling for yet another man who wanted hae-in over you-

but this time, it hurt so much more than it ever did with shik-

because this time, you genuinely loved him.

you find yourself wandering aimlessly into the street, dimly aware of the incoming traffic as several horns blare at you all at once-

yet before any of the vehicles could crush your frame, you found yourself in the arms of a man, a man who knows you as he calls out your name.

"what's a lovely flower like you doing out here in the middle of the streets?"

you gasp, detecting a faint accent in his voice as your eyes met with the glowing, golden gaze of liu zhigang.

you gasp and ask him, "w-what are you doing here?"

he simply looks down at you, "i had a meeting with the chairman..."

the chinese hunter explains while keeping you in his arms, somehow managing to take you away from the incoming traffic. rain was felt pelting against his pristine suit, making your tears worsen since you were now filled with a guilt for troubling him.

"i-i'm sorry for ruining your suit in the r-rain."

liu simply scoffs in response.

"you nearly got run over by traffic, yet you're apologizing to me about my suit getting wet?"

his expression was a gentle one, filled with an uncharacteristically soft fondness as he makes his way over to his limousine. his driver sees him and opens the door for him, allowing liu to settle within the leather seats with you still kept tightly within his embrace.

with the door closed, liu focuses on warming you up, keeping you close to his body. while he was holding on to you, he kept hearing your ringtone going off several times in a row from your purse. lifting his eyebrow at you, liu asks, "what's with the thousand of calls coming from your phone?"

you shiver and give the chinese hunter a huff. "it's just my boyfriend- ex boyfriend, trying to reach me."

"and... is there a reason why he is your ex, my lovely flower?"

his question makes the tears return almost immediately. "i...i caught him kissing my sister."

"ah... he was kissing hae-in." liu's eyes seemed to glow with contempt, now unzipping your purse to take out your phone and answer the call for you. once he takes out the device, he could feel his eyes go wide upon seeing the name of your ex.

"sung jinwoo."

you were still silently sobbing, hiding your face within liu's chest, allowing him to answer the call.

"sarang-"

"sorry, she's quite busy right now." liu's tone was ice cold when he speaks to jinwoo all while drawing comforting circles against your back. "and i'm afraid you have lost your chance with this lovely flower, hunter sung."

you swore you heard a series of curses and threats coming from your phone, but liu simply hangs up the call, proceeding to block jinwoo's number before putting the phone back into your purse. after running a hand across his hair, he looks down at you with a kind expression.

framing your face with his two hands, he leans in to press a kiss against your forehead. "fear not, my lovely flower... i'll keep you with me and will help you heal your heart. you have experienced so much pain already, and i wish to help you."

you let out a few more tears while clinging to liu zhigang, feeling guilty for using him as a means to ease your heartache when it came to jinwoo-

but... just this once, you can be selfish, right?

here is this man who knows who you are- who knows hae-in and is still willing to choose you. fueled by desperation, you hang on to the collar of liu's suit and press your lips into his in a searing kiss, one that begged for his affections.

and as he kisses you back, you felt your heart turn lighter-

at least, for a mere few moments.

{ ... }

sung jinwoo became heartbroken when he realized you had left south korea to head to china with that snake, liu zhigang.

it was a series of unfortunate events that lead him to losing you-

him speaking to hae-in passionately about her raids-

him admiring hae-in's beauty one last time when he helped her grab your favorite dessert-

and hae-in looking at him with suspicion, testing his emotions when she kissed him in hopes of protecting her sister-

in hopes of protecting you.

when hae-in kissed him, he was so desperate to get away from her. to avoid raising your suspicions as he never wanted to come clean to you.

he never wanted to tell you that the reason why he wanted to get closer to you was because he wanted cha hae-in-

not when he found himself genuinely falling in love with you.

not when he found himself imagining a life together with you, sharing everything with you while growing a family with you.

but all of that was ruined the moment hae-in kissed him-

and now, he had lost you forever.

after the incident at dinner, jinwoo left hae-in's apartment and drove around for hours in his car. his blood was boiling with possessiveness and anger, hearing the smirk within liu zhigang's voice along with your choked sobs-

he did this to you.

he made you run into the arms of another man-

and he hated himself for it.

with a bottle of shoju in his hand, he continues to drink the clear liquid while scrolling through his phone, not leaving the apartment he shared with you- keeping tabs on you and liu. it has been two months since he had last heard from you, and the media coverage had spoke about your move to china as you found a new lover within the chinese hunter.

rumors circulated about yours and jinwoo's breakup, yet the shadow monarch didn't have the strength to correct anyone-

all he wanted was to get you back-

and the rest, he would figure out later.

as he wallows in his misery (taking another swig of shoju in the process) he hears a series of knocks coming from his door. a strange part of him hoped that it was you, which was what prompted him to drop his bottle of shoju and answer the door-

only to be met with disappointment upon seeing hae-in.

he nearly slams the door in her face, but... his mother had taught him better than that. and judging from the look of devastation on hae-in's features, he knew that she wasn't faring any better than he was at the loss of you.

"hello... c-can i come in?"

jinwoo remains silent, only giving her a nod when he steps aside to let her in. hae-in quietly thanks him before standing off awkwardly to the side.

an tense silence fills at the air, with hae-in speaking first. her eyes were clenched shut as she bows down to him. "i'm so sorry, for what i did. i only wanted to make sure that you felt nothing for me... that you genuinely loved my sister... and only her alone."

"i-i'm such an idiot... all this time, she's been so miserable standing next to me. every man that she falls for... they end up using her to get to me... and... and i couldn't stand the thought if you were the same way."

jinwoo couldn't say anything to comfort her, remaining silent as he stood there with his fists clenched to his sides, simply waiting for her to continue.

"but when i kissed you, and you simply froze in response... i knew that your feelings were genuine for her-"

"at first, i did use your sister to get to you." jinwoo interrupts hae-in with a strained voice

hae-in then stands back to her full height, her eyes still welling up with tears as they fell down her face in heavy droplets.

guilt was felt coursing through jinwoo's veins when he continues.

"but the more i tried to get her to agree to date me... the more i found myself liking her little quirks and mannerisms. from the way she scrunches her nose in annoyance... and that cute pout on her lips when she gets sad or upset..."

jinwoo closes his eyes and shakes his head, "she's amazing... and...and... i loved her more than i could ever love you."

hae-in continues to cry, but nods her head in response. "she is... she is so amazing, and i'm so happy you got to see the real her."

the young woman takes in a deep breath before facing him, giving him a look of determination when she says.

"please, for my sister's sake, allow me to protect your heart and stay by your side. i won't allow another woman to take you away from my sister. as a way of m-making things up to you, let me protect your feelings for my sister... and let her come back to you when she's ready."

jinwoo was taken aback by the sheer devotion seen within hae-in's eyes, and he becomes filled a plethora of emotions as well when he nods before giving her a hug.

his arms wrap tightly around her, and if he closed his eyes-

then he could imagine that he was holding you instead...

{ ... }

jinwoo's world was breaking before his very eyes.

he had successfully defeated the monarch's invasion on the world, yet... when he caught a glimpse of you-

he followed you, not even paying attention to the rulers when they had descended upon the earth.

of course, you would be back to the place where the battle was occurring-

after all, he was the sole reason the monarchs wished to invade the world to begin with.

when he sees a glimpse of your features before disappearing off into the crowd of hunters, he follows you.

your name was on the tip of his tongue, and when he could see your wisps of hair blowing in the wind, jinwoo swore that he could die happy right then and there.

his mouth was open, ready to call out to you when suddenly, the scene that plays before his eyes breaks his heart.

for he saw you in the arms of liu zhigang, his lips slotted perfectly against yours as his fingers were delved into your hair.

red-hot anger courses through jinwoo's veins, with him clenching his fists in response. he was ready to call out that bastard's name and pull him away from you-

but when liu stops kissing you, and jinwoo could see the genuine joy within your eyes-

it makes him hesitate.

his breathing was abnormal, and his heart had become broken into millions of pieces...

and in the midst of his agony was the moment the ruler appeared behind him.

"you have done well to win this war... however, your heart- it is in a turmoil."

jinwoo doesn't face the ruler, simply casting his gaze to where you were before saying,

"i wish to use the cup of reincarnation... i want to erase everything in this timeline and try again."

jinwoo's voice was empty, still staring at you with a longing as you were held within liu zhigang's embrace.

"that is an incredibly selfish reason. tell me, what would ashborn think?"

"i will face the monarchs on my own in the pocket dimension... just please, let me do this..."

jinwoo still doesn't acknowledge the ruler, yet he could sense the hesitance coming from the god-like being.

"are you certain... that this is what you want? no one shall remember your victory... and the cup of reincarnation has been nearly exhausted-"

"i don't care, just give me this one last chance... i'll do what i need to do, just please-"

jinwoo finally faces the ruler, desperation painting his features as they became twisted in a frown. he bows down to the ruler upon seeing the cup of reincarnation appear within their grasps.

"i wish you the best of luck, young monarch."

and with those final words, the world became bathed within a blinding, white light...

{ ... }

one moment you were in the arms of liu zhigang-

and the next, you find yourself falling out of bed, with your alarm clock ringing.

a melodious yet soft voice calls out your name, and you see a younger version of hae-in greeting you. "morning, sleepyhead!"

she was dressed in her school uniform, and your eyes go wide in realization.

hae-in was 14 again-

you were 14 again.

you remain settled on the ground, eyes going wide upon seeing her as you struggled to find the right words to say.

memories invade your mind, of her being a hunter and you being a healer-

of raids-

and armor-

and jinwoo-

"you-" your voice was about to take on a hateful tone, but you stopped yourself. somehow, you realized that hae-in didn't recall any of those moments, her grey eyes glazed over with complete innocence as she smiles down at you.

"i'm sorry, i know how cranky you get when you first wake up, but mom told me to make sure that you're up. so, come on? i want you to join track with me as well!"

biting back your words, you instead opt to let out a groan instead, standing back to your full height as your brushed your hand through your hair. stepping closer to hae-in, you giggle before tackling her in a bear hug, making her gasp before giggling along with you.

you didn't know why time got reversed... sending you back 10 years, but... you weren't going to complain-

since these few years of your life had to be the happiest moments for you.

{ ... }

two years had passed.

you are now 16 years old, beginning your second year of high school when a new student transfers to your homeroom.

and the mere sight of him was enough to make your stomach churn in response.

he wears the male version of your uniform, and while your teacher was introducing him to the class, he kept his glowing, purple eyes on you along with a lazy smile.

"class, i'd like you to welcome sung jinwoo, as he'll be spending the rest of the year with you all. please, treat him with kindness."

your throat turns dry, and jinwoo still doesn't look away from you. when jinwoo is asked to sit down, he casually saunters over to the desk right next to you.

your breathing becomes uneven, and you try to distract yourself by reviewing your lecture notes. yet still, he doesn't look away from you.

biting down on your bottom lip, you wonder if he'll back off when he realizes something...

something that you always kept a secret.

trailing your eyes upwards towards the teacher, you wait until his back was turned before whispering harshly to jinwoo.

"i remember everything, hunter sung."

his eyes go wide as a flurry of emotions were seen going through him-

but the one you recognized the most was guilt.

finally, he looks away from you, staring down at his unopened notebook.

"i'm sorry."

you ignored his apologies and chose to focus on the lecture instead, feeling your stomach twist further with the anxiety that was felt coursing through you.

{ ... }

you managed to avoid jinwoo throughout the day despite how he shared a class with you.

yet you were determined to keep some distance between the both of you.

when the last period ends for the day, you were ready to head to track with hae-in when a large hand felt on your wrist stops you. letting out a gasp, you were suddenly brought to a secluded area in the hallway-

with jinwoo looking down at you.

he shakily frames at your face with his two hands, gently caressing at your skin.

"i have missed you so much... please, you have to believe me! w-when you saw me and hae-in-"

you didn't allow him to finish, lifting up your hand to slap him across his face. a side of his cheek became red in response, and you felt the tiniest bit of guilt course through you at hurting him.

"i-i don't want to hear it, sung. i know what i saw and... and there's no way i can forgive you or forget."

you hear the way jinwoo's breath hitches in response, with him trapping you against the wall with his two hands.

"w-what can i do to obtain your forgiveness?" the desperation in his voice makes you tremble in response.

you refuse to meet his gaze, looking away from him when you bitterly tell him. “i’ll forgive you only when you’re crawling over broken glass to get to me.”

jinwoo's clenches his hands into fists in response, punching at the wall momentarily before pushing himself away from you. he walks off with his hands shoved within the pocket of his pants, making you slide down against the wall in response.

feeling emotionally exhausted, you decide to close your eyes and fall asleep... feeling too tired to care that you were going to miss track...

{ ... }

the fire started in the chemistry room, with the members of the chemistry club quickly evacuating as the flames began to spread across the school.

the alarms had gone off as all of the students came out of the building and out into the field.

yet jinwoo's heart couldn't help but twist with panic when he saw no signs of you.

"no, please NO!" jinwoo was already on the move when he sees hae-in's crying face.

"hae-in, where is she? please tell me your sister is safe!"

he clutches on to her shoulders, yet felt despair fill him as she shakes her head in response.

"no, she n-never made it to practice."

she was still inside the building-

jinwoo immediately turns away from hae-in all while calling out your name. he berates himself for not assigning a soldier to you, surrounding himself within the black and purple aura before re-entering the burning school.

even with the smoke filling his lungs, he calls out your name, ignoring the flames and how it licked at his uniform. he covers his mouth to hold his breath, quickly reaching the third floor where he had last left you-

only to see you slumped against the wall, the flames growing stronger as the windows shatter in response to the heat. he lets out a grunt, but doesn't let that stop him from reaching you.

so, he begins his slow and steady descent to you, not even feeling the broken glass piercing at his skin. he keeps going, not stopping until he sees your unconscious form directly in front of him.

fear clutches his heart when he brings you closer to his chest, shielding you from the smoke and flames before making a shadow exchange towards the school's gates, away from the crowd as he focused solely on healing you.

the moment jinwoo could taste the fresh air was when he looks down at you. you were still unconscious, which was what prompts jinwoo to surround himself in his dark aura before pressing his lips against yours, filling your lungs with oxygen while simultaneously healing you.

within just a few minutes, you let out a sharp gasp before shoving yourself away from him, letting out a series of coughs and wheezes. jinwoo keeps a tight embrace around you, never once leaving your side as he continues to gently heal you.

"it's okay... you're okay..." he repeats those two phrases like a neverending mantra, still holding on to you tightly when your coughs slowly begin to subside.

"j-jinwoo?"

he basks in the way you say his name, with you slowly looking back at him. tears well up within your eyes when you throw your arms around his neck.

"i... i remember it feeling so hot... yet, i couldn't move or breathe." your voice was shaky when you met his gaze, "you... you saved me...?"

jinwoo nods, lifting up a hand to brush back your hair, making you see the fresh cuts and blood against the palm of his hand. with a gasp, you gingerly take a hold of his hand within yours. "you're hurt...!"

but the young shadow monarch simply shakes his head in response, leaning closer to press a kiss against the back of your hand. "as long as i was able to save and protect you... that's all that matters."

filled with millions of emotions for him, you gently place the palm of your hand against his cheek, swallowing thickly before admitting to him, "i still love you."

jinwoo's eyes go wide momentarily before narrowing, his glowing gaze now filled with adoration for you when he leans in closer to you, "and i have always loved you..."

feeling happy to have you back in his arms, jinwoo leans forward to kiss you fully, tightening his arms around you as he swore to never let you go ever again...

{ ... }

the fire was suddenly put out, and hae-in swore she saw a bunch of shadowy figures surrounding the interior of the building, right where the fire had spread...

however, she quickly ignores the feeling of seeing such strange figures when she recognizes your lone figure being held by jinwoo.

she was ready to cry, sobbing with relief at the sight of your safety-

but the moment she sees jinwoo holding you so tightly while inching his lips closer to yours-

hae-in turns away from the scene, walking back to the crowd in hopes of comforting her other friends, knowing that you were in good hands. as she meets her friends and wraps them up in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but think back to her sister-

the young woman smiles, feeling elated that you had finally found someone who would always choose you first...

a.n. - oh my god.... after studying for my exam, i wrote this in 3+ hours as it totaled to... a whopping 6k words! 😭 i couldn't get his prompt out of my head! as always, this is unedited, but any changes and edits will be made later... after this is posted, so you'll have to deal with any errors at the moment.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #liu zhigang x reader #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #.stories

[beneathashadytree]

Other ask lol This is a bit spoiler-y in regards to Rafayel's lore.

Rafayel's Your Fragrance card is visually stunning and quite sexy, but when the scent of the perfume is described, it sounded exactly like the potion he had witch MC make him.

And his reaction as he's sniffing MCs wrist actually breaks my heart. Who do you think he meant when he said "is this how they're trying to trap me?" (Not verbatim, I can't remember the exact words)

Spoiler alert!!!

I’m honestly pretty insane about Rafayel’s myths and past, even though there’s a vague “missing” period of his life with little info to go off of, so I’ve thought about this often, actually. I have all of Rafayel’s cards so far, and what I’ve put together so far is this: MC was—at some point—forced to collude with someone against Rafayel. Not of their own will, but still, it happened. Rafayel, having already been smitten by them, is PRECISELY the kind of person to let himself get caught despite his own instincts telling him to run away. However, getting caught = getting hurt, and it was inevitable despite his love for them. The potion is reminiscent of both his first love and his first betrayal, and he can’t exactly tell those two apart—because damn it, does he love them, but he’s doomed to death if he stays.

Also, another thing is that in his first myths, Rafayel is promised to MC as an almost-slave. He’s essentially her toy, and as a princess she has every right to destroy him should she wish to. It’s a horrifyingly cruel concept, but it’s very much true. Being “tied up” or “trapped” is a very recurrent theme in Rafayel’s lore, and it’s exactly BECAUSE he knows just how willingly he would go along with it and how he’d absolutely risk it all just to see/be with MC. Through it all, he still has the instincts of a fighter and a God. It’s a battle between nature vs. desire. It’s tragic, and it means that his reservations can never fully go away, and that he’s always naturally weak for the MC, but it’s also the only way he’s ever known how to love, and he’ll throw himself into it.

#maya talks #lnds #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel lads #rafayel lnds #rafayel l&ds #qi yu #rafayel myths

[captainofthedauntless]

When Life Gives You Lemons

Rise Donatello x Reader imagine

Info + Warnings: Reader's at the Lair to help Mikey in the kitchen. Mikey's caught up in something else. Donatello gives Reader a way to pass the time. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader. Vague not-friends to might-be-friends with feelings. Set a few years post movie.

Commentary: He's much harder to write for than a certain blue menace. IDK if this even sounds like him.

It's easy to think Donatello doesn't care.

Well... that's not true. You've seen him unveil his latest and greatest inventions- he cares so much it's impressive.

But it is easy to think he's extremely (impressively) neutral on you.

It's a kind of intense neutral that you haven't seen anywhere else.

He's polite. Or his version of polite, anyway. It's not like he avoids you, he just is neutral in a way that somehow pulls on your attention.

You can't explain how or why.

You're just aware of it the same way you're aware of his family's fondness for you. His near-apathy has the same volume as Leo's jokes and Raph's warm support and Mikey's excited integration of you into their schedules.

You call it Hamato Intensity, in the privacy of your own mind, the way they all are. It's shapeless and beyond definition, and you really shouldn't think too hard on it because it simply is the way that gravity just is, but you almost can't help yourself.

They just have a presence.

Maybe it has something to do with that Ninpō thing Mikey and April tried to explain to you. It's like magic, but it's not magic, but it's kinda magic? But then Donnie had cut in to explain that it was absolutely not magic and he had a whole PowerPoint and everything got very derailed very very quickly.

You were more confused at the end than you were when the conversation had started.

So you try not to think about it too much. You get that they're glowy and dangerous, and it has something to do with ancestral connections, and you think April's haunted, and that's just going to have to be enough.

It's a lot like how you don't quite get Donnie.

You're pretty sure he doesn't dislike you. Over the few months you've known the family, you've seen him dislike several people, and it is always extremely clear. It's sharp and hazardous and can be a little (lot) intimidating- and he's never been like that with you. He's just dry. A little reserved.

The weird part is that it isn't really... awkward?

Like, it should be. It so should be. Right now, with you sitting at their kitchen table waiting for Mikey to get home so you can help him with his latest culinary adventure (per his request) and Donnie silently brewing coffee and typing away at his gauntlet, it should be awkward.

It isn't.

It's comfortable, in a strange way.

The realization is a surprise- one only trumped by the surprise of him speaking.

He says your name in way of greeting, and your head whips around like he'd screamed.

"Yeah?" You say, confused.

You think it might be the first time he's said it to you.

He stares at you for a beat like he's studying you, just long enough for you to start to feel out of place. "Still waiting for Michael, I presume?"

"Yeah," You repeat, no less confused. More confused, you think. "He's grabbing ingredients. Apparently Leo ate the end of something and Mike's making him portal them around to replace it," You explain (over explain? You can't tell) with a fond amusement. "Said they couldn't find it at the first place they tried, so they're making extra stops."

Something dings on his wrist, and he drops his eyes to type something into his gauntlet again. "Excellent," He says neutrally, still typing. "That leaves you free to assist me."

You blink at him, confusion growing. Again.

He seems to notice, his hand stilling on his keyboard for an almost imperceptible moment. "If... you are not otherwise occupied, obviously."

"Um, no. Nah, I'm free," You respond, finding your footing again and deciding that much stranger things have happened, really. "What's up?"

"I require an extra set of hands in the lab, to hold a circuit board in place while neither crushing nor breaking it, which- despite his best efforts and gentle demeanor- makes Raphael a less-than-ideal candidate," He explains, his typing hand coming up to twirl once in midair in a very Donnie motion of simultaneous acknowledgment and dismissal.

It occurs to you that this is the same lab that may-or-may-not have some sort of nuke tucked away in it, depending on who you listen to.

The thought is brushed away by the realization that your curiosity outweighs your caution (again).

You slip out of your chair, nodding at him. "Sounds... uncharacteristically simple," You say, testing the waters with a gentle joke at his expense.

It seems to pay off as he nods. "I assure you, the end goal is extremely characteristic," He says, and it takes you a second to realize he's- it's not joking, but it has a self-aware, playful edge to it. It's subtle, but it's there, and it catches you off-guard as two robotic arms reach out and pour a mug of coffee without him looking.

"Then lead the way."

He turns without a word, retracting one metal arm as the other brings the mug to his hands before disappearing into his shell.

You follow him to his lab, hesitating just outside as he slips right back into his element.

You've been in the lab before, but it's rare, and usually with the company of his entire family. Here, you have no cues to follow.

He glances back at you and raises a brow.

"Do I... need to take off my shoes or anything?" You ask over the synth and bass filling the room, only half joking. It feels like walking into an operating room, like you need to sterilize your entire being before you breathe on any of the impressive technology.

"No," He says simply, turning back to his workbench, "The floor is cleaned bi-daily by SHELLDON. Bi-daily, in this case, being twice-per-day- not every other."

You nod at his back. Of course it is.

You walk towards him, not quite able to resist the urge to look around. You settle for keeping it subtle.

"Here," He says, pulling your attention from an organized mess of cables and metal hanging on the wall like technologically-advanced macrame. "Hold this over here, at roughly a 59.6 degree angle."

Taking the circuit board- a foot square and heavier than you expect- you nod again, trying not to laugh as you step to his side and lift it up to rest against yet another unintelligible pile of technology. "Right. 59.6 degrees."

"Roughly," He amends, the start of a smile visible in your peripheral. He reaches out- into your space- and nudges the board into a sharper tilt, presumably finding that approximate angle for you as his metal arms grab things from the tool chest behind him.

"Like this?" You ask, trying to hold still as he pulls away.

Oddly, you almost miss his space in your own.

"Roughly," He repeats dryly.

That's alright. You aren't striving for perfection.

Roughly is fine.

You feel compelled to strive for perfection.

You swallow the urge.

He's back, hands full of drill and screws and metal hands holding more metal pieces that you can't quite see around his battle shell as he crouches slightly to look at the underside of the board in your hands.

"Slide it to the left- your left, not mine."

You nudge it gently.

"More."

You nudge it again.

"More- too much, back the other way."

You cock a brow at him- or more accurately, at his red-and-blue goggles, which show you your own reflection. You can't see his eyes, but he must see you, because he mimics your expression.

You nudge it back the other way.

"Adequate," He says in something close to approval.

It's nicer to hear than it probably should be.

"This will be an unpleasant sound. It will jostle the board. If it slides out of alignment, we'll have to reset you."

"Alright."

He's correct- as per usual. It's a very unpleasant sound, metal on metal combined with the whir of the drill, followed by clanging as his battle arms hand him extra pieces and parts.

He ends up entirely beneath the metal monstrosity, supported by the two metal arms as he leans back to look up at the machine's underbelly.

You end up in a long-abandoned rolling chair. You tell yourself it's just because Mikey isn't home yet.

Eventually, Donatello calls your name.

"Yeah?"

"Four-point-five millimeter hex key."

You glance over at the little work table he'd rolled over earlier, and spot a tray of neatly organized hex keys. A closer look reveals perfectly placed labels.

One reads 4.5, so you slip it out of its slot and roll forwards to pass it to him.

"Thank you."

You hum a little acknowledgment, and kick your chair back slightly.

"-and for some insane reason, he decided to catapult himself-" You wave an arm out in emphasis, mid-story as Donnie meticulously wires together the plates you had installed, and a third metal arm darts out to gently catch your wrist.

You stop speaking, and you stare at each other.

"Hotplate," He says after a beat.

You glance over your shoulder, and your hand is being held just shy of a metal platform on the desk behind you. There's a little red light on the front, and a bright purple sign plastered neatly below it, warning Hot. Do Not Touch. Do Not Use As Microwave.

"Thanks," You says softly. You can feel heat wafting off it now, enough to give you the impression that had he not interceded, you'd be nursing a nasty burn.

He hums and retracts the hand, tucking it neatly into his battleshell. "You were reminding me of Nardo's foolhardy ways?" He prompts, attention already returning to the project in front of him.

Eventually, you hear Mikey holler from outside the lab, calling you.

"I guess that's my cue," You say.

Donatello does not look up. "Agreed. I appreciate your assistance."

"Any time," You say casually.

As you turn to leave, you're absolutely dumbfounded to realize you actually mean it.

You've enjoyed your stint as his lab assistant.

"How was the lab?" Mikey asks, a little too playful for your tastes.

"Hazardous," You quip dryly, replaying the hotplate incident. "No wonder he's so protective of it."

You miss Mikey's response, mentally counting metal hands.

Donatello's battleshell has more than two.

You're pretty sure you've seen him with five before.

...So why did he need help?

"Hello?" Mikey asks gently, an innocent- too innocent- smile on his face.

"Sorry, flashbacks to my near-death experience." It's not quite a lie.

He doesn't quite buy it.

"I said if he asks you to test fit a helmet, say no," Mikey repeats.

You nod slowly. "Speaking from experience?"

"Don't worry about it," He chirps, slipping an apron over his head. "Speaking of experiences, are you ready for Angelo's All-You-Can-Beat Eggstravaganza?"

"Absolutely," You grin, happy for the change of subject.

And excited for lemon bars.

Win-win.

"You're telling me-"

"Nardo, don't-"

"I teleported all over New York and the Hidden City-"

"You are in the way-"

"So that you could get your wrenches passed to you?" Leo exclaims, the picture of incredulity as he stands between Donnie and the equipment you'd helped with. "That was your grand plan?"

"I had no grand plan," Donnie responds, stubbornly sidestepping his twin. "Michelangelo had a grand plan. I was a victim, dear brother, same as you."

"Oh, of course, of course," He says, hands coming up in dramatic surrender. "Because spending time with someone you have the hots for-"

Donnie taps at his gauntlet, turning his music up over his brother while sliding back beneath his newest baby.

"-Is exactly the same as stopping in thirteen stores-" Leo continues louder, undeterred- "for a niche lemon species you eventually start to think Mikey made up!"

"And did he?"

"He might as well have, for how deep into Witch Town we ended up!"

Donatello rolls his eyes sharply, adjusting bolts above himself.

They don't need adjusting.

"If you don't come out to try their lemon bars- and sing their fucking praises- I will come in here and haul you out myself," Leonardo proclaims, ducking into Donnie's space. Persistent, unyielding, obstinate. "And I will tell everyone- everyone, you heard me- about last month and the rollerskates-"

"You are a monster."

"And I will do so in detail," Leo finishes, a smug grin on his face.

Donnie glares at him.

"We're not kids anymore, hermano," He says matter-of-factly. "You've taken on supervillains, aliens, ancient mystic entities, and all of NASA's cybersecurity-"

"Allegedly."

"-You can handle a direct conversation without hiding behind your tech."

Donatello does not respond.

Leo pats the metal chassis they're hunched beneath in lieu of touching Donatello himself and takes his leave.

The kitchen is loud when you and Mikey present a tray of perfectly sliced, perfectly proportioned lemon bars, each presented in an adorable white paper liner and covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar.

It's loud and happy and sounds like love, and you find yourself marveling at that Hamato Intensity again as Raph and Casey bicker about the wrestling match they both watched the night before and Casey Jr excitedly asks Mikey all about the bars and April and Leo and Splinter sneak in closer to the tray, only freezing when Mikey fixes them with a dangerous glare over Junior's shoulder.

It's a lot. They're a lot.

It smells like citrus and sugar and coffee.

The coffee reminds you of the smell of steel, which reminds you of the clanging of metal, which reminds you of whirring drills and gentle nudges and self-assured sass from beneath a machine you still don't understand.

And then you're jolted from the surprisingly warm memory by Mikey sliding a lemon bar just under your nose, happily saying something about chef privileges, and the bars taste every bit as good as they smell and he's grinning broadly and your heart feels warm all over again at the happy sounds from the group you love so much.

Metal claws dip into your vision, dangling your keys in front of your face like a worm in front of a fish. "Missing something?" Donatello asks dryly, quietly, from behind you.

"Where were these?" You ask, cupping your hands beneath them and catching as the metal claw releases.

"Workbench," He says simply, his claw- and another- darting forwards and grabbing two bars by their liners. He drops one in your hands and takes the other, tucking his metal extensions away. "How did these turn out?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?"

"I like to know what I'm getting into."

"I'm biased," You shoot back, your voices similarly amused. "As a man of science, you recognize the issue here, no?"

"Touché." He takes a bite, chewing slowly, thoughtfully.

"...So?"

"It appears you are more-than-adequate in the kitchen as well," He says, and it feels like a compliment.

It feels like a big one.

You nod, playfully smug. "I'm happy to hear it."

You are.

The realization makes you feel a little brave. "If you find yourself needing an assistant again..."

"I'd have to be able to steal you away from Mikey."

"I think he can share."

"In that case," Donnie says, amusement in his voice as he speaks beneath the noise of his family, just to you, "I will keep you in mind."

It doesn't sound half bad, really.

#*writing #tmnt imagine #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #imagines #donatello #2018 #rottmnt x reader #x reader

[chilschuck]

Can i request for chilchuck react to reader who like to daydream and after he tell the reader he is married, the reader keep spacing out more often out of sadness and they also try to avoid interacting with him much so she can move on. But laios and the other think it's normal since she always avoid interacting with people ( the reader interact with chilchuck more after falling in love with him )

Do you think he will notice? (ಥ﹏ಥ) (ಡ‸ಡ)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAHHHH ANON this is such a good concept and made my heart hurt…… i ended up adding some comfort to it because if you’re like me, you need it after reading angst!! :”)))

— OF COURSE: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + hurt/comfort! might be a lil ooc, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 941

✦ i hope this turned out okay!! i made it shorter than my other drabbles by accident but it felt good to end it where it did. i kind of changed the prompt a lil but only because i wanted to give you guys some love from chil still. (;;;w;;;) i’m honestly worried this turned out bad…. hhhhh. i’m so sorry if it’s not what you wanted. ;;; i still hope you enjoy!!! <333

He knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t difficult to see that you had started avoiding him. Even your gaze refused to meet his own for longer than it had to. Your constant spacing out and stares at the floor said all he needed to hear: you were upset.

It only seemed to get worse when you overheard his talk about reconciling with his wife, any hope you had shattering into a thousand pieces in front of you. From then on, you didn’t smile unless you felt you had to. The thick silence you left in your wake was suffocating, and Chilchuck wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

The other members in the party took it as if you were being your usual spacey self, and didn’t draw any attention to the issue. This only made Chilchuck feel worse; he definitely noticed the change.

You used to hang back with Chilchuck and talk with him constantly, sharing little tidbits about yourselves or chatting mindlessly. Things seemed to come easily when it came to you... Too bad he only realized this now.

The smiles you gave him, the eyes full of affection, the lingering touches… It stung that they were no longer a part of his everyday life. Instead, the sadness that ate at you only bled through to your face, into your actions, and into your silence. It was unfamiliar and unbearable at the same time… Especially with the way you’d closed up further.

Chilchuck wasn’t stupid; he knew you harbored some sort of feelings for him. He wasn’t sure if that made this hurt more than it would otherwise. You were obviously distancing yourself from him, further proving his point that inner party relationships were trouble. Yet, there wasn’t any anger or resentment in his chest towards you. If anything, this was a misunderstanding between the two of you.

Calling your name, he approached you almost apprehensively. The recoil you gave made that familiar sharp pain in his chest reappear. Blurting out an excuse, you made your presence scarce. And just like that, you left him alone again.

Of course he noticed. If anything, he hoped that it was all some sort of miscommunication. Sure, he wanted to reconnect with his estranged wife, but… That’s what they were: estranged childhood sweethearts that grew apart. Along with their love, their relationship changed. Things weren’t something he could fix, and his old flame knew that too. But he hoped more than anything they could sort through their differences and still be at least friends.

Of course you didn’t know. There was no way for you to know, or have known his true intentions. Like everything else he tried to bury deep down, you were fading from his life. Chilchuck couldn’t seem to let this one go, to let you go.

So he chased after you. For once in his life, he decided to not swallow these feelings down. He knew there was only so much he could bury, only so much he’d want to bury. You didn’t deserve that, and he needed you to give him those smiles again. To give him those gazes full of adoration and those tender but fleeting touches…

You didn’t pull your hand out of his immediately. Instead, when he called your name again this time, you turned. Chilchuck swallowed.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Surely there was a better thing to ask at this moment, but your lip quivered nonetheless. A deep sigh leaving you, your gaze met with the floor again.

“…So it’d stop hurting.” Was all you replied, the weight of those words knocking the air out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“This is for the best... I hope you understand.” Your voice used to never sound so broken. It was soft in a way that he’d never heard before. You had truly given up on this, and he can’t say he blames you. He’d have given up on himself, too.

But he can’t let himself fall into that same cycle of self-pity. Not again, he assured himself, reaching up to grab a fist full of your top and pulling you down to meet his eyes. “Let me explain this to you. Please. I… I’m not going back to her because of the reason you think.” Chilchuck hadn’t heard himself this pleading in so long. He felt pitiful, and he suddenly remembered why he doesn’t like being vulnerable.

You couldn’t stop your head from nodding a yes to his request, that spark of hope trying to ignite once again in your chest. Trying to snuff it out, you waited patiently for him to continue.

And so he did. Baring it all to you, he decided this would be another step towards being more open with himself. Maybe you’d see him as pathetic for this, but he tried to piece the words together as congruent as possible. The feelings he had for her distinguished with the years spent apart and even some of the time spent together. This whole time he’s been sure that he just wanted to right the wrongs he did, and move on. Hopefully with you, when all this was over.

Of course you said yes. You listened, and with every word that left him, the flame within you rekindled. You weren’t sure what to say for a moment, besides giving a light laugh in relief. Even Chilchuck exhaled a brisk chuckle, scratching the back of his head in nervous habit. He’s not sure he could ever get used to this whole “telling your true feelings” thing.

But for you, he’d try.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <333

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿 #trying to get better at hurt/comfort #and this may be terrible bc i’m so brain fried rn gdhfjfjhj #but i thought maybe you’d want some chil loving too :’))) #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader

[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Any Zosan Fic Recommendeds?

Here's some! (And one ZoLuSan because i'm me) Some are unfinished, some are classics. Either way these are the ones I always go back to!

Learning to Listen by three_days_late

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

For as long as Zoro's felt his soulmate echoes he's hated them. He doesn't know why Sanji, or the rest of his crew mates, care so damn much.

Broke the Yolk by 3oClockSnacc (TobiSterling)

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji has a nasty habit of denying himself little luxuries. Sleeping in, hot food, the unconditional love of his crew. He's used to it though; used to getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast, used to working on an empty stomach to ensure everyone else is fed, used to serving up pieces of himself and getting nothing in return. He can't afford those luxuries. Not even on his birthday.

Digital Footprint 100 Miles Wide by yellowrubberboots

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

[Profile Picture Description: A MS Paint drawing of a cartoon skull. The skull is wearing a yellow straw hat with a red band around the base.] TheStrawhats Last live 2 days ago video games and other random shit // we stream when we stream. 6.2M followers

Unwritten Recipes by aririnas

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Ingredients 2 fat garlic cloves, crushed 2 red chillies, deseeded and finely chopped 150ml white wine (not optional) 175g dried spaghetti 140g mussels, washed and beards removed 140g clams, washed chilli oil or olive oil, for drizzling ½ small pack parsley, roughly chopped (..) or Sanji writes everyone's favourite food in a recipe book

You'll Whisper Lies to Me (and One of Them Will be True) by Veto_power_over_clocks

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji introduces Zoro to Two Truths and a Lie. He only ever plays with Zoro, and all his lies are shit. (Alternatively: Sanji subjects himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by Zoro. He does everything in his power to ensure Zoro doesn't realize that's what's happening.)

Green with Envy Blues by adietxt

General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Zoro thinks he’s a pretty loyal person. All things considered, he’s a faithful crewmember and swordsman of the Strawhat Pirates. Zoro looks up just in time to see Luffy launching himself at Sanji, wrapping his stretched limbs all over Sanji’s body. Sanji has just walked out of the galley carrying a plate full of fancy-looking drinks and he’s extending his arm as far away as possible from Luffy’s grasp, and Luffy leans over his shoulder, their cheeks pressed against each other’s, their lips almost touching — Zoro is seriously considering mutiny.

Switching Places by TranqilChaos

Mature

Graphic Depictions of Violence

All it takes is one desperate battle in the jungle for Zoro to finally be on the other side. For him to be the one worrying at a bedside. For him to be the one waiting hours for the slightest sign of anything. For him to be the one missing meals and skipping showers and sleeping in the infirmary chair. Or Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji fight a tough battle in the forest that leaves all, but Zoro, horribly injured.

Your Eyes are Liquor, Your Body is Gold by Astauria

Not Rated

Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

It was a stupid idea, Zoro had known it all along and now he was really wondering why he had accepted such a proposal. No amount of alcohol in the world could ever be worth the decomposition he would see in Sanji's eyes when he learned the truth. Zoro had bet on him, for one fucking drink.

Rewind (Be Kind) by donutsandcoffee

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

What should be a run-of-the-mill skirmish with a devil fruit user turned Sanji into an eight-year-old, and the Strawhats are suddenly faced with a version of Sanji they have never met before: a Sanji before the Strawhats, before the floating restaurant, but after—something. Zoro observes, learns, and relearns.

#zosan #fic recs #fic rec #answers #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #zoro roronoa #sanzo

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Two - Your arrival in Winterfell stirs more than just feeling within Jon. Ch 3

He is an honorable man, not as honorable as his father or his Uncle Benjen, but he strives to be as good and true as they are.

The thoughts that enter his mind as he looks down at Lady y/n do not make him feel honorable. She’s beautiful, with emerald eyes and thick lashes, snow dusting her hair, the light of the moon giving her a crown of light, one befitting a princess. That’s what she is—practically is, the daughter of a Lannister, not any Lannister but Tyrion, the imp, the clever one. Jon could study for a hundred years and never come close to the knowledge her father possesses.

His own boldness surprises him, the way he claps his cloak around you, securing it deftly, lingering a moment too long, wishing to spend eternity mere inches from you, breathing in your perfume. It’s light, floral, and sweet, perhaps jasmine? Sansa had been given a bottle once, she hadn’t liked it, preferring the scent of vanilla, and had thrown it out. Jon remembers how he retrieved it from where she had disposed of it and secreted it in his room. That night he dreamt of a future; one he knew he could not have but craved anyways. He had a keep, and a wife, a pretty, sweet wife who smelled of jasmine, and children who had his curls and ran to him smiling when he returned home. He would take them all into his arms, his children, his wife, and would be loved.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that you had been watching him, that he had heard the sharp intake of breath when he lifted his tunic to wipe the nonexistent sweat from his brow. He had known you were there by the sound of your bracelets clattering against the stone wall, the sound of your half step in the snow. He could feel your gaze burning into him the same way it had when you first arrived.

The lovely Lady Lannister, that’s what he’d taken to calling you in his head. The sound of your laughter was like bells, the smile you gave Bran and Rickon, the interest you paid to Sansa as she prattled on, it ensnared him.

So, he lingers, desiring nothing more than to gently tuck back the hair that the wind has blown in your eyes, to caress the curves of your face, to brush his lips against your own if only to know the taste for one fleeting moment, to pull you closer and drown himself in the scent of jasmine— he wants you. It’s a shocking thought, not that physical desire is unknown to him, he’s not a child, but this is different. He’s always known his place, known to rein himself in, but now? Now he has to jerk himself away, cast all thoughts of you from his mind lest he fall upon you like a madman and ravage you in the snow.

His throat tightens at the thought of what the Lannisters would do to him if he disgraced you in such a way, nevertheless what his father would do.

There is a flicker of hurt that flashes in your eyes, he can see it in his peripheral, but he stands strong. You’re not for him, you’re too good for him, he’s not worthy, what could he give you? Snow, that is all he could give, and snow is not enough for his lovely lady.

After he escorts you back to the guest chambers, he sets to walking, wandering the halls in the darkness, his mind so entangled he nearly misses the muffled cries. They come from an alcove, further down the hall, and he approaches carefully.

The sight he comes upon makes his heart drop, it’s Anna, one of the kitchen staff, a sweet girl with dark hair and joyful eyes, she is young, a year older than Arya. She’s curled in on herself, her clothes torn, her face wet with tears. There are even some marks, some bruises beginning to form.

Jon drops to his knees, holding his hands out and calling her name softly.

Anna looks up at him, startled, a doe nearly in flight. “Lord Jon—I—I am so sorry—”

He shakes his head and shushes her gently. “What has happened.”

Her bottom lip trembles, her voice thick with tears. “The prince, he—I was only trying to return to my chambers, I was not tempting him I swear, but he grabbed me and…” She burst into tears once more, burying her face in her hands.

Jon clenches his jaw, he had heard rumors from the other servants, stableboys who came with the Lannisters, he had hoped they would prove untrue. “Anna it is not your fault, please, let me walk you to your chambers, then I will call Laurayn to come and sit with you.”

Anna took his hand, her own trembling, and lets him tuck her under his cloak, keeping her close as they made their way to her chambers.

“I will tell my father the truth of it; you will not be blamed.” He promises her, letting out a slow, steady breath to keep from raising his voice in righteous anger and startling her. Anna was kind and meek, she did her work diligently and didn’t cause any trouble, she should not have been attacked in her own home, his father would not stand for such violence against one of his people.

Anna shakes her head, clinging to the door frame of her chambers, tear tracks down her cheeks. “Please Lord Jon, do not tell him, I cannot bear the shame.”

“It is not your shame to bear Anna, it is his, that cruel prince, you did nothing wrong.” Jon says, the words coming out more forceful than he intends.

Anna shrinks back, and he apologizes softly, tucking his hands behind his back.

“No good will come from Lord Stark knowing, Prince Joffrey is heir to the throne, there is nothing that can be done, I will not be believed.” She says, resigned to her fate.

He has always felt caught between two worlds. Too common for the nobles and too noble for the servants, but he prides himself on keeping a strong rapport with those who serve in his home. Prides himself on striving to protect those who are more vulnerable, which is why it wounds him so that there is no action to be taken for Anna.

Laurayn arrives, wrapped in a cloak, her hair in disarray, and she thanks Jon before ushering Anna into the dark of the servant quarters, leaving him staring at the thick wooden door that closes behind them. It’s not right, Joffrey should be held accountable for his actions, Anna should not have to suffer in silence.

His jaw clenches and he turns on his heel, stalking back to his own room. There’s nothing to be done, and soon he will be at the Wall, he will be able to fight to protect everyone there. He will join a band of brothers dedicated to upholding the sanctity and safety of the North, of the continent.

Ghost is waiting for him, curled up beside the fire, raising his head, at his approach. Jon sinks onto the floor beside him, resting his head on the wolf’s flank, and scratching that spot behind his ears. He stares into the fire, breathing slowly like Old Nan taught him, calming his mind. Ghost gave a huff and licked his ear before laying back down, content.

He awakes on the floor, his body stiff, Ghost slumbering beneath him, the fire nothing but cooling embers. The room is cast in shadows, the moon full in the night sky, and a strange melody floats through the air, reminiscent of the wind whistling through the parapets as Jon gets to his feet to pull the curtains closed. His window overlooks the Godswoods, he draws comfort from the sight, and closes the curtains swiftly before turning to remove his clothes and slip into his night clothes.

The melody grows louder, no longer sounding like the wind, but high-pitched screaming, it pierces through him, and he stumbles forward, throwing open his door and falling into the hall. The hall is doused in blood, bodies lying strewn about and strung up on the walls. Jon pushes forward, bile rising in his throat, seeking the source of the screaming, if only to make it stop. His footsteps echo and squelch, he keeps his eyes forward, his mind racing even as it feels he is fighting through molasses with each step towards the sound. Where is Robb? Where are Arya, Bran, his father? Theon, Sansa, Lady Catelyn? Where has everyone gone?

The screams die down replaced by heart-wrenching sobs, and the hall transforms, it’s no longer his home, instead he’s in a holdfast he’s never seen before. The walls are lined with Baratheon and Lannister banners, the carpet plush beneath his feet. The world spins, his head reels, the wind knocked out of him as if he’s been knocked to the ground during sparring, then there is a door before him, half opened and marked with blood. He pushes it open carefully, and steps into another foreign hall.

It's much smaller than the Great Hall of Winterfell, with panels of richly carved wood and sconces made of silver mirrors, reflecting the torchlight. High arched windows on the south wall allow the daylight to stream in, and through them, he can see what some part of his mind whispers is King’s Landing. The sight would be beautiful if not for the carnage the lay before him. Dozens of bodies litter the floor and against the far wall is you, slumped to the ground, your sobs echoing off the ceiling, your gown darkened with blood as you clutch your father’s body. The scent of winter roses mired by the stench of blood seeps into the air, choking him.

He cannot stop himself, he retches, the sight, the smell, the sensations, all too gruesome to bear.

“Jon?” Your voice is weak, choked with tears and disbelief.

He wipes his mouth and looks at you, his feet moving without his command. He doesn’t want to approach you; he doesn’t want to see the dead, not like this.

You’re badly injured, the blood on your gown ever spreading, a sickly tint to your skin. “How could you do this? How could you leave me?” You sob, the look in your eyes hollows him, digs into his soul and dumps it among the corpses at his feet.

“I—what is this? I do not know what has occurred.” Jon says, keeping his eyes steadfastly on you, and away from the corpses.

“I was able to help Sansa escape but—there was no time, I could not go with her.” Your words are broken by a fit of weak coughs, speckles of blood covering your hand.

Jon’s heart bangs against his chest like a war drum as he reaches for you. “Do not try to speak, I will carry you away from here. We will find a maester, then Sansa, then we will go North, my father will be able to help.”

“Your father is dead, murdered, and Robb will soon follow. Our—our bannermen, they rose for the wrong bastard.” You mumble, your eyes threatening to close, your head lulling forward.

Jon kneels, and gently lifts your head, fear striking through him at your words. “What do you mean, Lady y/n who killed my father, who will kill Robb?”

You grab the collar of his shirt with surprising strength. “You cannot leave me, you cannot go to the Wall, Stannis will come, he knows, he knows about Joffrey, Jon, he will kill us all.” You cry, eyes alight with fear. “Promise me, promise you will protect me.”

The scent of winter roses returns, mingling with your jasmine perfume. His tongue is heavy, the words catch in his throat.

“Promise me.” You beg, your grip failing, your shattered expression so painfully clear it’s like a dagger through his chest.

“I will, I will, I swear it. By the old gods and the new.” Jon says, stumbling over his words as he gathers you in his arms.

A kick to his side startles him awake, and Arya stands over him, her eyes shining with mischief. “You cannot sleep here all day; you promised you would help me train.”

Jon Snow TL: @mostclevermiss

Grey title card = Jon POV Red title card = Y/N POV

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow imagines #lannister!reader #jon snow #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #Changed up the title cards #for fun

[littlemsshoney]

Insatiable Hunger

Hannibal Lecter × patient!reader

Warnings: unhealthy dynamics, obssesive relationship, slight stalking, Hannibal bring emotionally manipulative dunno

(first time writing about hannibal, kinda nervous be aware)

At first you were just another patient, a potential pawn or a future extravagant dinner he would enjoy some Friday night. Another lost and troubled soul that was unfortunate enough to find him.

However his interest grew like a forest fire, a burning insatiable hunger consumed him more and more with each one of your sessions.

There was something about you that caught his eye. The way you talked, the way you carried yourself.

He started taking notes of every little detail of your life and with some research of his own he soon knew every aspect of your life. Where you live, where you work, who your friends are, which cafe you spend your Saturday morning everything in.

He knew that he should feel bad for crossing such a line between a therapist and a patient but he didn’t really. After all, it wasn't that hard. With your social media your life was practically an open book for everyone to read and enjoy and if he didn’t then he was sure someone else did.

Only the thought made him angry. It wasn’t about your safety but more about his hurt ego. He had his eye on you, no one else should change that and he should make it known.

Of course he had always been a fan of traditional courting so don’t be confused when you start bumping into him in the most random places at some point with the excuse of cheering you up even being invited to one of his glamorous dinner parties. All of those situations you tried to avoid and refuse gracefully, not because of being aware of his true intentions but rather because you knew there was a thin line you shouldn’t cross.

So you didn't leave him any other way. He truly wanted to be gentle and kind with you and treat you like the precious, vulnerable creature you were in his mind but you just won’t have it the easy way, will you?

The thought of being patient- one of the tarits he awlways took pride on- now felt like a real torture. He wanted to consume you whole. There was something about you that reflected some part of him, an unknown familiarity of your pain. He wanted to break you down, then pick up your parts and build you up. Then do it all over again.

Your sessions were heavy at least. Raw honesty from your part and emotional manipulation from his all to serve the creation of an intense bond, a codependent relationship.

Your wellbeing and mental health had turned into a chess game and the game was anything but fair. In less than two months your whole well being was hanging from a thread and only he could help you or tear you apart.

One can only imagine the sadistic pleasure he took from your vulnerability and pain. Comfortably he sat at his armchair watching as you fell apart in front of him each week feeling worse and worse. All he had to do was just watch and enjoy, proud of his creation.

In his free time he recalled how beautifully you cried, so broken and desperate for him to fix you but all he wanted was lick your tears and take you in. He imagined you being under him, crying - from pleasure - his name rolling off your tongue over and over again.

Soon he had you feeling as if the whole world had turned against you. You couldn’t even trust your own judgement, you had cut ties with most of your friends -Dr Lecter advised you that none of them were genuine-you had become more and more isolated, you felt like you’re turning paranoid.

And then the final act of his play

“I’m really sorry I didn’t know where else to go” and like clockwork you deliberately walked onto his trap, basically sealing your own fate. All he had to do now is hold his door wide open for you to come in.

And then checkmate. That eventful evening standing on the doorstep of the only person you thought truly cared about you. He let you in and like a wounded bird he took you into his arms with such generosity and kindness in contrast to everyone else in your life. The irony.

“It will all be alright”

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him for dear life, holding onto the only person that seems to understand you and actually wants to help you. As you cry on his shoulder he rests his chin on your head and gently caresses your hair.

Despite your persistence to resist him you are finally giving in. He kisses the crown of your head and though you know it is wrong you let him. You would let him do anything to keep him and he knows it.

Frozen in place you close your eyes as he kisses your forehead, then your eyes and cheek. You know what comes next yet you do not pull away, you don't resist what’s inevitable. A second passes and he doesn’t move, you open your eyes to see him staring at your lips. Now you know you want it, you feel his hunger as your own and you’re starving for it.

Grabbing him by his expensive tie you kiss him, not gently as he did but with desperation and need to be seen and understood.

Pleased he lets you have control just this once for the rest of your time together. He knew you would soon come to realise it’s only him you ever needed.

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal #yandare hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hannibal imagine

[slaymitchabernathy]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

| this story was inspired by the songs "How Did It End?" & "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived" by Taylor Swift |

| a companion to 'Pretty' |

Coriolanus holds the single rose in his hand with such vice that the stem has gone limp.

He’s been to enough funerals to know how this goes, what’s expected of him. He attended his little sister’s funeral.

“I’m going to see your sister.”

Those words play over and over in his head while the officiant drones on and on about what an exemplary citizen Soarynn Snow was. 

Was any of it true? Any of the time they spent together?

He thinks about all the time he spent with Soarynn. Seven years of life with her. He remembers the day he found out she was ticklish. He tickled her just to hear her laugh, to hear genuine happiness from her. She always seemed so miserable with him even though he’d given her everything she could ever dream of. 

Coriolanus thought he had a good grasp on grief. He lived through the war, after all, the Dark Days, and even managed to come out on top. He had the name, the wife, the child. Now two of those are gone.

He had found it extremely difficult to fathom the loss of his own child, his firstborn son. It just didn't seem like something that could happen to him, not when he was on top of the world. Not when they had the nursery all ready, the baby clothes hanging in the closet, the stuffed animals lining the shelves. Soarynn had thrown herself into preparing their son's nursery and transformed the empty space into a warm, loving environment.

They had been so close. So close. But there was a complication, undetected until it was too late and suddenly Coriolanus was receiving phone calls left and right telling him that his wife was found unconscious on their library floor in a pool of her own blood.

Why didn't she call him?

It was a question that plagued his mind as the doctor asked him who they should attempt to save, his son, or his wife.

He chose his wife of course.

Being a father of a dead child was bad enough, but to be a widowed man at such a young age? No. Coriolanus couldn't afford that. He knew their son wouldn't make it into the world alive and if he did then it wouldn't be a pretty sight. Another thing he couldn't afford was having a son who would undoubtedly be the laughingstock of Panem. With the possibility of disfigurements and mental lapses, it was easy for Coriolanus to make the call.

He knew it would devastate Soarynn beyond belief. As much as it terrified her, he knew she wanted to be a mother. She got pregnant rather quickly after their wedding, allowing Coriolanus to confirm once again that Soarynn was of value to him and their family.

He stood out in the hospital hall as they attempted to save his wife. He only caught a small glimpse of them cutting her open before he looked away. He couldn't watch. Then, his son was born.

He didn't make a sound. Stillborns don't cry.

They stitched her up and that was that. One dead child, and one grieving wife.

Coriolanus hadn't known what to do, what to say. Sure, he could be comforting when he needed to be, like when Soarynn had one of her little breakdowns after they had sex. But he was always prepared for those.

How do you prepare for the death of your firstborn child?

So he hadn't said anything, left her to talk with the doctor, and watched the nurses wheel in their dead child in his bassinet for Soarynn to hold for the first and last time. In a way, he was impressed that she even had the strength to do so. He never wanted to hold their son, to see a painful reminder of what could have been.

His curiosity had gotten the best of him once he joined Soarynn's side again, once he saw the pain and sorrow in her eyes. How empty her gaze was.

"What did he look like?" He had asked her, resting a hand on her head.

"He looked like a Snow," she had answered.

And that had been good enough for him.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus had however been prepared for the aftermath of their son's death. Only because he knew what it was like, to lose an infant due to unforeseen circumstances. When his baby sister died, his parents were quick to move past it. He felt it was better that way, no need to linger in the past when there was a bright future ahead of them. They could have another child. He'd confirmed that with the doctor before they left. Soarynn wasn't left barren and unable to give him more children and she certainly would give him children in due time.

They'd arrange a small funeral, grieve privately, and more forward publicly. Simple as that. He knew his wife could get sentimental, especially over stupid, little things like books and things of that nature. But he didn't need her to get caught up on what could have been.

He expected them to move on.

He didn't expect Soarynn to make a scene in front of their close family and friends before storming out of the penthouse, leaving without so much as a goodbye. Coriolanus had been furious, absolutely furious with her behavior. He wasn't the one who lost their child. He did everything right, everything by the books and still they lost him. It. They lost it.

Then she lost it.

Coriolanus knew where to go, to find her. She went home. He could give her whatever she wanted, fill their penthouse with all her favorite things but it still wouldn't be enough for Soarynn.

Glen had been upset, and understandably so. Coriolanus couldn't imagine the state that Soarynn showed up in and without their child on top of all that. But he was quick to smooth things over, win Glen over once again, and promised to come back in two days to collect Soarynn.

He got a phone call the next morning. He'd been surrounded by family and friends, namely the Creeds and Clemensia who all watched silently as Coriolanus was delivered the news that bore the death of his wife.

"Drowned in the bathtub."

That's what Glen mumbled before hanging up.

Coriolanus didn't know what to say, what to do. How do you drown in the bathtub? He knew enough to know that it had to be done on purpose. This was no accident. Soarynn killed herself.

He got a wide array of reactions when he shared the news. Most were filled with tears and condolences. It felt so strange to him to know that Soarynn wasn't in their room, curled up under the covers with her cat and a book.

She wasn't in the library, sitting in his favorite chair while she looked through old photo albums.

She was gone. How strange to be gone. To end your own life.

He had two funerals to plan now.

He'd only said a few words before disappearing into his room, "We'll tell no one except all of our friends." As far as everyone else was concerned, she died during the miscarriage. Women die all the time giving birth. What makes Soarynn so special?

But she had been special. Hadn't she? She'd been kind, and caring, she would've been a good mother. He'd never know how it would've ended.

But he couldn’t help himself from wondering how it all ended.

Were there signs? Had she cried out for help?

He tore their bedroom apart looking for clues, for something to hold onto, to tie him to her. After hours of endless searching, he finally came across a book he had never seen before, tucked away in their closet in an old shoe box. He’d held the small book in his hands, simply staring at it before he finally gained the courage to open it. 

Her diary. 

He hung me on his wall. Not literally but it felt like it. It always feels like I’m some animal pelt when he makes me take those pills. Sometimes I wish I were an animal pelt. At least I’d be dead. 

It was no wonder she kept this so hidden from him. He would’ve been livid if he found this when she was still alive. How strange to think that Soarynn wasn’t alive anymore. He would never be able to smell the sweet scent of vanilla again without thinking of the girl who sat in front of him in class that year. Little did she know that choosing that seat would cost her life. 

He kept reading. There were so many entries, all devastating in their own way. 

I wish I could run away. But I can’t, he trapped me. We’re having a baby in eight months. Coriolanus thinks it’ll be a boy, I hope so too for his sake. I don’t think he’d like a girl. Everyone has been congratulating me on the news but they do that a lot. Congratulate me. On the wedding, on the penthouse, on our relationship. If only they knew. He shows me off, loves to do it. I hate it. I hate it here.

He flipped to the end of the diary, not in the mood for her whining and nagging. The last entry was so short, but the way it was written made Coriolanus feel as if his throat was tightening up. It was like she knew he’d find her diary, would read it, would go to the last entry. She sounded so angry. 

Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?  In fifty years will this be declassified? And you’ll confess why you did it. And I’ll say, “Good riddance.”  Cause it wasn’t sexy once it wasn’t forbidden.  I would’ve died for your sins instead i just died inside. And you deserve prison, but you won’t get time.  You kicked out my stage lights, but you’re still performing.  In plain sight you hit. But you are what you did.  And I’ll forget you but I’ll never forgive. The smallest man who ever lived. 

At six-foot-two and at the top of the world, Coriolanus Snow had never felt so small. And for the first time in a very long time, much like his wife, he broke down. 

꧁ ꧂

"If anyone would like to share a memory or a few kind words, please do so now," the officiant says, somberly looking into the massive crowd of Capitol elites who have gathered to honor and mourn the death of Soarynn Snow and her stillborn child.

Coriolanus stares down at the ground, at her coffin. It's black and sleek with roses engraved around it. The proper casket for the wife of a Snow. A smaller one sits next to hers. Their sons.

Coriolanus squeezes the white rose in his hand a little tighter as someone walks up to the front, stepping onto the podium.

"Miss Soarynn was a fine Capitol lady."

Coriolanus looks up to see the doorman to their apartment standing at the microphone, "She always greeted me with a smile, asked how my day was going. She even brought me cookies one day, it...it was my birthday. She was a kind woman and my heart goes out to you Mr. Snow, your wife was a lovely lady."

Coriolanus manages to give the doorman a tight-lipped smile. It's hard to smile with that letter playing over and over in his head, those words haunting him now. Were they all watching him now?

His wife, his son, his sister, his mother-in-law?

He wasn't given much notice once the letter arrived on his doorstep. Glen Nightingale all but stormed into the penthouse, collecting every memory of Soarynn, including the cat. The look Glen had given him was all Coriioanus needed to know that Soarynn had told him everything. Or at least something.

He could feel the hatred radiating off of Glen as they stood next to each other.

"Soarynn Nightingale was too good for this world."

Coriolanus doesn't need to look up to know that Sejanus Plinth has taken to the microphone. "She was too gentle, too kind and trusting and that trust was taken advantage of over and over again by someone she blindly trusted. I hope that she and her son can find rest in the afterlife."

A few more people go up to speak, all noting how kind Soarynn was, how beautiful and gentle that girl was.

Was, was, was.

Eventually, Coriolanus is ushered to the podium. He knows he has to give out somewhat of a statement, he can see all the news outlets at the back of the crowd, eager to hear about the tragic events that have suddenly befallen the Snow family.

He clears his throat before speaking, "My gratitude extends to each and every one of you who has attended the funeral of my wife and son today. My wife was loved by many, my son never got the chance to be loved."

He knows that's not true. Soarynn loved their son before he was born.

"We were blind to unforeseen circumstances. My wife's pregnancy was complicated and in the end, led to a tragic and fatal miscarriage that took the lives of the two people who meant the most to me in the world."

Whispers can be heard throughout the crowd. Some people believe him. Coriolanus has always been good at playing for the cameras, telling people what they want to hear. Other whispers are doubtful of his love for Soarynn and their son.

And he has Glen Nightingale to thank for that. Three days after her death, it came out that Sorynn had filed for divorce. Claiming that she was the victim of domestic abuse, sexual violence, and coercion, and numerous amounts of other accusations that did nothing but taint his reputation.

As if her death wasn't hard enough, Coriolanus now has people coming at him left and right, questioning him and his marriage. His father advised him to keep his head down, to deny such claims, and to continue to share his love and adoration for Soarynn.

He just doesn't know if he has any to give.

"I loved my wife. She was kind and generous, she was a devoted woman who was loyal to her family and her country. She would want us to celebrate her life and our sons, not mourn it."

There, he's told people what they want to hear, and now, he's ready to hear what he wants to hear.

꧁ ꧂

The reception dinner is quiet for the most part, only small conversations take place. Many people have come up to Glen to give their condolences. One wife and one daughter gone. Coriolanus fears that he can now relate to Glen on that level and he so badly wishes that he didn't.

"Do you think you'll ever remarry?"

Coriolanus looks to his left to find Livia Cardew addressing him, her eyes pinning him down. A bit of an inappropriate question to ask at a funeral, especially his wife's funeral but Coriolanus will be damned if he comes off as unpolite by ignoring her question.

"I think right now I need to focus on putting the pieces back together," he answers, ignoring the glare that Glen sends his way.

Livia hums and turns back to her dinner leaving them in another uncomfortable silence. Soarynn certainly left a mess behind for him to clean up. Not only her death but now legal issues as well. What a selfish thing to do.

꧁ ꧂

They opted to leave the casket open for those who wanted a moment alone with Soarynn before they buried her six feet in the ground. Coriolanus had declined to do the same with his son. No one would ever know what he looked like, what he could have looked like. What could have been.

Many people go up to Soarynn, he watches them whisper words they probably don't mean. He doubts most people really knew her. He barely did himself it seems. Eventually, he gathers the courage to see his wife one last time. At least her death wasn't horrendous and she didn't slip her wrists open along with her face. She looks like she's sleeping.

But she'll never wake up.

He leans down until it's just the two of them, not a word between them. She smells like vanilla. Her skin is pale, it lacks the normal tan hue she always had.

"You left me," he whispers, "left me to deal with this mess."

Soarynn doesn't respond.

"You know, I keep going over it in my head. What if I never noticed you? Never took interest in you? Would my life be this fucked if we never met? Do you know Soarynn? Do you know how different things would've been for the both of us? if you're listening from Heaven do me a favor and ask someone up there if they can see, if they can see what it would look like if our paths never crossed. And if they can find something, somewhere where you never ruined my fucking life, you ask them something for me, okay?"

Coriolanus has to force himself to take a deep breath as he whispers to his wife, berating her from the grave.

"How did it end?"

He straightens up, giving Soarynn one last look. She was fun, quiet, and obedient for the most part. She tried to be good for him, and he had to give her credit for that.

Her hair has been done in curls, her makeup is light and her lips are a soft pink even though he knows that under all that makeup she's pale and her lips are blue.

She looks so pretty.

| Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #slaymitchabernathy #coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #the hunger games #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #soarynn snow #staywithmealways #sejanus plinth #soarynn nightingale #coriolanus x soarynn #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fic #original character #coriolanus oneshot #coriolanus x oc #oc #oneshot #coriolanus drabble #drabble #stay with me always

[thevulturesquadron]

Hello! If you don't mind answering, what are your thoughts on Rogue only mentioning Gambit during E.7 ? It felt weird after all these episodes and exploration of their relationship.

Ahoy there! 🛸

Well... I try not to put too much thought into it. Overall Bright Eyes felt like a moment of transition towards the finale (with an absolute kick-ass Rogue). I am happy they had an episode that showcased a part of what Rogue was going through after Genosha, because, as Amelia Vogh said - 'a survivor is the last thing I’d wanna be.’ So Rogue has a lot to process: the guilt and grief over losing Gambit, the uncertainty and anxiety around Magneto and well, the death of so many people around her. Remember what Magneto said? “We shall not live our days wondering if we could’ve saved more.” Rogue is doing just that - and it's hell.

About Rogue focusing just on Gambit - it makes sense. She held his body in her arms. That moment is with her probably every time she closes her eyes. The way I see it, there are two reasons why the focus has been only on expressing her feelings for Remy.

1. It might be just the way it is. Rogue and Gambit will always be 'the couple'. More so for TAS. They are one of the most well-known and popular Marvel couples so, after the drama was done, the writers needed to pull that ship back on course. It was always going to be like that and I'll be here for the ride. Not everything in media has to be written to match my preferences. Plus, the show has kept both of them in character and written them exceptionally well so far. Especially with Gambit, I am grateful for the care they put into portraying him, because in comics it's such a mess, depending on who's writing him. So I am expecting the focus to be on Rogue and Gambit from now on.

2. The other reasoning (from a media literacy perspective), and the one I prefer -  is that she's processing. It might turn out to be true or it might not - the show will tell us. But at this moment it does look like that. Grief, guilt, shock. First of all, in Magneto's case, there was no body. The rule is until the search is called off, if there is no body, there is no death confirmation. So Rogue is struggling to accept it. What she knows is that Remy is dead - that is a reality she cannot avoid and it consumes her. On the other hand she was refusing to face the possibility that Erik was also gone. Then Kurt made it real. In the privacy of that moment between them he said what she wasn't allowing herself to think or accept: that she lost more than one person she cared about. Secondly, also why it makes that moment with Kurt so much more heavy, is that no one else in the team knows of the emotional connection she has with Erik. Everyone who knew the depths (Gambit and, in parts, Madelyne) are dead. I don't think Rogue can voice her grief in front of the rest without an explanation. She can however channel it through Gambit’s loss. What is worse is that her feelings for Gambit are now intertwined with a lot of guilt, and she probably feels like she has failed him in particular. And it breaks my heart. I don’t think that’s fair towards her and I am not particularly a fan of that, but X-men has often times put drama ahead of character development. 

So is it the first one? Is it the second one? Who knows, maybe it’s a bit of column A, a bit of column B. But there is one thing that I would have liked the episode to show more of: I wanted to see Rogue processing what it meant for her to survive Genosha, to survive the genocide. I care more about that, about her humanity, her struggles and convictions, unrelated to the romantic aspects. Romance is not the ultimate form of love, and it doesn’t have to be the most intense display of love either.

#rogue #gambit #remy lebeau #magneto #erik lehnsherr #rogneto #romy #x men #x men ‘97 #x men 97 #x men 97 spoilers #anna marie #anna marie adler #texpost #marvel #just thoughts #still a firm believer that what's happening with magneto is far crueler than death