#i've abandoned them for a bit and i’m sorry but i do love them so much and it would be so nice to see them get the gold 💛

[ferrstappen]

max, the wag (for the third time) l Max Verstappen x reader

a/n: i was in the middle of writing this when news of Danny coming back to the grid!!! omg I'm so happy of seeing RIC and listening to his radios and everything, it wasn't the same without him <3

also, about requests. Please keep sending them, I've LOVED all the reqs I've gotten but right now im getting ready for my bar exam in a couple of weeks so my time is super super limited, but I promise I'll get to most of them (bc imsorry there are some reqs that I really can't connect with) after the exam, it's one of the things I'm looking forward to <3 but for now this kind of mediocre story telling will have to do...

ANYWAY, HOPE YOU LIKE THIS INSTALLMENT! you can find part 1 and 2 on the master list <3

summary: the continuation of your favorite paddock couple.

Max arrived to the track by himself.

If he was being honest, it wasn’t on his plans to walk alone with the photographers, Red Bull marketing team snatching him for stuff right after he swapped his credential. Even from far away he was able to hear chants of fans and more media than usual. 

But you weren’t right there next to him. 

He knew it wasn’t your fault, Silverstone not being a track where he was usually welcomed with opened arms and he was aware of you not wanting to be too in the eye of photographers who didn’t make questions to you, but there still were different WAGs and outfits or whatever accounts tracking your every step, especially with the new wave of partners and sudden break ups and polemics. 

Still, the selfish part of him wanted you to enter the track with him, even if it was a few steps ahead or behind him, holding your hand and smiling as you complained about the amount of credentials you had to carry: the usual green VIP Paddock, Red Bull something. You’d think after all these years they’d know me, you’d say and he’d laugh.

On the other hand, you finished getting ready and called the front desk to get a taxi to get there, feeling a bit guilty of letting Max go on his own, especially when there were more eyes on the track with Brad Pitt being there and a lot of important people who’d want to talk with him all day. 

Texting Max to let him know you were already by the guests entrance waiting when you noticed some intense flashes getting near. You’d been around a time or two to know this wasn’t usual, maybe in Miami but not when you were on the abandoned back entrance, not very glamorous and low key. 

But you saw her…

Shakira, are you visiting Lewis?

Who are you cheering today?

Shakira, third Grand Prix of the year! 

Did you talk to Lewis before? Is he nervous?

Your eyes followed her, mouth opening when you followed her small frame, exuding class and sympathy, even Alexandra who was also making her entrance stopped to get a closer look of the Colombian bombshell. 

Of course, they didn’t ask her to show and get accredited, she just walked by with a radiant smile leaving paparazzi behind as she kept talking with the friend she came with. 

But wasn’t that a Haas credential?

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t important, because right then your brain made the connections and started dialing Max while nervously biting your polished nails. 

“Baby, everything okay? Are you already inside?” Max answered, but his words were quiet and rushed. 

“Yes, but you’re never going to believe…”

“I’m sorry we have a meeting, please don’t go to the paddock, go straight to the driver’s lounge, okay? Love you” 

He hung up and you wanted to pull your hair out, knowing he is the one and only person you wanted to share this information with, and you were also certain he was the only person who would truly appreciate the gossip and speculation about his fellow driver’s love life. 

Max was able to leave the meeting almost forty minutes later, getting outside for some air until he remembered your call and that you probably were bored to death on the lounge. He was turning around to go there when…

When he saw the one and only Shakira in all of her glory. 

He wasn’t starstruck or anything, being immune to celebrities and the imaginary pedestal where most people placed them, but this wasn’t about that, it was about the way she was supposedly hiding under a cap walking towards the Mercedes garage.

He covered his mouth and hastily made his way to you. 

You didn’t greet each other with the usual peck on the lips and short hug; his slightly widened blue eyes told you exactly what you needed to know as he opened the door to his small room. 

“Please tell me that you saw her!” You said as soon as he closed the door. 

“Yes, just now she was walking to Mercedes,” Max was whisper shouting as if someone would hear him and it was the highest of secrets. 

“Did you see Lewis?” You asked Max but he said no. “What if you try to ask Brad Pitt if he saw her and like if they’re friends… with Shakira?” This time both you and your boyfriend laughed at the idea.

"I did see Sainz trying to go unnoticed with a tall brunette,do you think she is the new girlfriend?" Max asked and you nodded.

"I'm pretty sure he cheated on Isa with her, and I am almost certain she was in the Paddock Club in Monaco during qualifying," Max whistled at the new information.

Now he kissed you, lips fitting perfectly against each other, but your eyes suddenly opened and separated from him. What? Why? What happened? Max was disconcerted. 

“Please don’t laugh at me because this is a serious idea…” You told Max who had your entire attention. “What if we write to Deuxmoi?”

“Deux what?”

“They have all the inside scoops  and sightings, even your name’s popped up once or twice,” Max’s eyebrows rose at the information. “We should write that Shakira was seen on the British Grand Prix and I am one hundred percent sure someone will have more information!” You proposed and Max chuckled.

“Schatz, I can just ask Lewis why she’s here,” Max told you before embracing you, his arms circled around your waist.

You rolled your eyes before resting your head on his chest, but suddenly it hit you, swiftly lifting your head and facing Max. 

“Then why haven’t you asked him yet?!”

#max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen au #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen x you #max verstappen series #f1 fic #f1 masterlist #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

Hi! Just here to say that i loved What's in Between so much and i truly was meltinggg with part II 💕💕💕

I've never requested anything before and I don't rlly know how this works so it's all good if you decide no to write this one, but for the request: is it possible for it to be a hurt/comfort, Miguel x reader with the prompt "Talk to me, please. You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer"?

𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞, 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a regular mission on any normal day at Spider Society, but momentary distractions are costly and you may have just paid the ultimate price.

Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, BUT IT GETS SOFT I PROMISE.

“Miguel!” you say, bounding up to him with a pep in your step. He looks down at you with a small smile on his face, but it disappears as Jess glances over at him.

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be stoic all the time, how long have we known each other?” She asks, and he only rolls his eyes.

“This isn’t pretending,” he says to her before turning back to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“Always.”

Today was like any normal day at Spider Society, filled with missions to protect the canon of the multiverse. Albeit a little different, because it wasn’t too often that you were able to go on a mission with Miguel. He typically went on them alone, working best without distractions. But whenever he needed a partner you were his first choice.

With one last glance at each other (and a wink that makes Miguel snort) you both head through the portal.

It never gets tiring, travelling to a different dimension. What’s fascinating is the in-between, swirls of bright oranges, reds and blues all as an interconnected web between all possible universes in the multiverse. You get lost in the view, which is probably why you never realize that at the same time, Miguel gets lost in you.

After a little bit, you both emerge on the other side.

“That never gets old,” you grin at him.

“No…no, it doesn’t,” he says, his eyes trailing over your form for a moment.

“So, what’s the deal with this universe today?” you ask, and Miguel huffs softly.

“You would know if you ever listened to the mission briefings,” he says, giving you a side-eye as you both walk around the abandoned factory.

“Why do I need to listen when you’d just tell me anyway, love?” you ask, and he only sighs.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have to say it twice, amor,” he mocks and you laugh out loud. Your laughter is contagious because Miguel lets out a chuckle himself before continuing.

“She’s a villain from Earth-17502, her main weapons are wooden spikes that emerge from her back and a pistol. What she lacks in speed she has in brute force, and the spikes can be shot out at 100km per hour, regenerated with hammerspace,” he explains.

“So like…a demented Sonic the Hedgehog?” you snicker.

“What? No, I just said she wasn’t fast,” he says, confused.

“No wait, a demented porcupine,” you say, and he only snorts. “Sure, querida.”

“Ugh, disgusting. Romance,” a disembodied voice interrupts, and the two of you immediately go on the defence. From the shadows emerges said villain in question, a cruel expression on her face as she readies her pistol by her side.

Without warning she begins shooting, but the two of you are fast and in sync, splitting off and slinging away with your webs.

“Look bud, I’m sorry that your love life is sad but don’t take it out on us!” You shout, swinging around with a relaxed look on your face.

She only lets out a growl, continuing to shoot at you to no avail. Behind her, Miguel is making his own advance, but like a triggered trap her spikes shoot out before he can get too close.

“Shit!” he says, leaping out of the way just in time.

“It wouldn’t do you well to sneak up on me, little one,” she laughs cruelly. “Wouldn’t want to get skewered!”

Now it's a game of ‘try to avoid the bullets and the spikes flying in all directions at once’, and it seemed like you were at a stalemate.

“There’s no way to get close to her!” you say frustratedly, leaping from pillar to pillar as you continue to evade her bullets. It seemed her frustration seemed to reach a peak as well as she lets out a shout, unable to hit her marks. You move down to the floor, trying a new approach from the ground.

“We’ll figure it out, we always do,” Miguel reassures, and you let out a little smile.

But in that minuscule second of distraction the villain finds an opening, and before you know it a spike is flying straight for you with no time to evade it.

“NO!!” you hear him shout, but it was already too late. All the while, the villain only laughs in the face of your anguish. The spike impales your side, and for a few breathless moments, you don’t even feel it, as though it was nothing more than a punch to the side, a bit of pressure. The adrenaline pumping through your veins does its job of allowing you to not feel the pain.

But as you stumble slightly, it starts to settle in. All at once the searing hot pain hits you like a train, and you collapse to your knees, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

Every breath you take becomes more difficult than the last as a ringing fills your ears.

In front of you, Miguel fights with a new vigour you had never seen in him before, claws slashing and webs flying. Each action is served with purpose and no restraint on his strength, and the villain can no longer keep up. But before long your vision starts to fail you as well, closing in on your line of sight as you collapse onto your side with a wheeze. What felt like an eternity was in reality only maybe 30 seconds, but you were so, so tired.

Out of the corner of his eye Miguel sees you collapse, and all he sees is red. Before he can realize it his fangs are out, and he bites through the villain’s neck effectively paralyzing them instantly.

Within moments he is by your side, scooping you up into his arms as you blink blearily up at him.

“LYLA, SEND BACKUP NOW,” he shouts, his voice cracking at the end and for once there is no funny banter between the two of them as she does his orders immediately.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Slowly you feel your eyes begin to close, but he shouts your name.

"Talk to me, please. You need to keep your eyes open, just a little longer,” he begs, clutching you close. You’ve never heard his voice so broken, not even when he told you about his past.

“It-” you gasp. “It hurts so bad, Miguel,” your voice weak with pain.

He looks at you with panic and fear, but most of all a feeling of helplessness.

“Querida, come on. You’re strong, mi vida. Stay with me, alright?” he says, his hand gently brushing your hair back before he scoops you up, carrying you in his arms.

You can’t help but cry out in pain as he does, the spike digging deeper into your side.

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, moving as fast toward the portal Jess had just opened up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I need to get you to the infirmary, alright? You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” he says, trying desperately to believe it himself.

But he doesn’t know anymore. You’ve lost too much blood, the injury too serious.

It throws him back to when he was carrying his daughter like this, frantically running as the world falls apart around him.

But this time it was you. His light, the best to have ever happened to him amongst the infinite possibilities throughout the multiverse, the one person that managed to pull him out of the pit he had fallen into after the destruction of his daughter’s world.

You were his salvation…and he was about to lose you.

“I love you, Miguel,” you say softly, before you let out a violent cough. “In case…in case I’m not here to say it anymore.”

“No, no. Don’t say that. You’ll be able to say it a million more times, alright querida? A million more, and even then it won’t be enough,” he says, but you can’t hear him anymore. You can’t even make out his beautiful face so broken in anguish.

All you can see are the colours of the space between the universes. The oranges, reds and blues.

~

You didn’t think death would be so cold and monotonous. You weren’t exactly sure if you believed in the concept of ‘heaven’ or ‘hell’, the Fields of Elysium were probably closer to what you expected the afterlife to be like. But you definitely didn’t expect it to be so…bland.

It was like an endless void you walked through, no warmth, no ‘light’ to go towards, just you and your thoughts.

Your thoughts.

Miguel.

The guilt hits you like a tidal wave at the fact that you left him alone. Another person was ripped from his grasp by the hands of fate. You couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, and you did just that by leaving him behind. Even though you promised each other forever on your wedding day, here you were breaking that promise.

You couldn’t find the strength in your legs to continue walking aimlessly anymore. Like that fight in the factory, you fell to your knees, not because of your injury but because of the pain you felt in your heart for hurting the one you loved the most.

You remember his face as he held you in his arms, pleading for you to stay.

He was so warm. He always was.

You missed him.

“Miguel…” you whisper. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind,” you sob.

~

~

~

“Don’t leave me, querida,” a voice says, far off in the distance. Your head whips up at the sound, and you look around desperately trying to hear it again.

“Please…please, I can’t. I can’t do this without you,” the voice says, and in an instant you’re back on your feet following the sound.

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me, vida mía. Somehow loving me in spite of my brokenness. I don’t…I don’t know how to live without you by my side.” You’re running toward the voice now, running through the darkness with it as your guide.

“Don’t leave me…” the voice whispers before fading away, leaving you with nothing to follow anymore.

“NO!” you shout, and before you know it your webs are shooting out from your wrists, catching onto something, and then you’re swinging forward into the unknown.

~

Your hearing is the first of your senses to return, the steady beat of the heart rate monitor gratingly irritating after a while. It was ironic considering it was the first to disappear when you first got injured.

Next is your touch. You feel the weight of the hospital blankets, scratchy but warm.

Not as warm as the hand that grasped your own though, holding it tight.

Your sense of smell and taste come back around the same time, the sterile scent of the hospital unfamiliar, your mouth dry.

The last is your sight. Granted it was a bit difficult to see with your eyes closed, but you hadn’t quite found the strength to open them until now.

Blearily you blink as the bright lights temporarily blind you, but your attention isn’t on them for long. Instead, you turn to Miguel who sits staring at you in shock, eyes so wide it was almost comical.

“Hi,” you say softly, and he only blinks once before his forehead is pressed to your thigh, a broken sob escaping his throat. He grasps your hand all the tighter, as though he was never going to let go.

It makes you almost want to cry too, but instead you lift your arm up weakly before running it through his hair the way you knew he loved.

“I thought, I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispers, his face still pressed into your leg. He says it so quietly that you can barely hear him, like if he uttered the words too loudly they would come true.

“I could never leave you, my love,” you say. “I have to say ‘I love you’ a million times before then, remember? Or was it a billion?” He can’t help but chuckle, finally lifting his head up to look at you.

He looked exhausted, his usual dark circles darker than usual, his red eyes bloodshot. But he looked so, so relieved.

“No amount of times could ever be enough, vida mía,” he says before pressing his lips to yours.

You both smile into the kiss of a thousand swirling emotions, a million words left unsaid but you both understood even despite it all.

“Guess I’ll just have to get started then,” you say with a grin as you pull away.

“I love you, Miguel,” you say.

“I love you, querida,” he says in turn.

Taglist: @beiroviski, @scaraza, @blueoorchid,@phobia0325, @remuslupinwifeee, @local-mr-frog, @johfaam0, @raweggohan, @honeycriess, @alexenoirex, @chimpkinnuggies, @rqdior, @banana--belle, @notasadgirlipromise, @6billionyearsold, @gods-perfectidiot, @phobia0325, @alcinas-darling-side

A/N: Was thinking of leaving it on a cliffhanger, thought that would be too cruel LMAO. Thank you for reading! And thank you for requesting, anon <3 I had fun with this one hehe

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel

[undiscovered-horizon]

Who am I to complain? - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[emotional and verbal abuse, unhealthy parent-child relationships]

SUMMARY: When your parents come to visit, Nikolai finally understands why you've never been keen to talk about them. Being the King and your husband, he isn't afraid to defy them.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

"Have you listened to anything I've just said?"

Nikolai shakes you awake from being lost in thought. You look away from the insanely interesting skirting board you had been staring at for the past ten minutes. He’s watching you with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I…” you hang your voice. At first, you wanted to just apologize and ask him to repeat himself but then a sense of dread sprouts in your abdomen - one you can’t quite put a finger on but it takes over your entire mind. “I'm sorry, Kolya. Please, don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry,” you plead, gradually speaking faster.

“I’m not angry,” he states firmly. “But I am growing concerned for you, love. What’s going on?”

“I just keep thinking about my parents' visit,” you confess while rubbing your forehead. “Ever since the letter arrived, I can hardly think about anything else."

"Yes, I've noticed you have been a bit absent for the past few days. I assumed you were going to talk to me when you're ready. Are you?"

"They're not bad people," you begin in a strange tone that makes Nikolai doubt your words right away, "and they've only done their best to give me a good life. Despite that, they have a tendency to bring out the parts of me I've grown to dislike." 

“Isn’t that what every family does?” he jokes in hopes of easing your visible discomfort. But his good humour is gone the moment you look away with a sombre expression stuck to your features.

Nikolai always considered himself exceptional at self-control but something about your sadness makes him gradually abandon reason. As you forlornly stare into the darkness of your shared bedroom, he’s ready to stick feathers to his clothes and pretend to be a peacock just to make you laugh.

“Love,” he calls out softly. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. “You’re the queen. If you want, we can call their visit off right away.”

“That would be a little rude, no?” you ask in a meek voice.

“It’s a lot more crude to make you cry.”

“I will be alright, really,” you reassure him. That miserable look on your face is slowly creeping away. “It’s just three days. Maybe they’ve changed or they’re a lot better than I remember. I’ll be okay.”

Nikolai is unsure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him but he doesn’t push. Despite not believing your clumsy words of reassurance, he trusts you - he’ll step in only when things really get out of hand.

Nervousness and excitement often feel the same and one might even fool themselves into believing that the mortifying tension in their muscles is actually an impatient thrill. Today, however, you don’t even try playing a little trick on yourself. The more you think about your feelings, the more you’re convinced that it’s not even nervousness but fear. Still, you don’t quite understand why exactly your parents’ visit elicits such awful emotions from you.

The door to the throne room opens and a man in a white and gold livery steps inside. He quickly walks halfway to the dais with the throne. 

The servant bows as deep as he can and clears his throat before loudly announcing: “Presenting her most royal Highness’s, the Queen’s, mother and father.”

Only then do your parents emerge from the hall, walking hesitantly through the spacious throne room. Two guards are following them and your father spares them a confused glance every few steps. But the armed men only usher him to keep walking and not turn his back to the king until allowed to do so.

Feeling fear exploding in your chest, you grip Nikolai’s shoulder even tighter. Sitting on the throne, he has to look up to meet your eyes.

“Calm down, it’s going to be alright,” he says quietly. A reassuring smile curves his lips. “You said it yourself.”

As though he is a Heartrender himself, his words make you relax. You take a deep breath and let go of his shoulder. At that moment, Nikolai stands up to greet your parents as their son-in-law first and only then the king of Ravka.

Right then, your mother quickly runs up the few steps leading to the dais. Her face is red and a deep crease now separates her eyebrows.

“I have to wait to be announced to see my own daughter?” She’s barely containing her outrage. “Nonsense!”

“I’m royalty now, mother,” you explain calmly. Your voice almost doesn’t shake.

“And I’m still your mother, the one that gave birth to you. Do I not get any benefits from that?”

Maybe some people don’t actually change.

“I’m afraid you don’t.”

“Is this gold?!” your father exclaims in shock as his hand reaches for your heavy necklace. “So because of you most of Ravka is starving?”

Too occupied with the jewellery, your parents don’t notice the palace guards stepping forward to arrest them for such an accusation aimed at the queen. Nikolai spares them a meaningful look, waving them off. In his heart, he agrees with them.

“Actually, this is a gift from a businessman in Kerch,” you say quietly. Suddenly, you remember why you’ve never visited them since your wedding.

“Still, don’t you think this is a little distasteful?”

Your mother places her hand on your father’s shoulder. “She’s always been vain, darling,” she reminds him.

You’re not a queen anymore - at least you don’t feel like it. All of the gold, silk and jewels are gone and you’re back to being a scared, little girl with hay stuck in her hair. Tears sting your eyes.

Whatever you do is wrong. All of your efforts are underwhelming. Maybe they’d be happier if you weren’t there.

"You're crying?” your father asks with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Oh, don't be so sensitive, you know we’re only joking!” He’s still holding your necklace in his fingers, admiring the glistening crystals. Standing so close to you, he lowers his voice significantly to appear inconspicuous but Nikolai manages to pick up his calloused words. “Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

As she usually does, your mother brings the attention back to herself. “She can be a bit much at times, so I hope you’re a patient one!”

The guards exchange questioning looks, silently asking one another if they should intervene this time. Most of the time they follow Tolya and Tamar’s steps but they’re left to their own devices on this day as Nikolai ordered the twins to take a day off. Perhaps it’s for the best - they’d surely escalate this already uncomfortable situation but it’s only because they care.

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Nikolai answers, unaffected. Despite his speaking to your mother, he’s looking into your eyes. “I can never get enough of her.”

“For most of her life, I thought she’d never get married!” your mother continues. She’s gripping your arm with much more strength than her appearance suggests. “Men don’t like them independent, stubborn and opinionated.”

Nikolai’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “Three qualities of an excellent Queen.”

Your mother laughs obnoxiously. “Just wait a few years, dear.” She pats his shoulder. The guards look between themselves again. “You’ll be quick to send her off just like we were!”

Both of your parents laugh wholeheartedly while you and Nikolai exchange knowing looks. Now he understands why you have been so uneasy lately. This is going to be the longest three days of his life.

The perplexity continues as your mother suddenly places her hands around your waist, examining your torso in great detail. A sour expression forms on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’ve let yourself go,” she says in a worried tone. Her eyes trail the curve of your physique up until she looks at your face. With a serious glint in her eye, she advises you under her breath: “You can’t get fat and slobby if you want to keep the king.” 

The man who announced your parents appears again but this time he walks all the way to the stairs leading up to the throne, although doesn’t dare climb them. His facial expression borders on emotionless and serious as though he’s more of a marble statue rather than a servant.

“Your most royal Highness.” The man bows deeply. “The room is prepared.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai uses the opportunity to cut the awkward conversation short in a diplomatic way. “Escort our guests to their chamber.” 

“Right away, мой царь.”

When the butler disappears around the corner with your parents apprehensively following him, Nikolai looks at you with a grim expression. 

“Are they usually like this?” he asks, disapproval hiding between his words.

“They’re worse at home,” you answer with a shrug. A lot of terrible feelings and thoughts you were convinced you had left behind are coming back and you’re unsure how to handle that.

“You’ve put up with this kind of disrespect for your whole life?”

“It’s not disrespect, just…” you hang your voice looking for the right expression, “tough love. They don’t mean any harm.”

“Don’t mean any harm?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they are yet to say something nice to you. Neither of them even asked whether you’re doing alright.”

A short, troubled sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers trail the golden embroidery decorating his kaftan. “I’m married to a dashing, handsome king and live in a palace. I think they know I’m doing well.”

His hand gently grabs yours, keeping it against his chest. “As much I like flattery, especially coming from you, you can’t pull wool over my eyes, love. It’s not a matter of knowing but principle. Remember our wedding? The guests kept asking how you’re doing so much, you kept saying you’re perfectly fine before they even got a chance to ask.”

The memory elicits a chuckle from you. Yes, everyone seemed to be preoccupied with making sure you were happy and satisfied. It came to such a point, you yelled at Nikolai’s cousin ‘Yes, I’m fine!’ before she gave you a weird look and asked if you wanted some vodka mixed with your champagne. Truly, the only royal thing about Marina is her ungodly fortune but maybe that’s why you’ve grown to like her a lot - she’s down to earth and easy-going.

Nikolai squeezes your hand in a gentle, reassuring manner. “Just say the word and I will personally throw them out.”

“Kolya!” You gasp at his offer but it quickly turns into laughter. “They’re my parents and your in-laws!”

“They also refuse to show care and respect towards my beloved Queen.”

That mellow, loving look in his eyes nullifies any annoyance you might feel at his stubbornness. You pull your hand out of his grasp and place it on the side of his face. Consciously or not, he slightly leans into your touch. “I appreciate your concern.” Not minding the guards in the room, you’ve grown used to their constant presence, you peck his lips shortly. “But they have just arrived. You’ll warm up to them.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer at first. He only reconnects your lips, kissing you deeper, more desperately. When you feel his hands coming up to your waist, you lean away from him. For a moment, you swear you can see a grimace of dissatisfaction on his face.

“Be decent,” you reprimand him but the wide smile you wear so well rids your words of all seriousness.

“You started this.”

“And I will finish if you play nice.”

Nikolai takes a rather long step back, away from you,  just to make a point. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, an excited grin on his face. “You make an exquisite diplomat, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

The time for dinner came faster than you wanted it to. Anxiety bubbled inside your chest again. Still, you continued trying to soap up your eyes with thoughts that maybe when they sit across the table from a king, they’re going to withdraw their little jabs at you. As they say: Hope is the mother of all fools. And you’re about to learn that.

Nikolai raises his cup with wine. “A toast to our beloved Queen,” he announces in an official tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he spares you an adoring look. “Without her, I’d be a lonely, perplexed king. May we not know the world without her.”

To your horror, your father decides to join him. “May she get a grip and come to her senses.”

The dry wine tastes even more bitter as you take what’s supposed to be a celebratory sip. What if he’s right about you? It’s only the beginning of the evening and you already wish you can miraculously vanish or, worst case scenario, just run away. 

You’re about to take a bite of the roasted pheasant on your plate when your mother looks at you with raised eyebrows. She points her fork between you and the plate. “Should you really be eating all of this?” 

You don’t answer her. Whatever you say will only egg her on. Get a grip, you scold yourself and clench your fist to push fingernails into the sensitive skin of your palm. The pain is distracting, grounding.

 "You know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger,” your mother continues. She always does that - throwing poignancies one after another and seeing what sticks. Now, when she’s literally the mother of the queen, she’s even bolder than before.

“Mother-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She points her knife at you. “All I’m saying is as a wife, especially the queen, you have only one duty and you shouldn’t wait with it. Things will only get more difficult as you age.”

Nikolai gives your mother a bright smile. “Have no worries,” he cuts in. “We’re not waiting.”

You almost drop your fork. Flustering people is definitely one of his strategies but must he really involve your sex life in his word games? Although mortified at his bluntness, you must admit it works - your mother’s face is about the same shade as the roasted tomatoes on her plate. She casts her eyes downwards, poking at the food in front of her.

The air is filled with awkward tension but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind in. In fact, he looks quite proud of himself. You, on the other hand, aren’t as good at putting up a believable front.

“So,” you begin in hopes of easing the atmosphere”, how are things back in…” You hang your voice. You were about to say ‘home’, only to realize that it would be an honest lie. The little town where you grew up hasn’t been home in years. “...Tamboyevka?”

“Oh, you know,” your mother says as she makes a dismissive wave with her hand. “Same old, same old. Cattle and field, nothing interesting to someone of your sort, I presume! There’s never been much use of you anyway.”

Listening to your mother’s condescending words, you push your fingernails further into the skin of your hand to distract yourself from the feeling of shame that continues to grow inside your stomach and pull you down with it. Maybe the marble floor will swallow you whole in the next few minutes and all of this will be over.

Then you feel Nikolai’s warm hand sneak between your palms, breaking up your painful distraction. He leans towards you ever so slightly and whispers:

“I’d much rather you pinch and scratch my hand than hurt yourself.”

You look at his concerned face. Words of reassurance, ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright’, nearly push past your lips when your father chimes in, continuing the conversation.

“But your brother, he bought some land down south,” he announces with excitement.

“More land?” you ask. “Ha barely manages with what he already has.”

The memory of your brother’s tired, grey face flashes before your eyes. Every time you see him, he looks even sicker than before as though he never sleeps or eats, only works in the field. He even collapsed on one July day and your parents kept saying that this is a sign of an honest, hard-working man but you weren’t as quick to call a man throwing up everything he eats ‘healthy’.

“You know how he is, always helping others.” Your mother is beaming with pride as if she’s the one doing the farming. “His crops feed two villages and it’s not nearly enough for him! Said he wanted tomatoes and citruses.”

Then it hits you. It’s not a revelation in any way but rather something you don’t think about too often - most of Ravka doesn’t get fruits in winter, especially the ones growing in warmer climates near the Shu Han border. And you not only can easily get it even when snow covers the grassy fields but you’re essentially fed it. Like that one time, you shared a tangerine with Nikolai while sitting in front of a fire, talking about unimportant things.

Despite your mother sitting right in front of you, her voice echoed in your head as though she’s a phantom haunting your thoughts and not a real person: Selfish. Spoiled. Entitled. Ungrateful. People starve because of you.

You focus on Nikolai’s warm, rough hand that’s still holding your own. The pleasant sensation is gradually grounding you, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment.

“What for?” you ask as casually as you can, not giving in to the spiralling thoughts. It still feels like you’re underwater, desperately gasping for air as your lungs burn. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you break the surface of the vicious tides trying to drown you in panic and shame.

Your mother, on the other hand, appears completely oblivious to your plight. “Some child told him they’d like oranges and he couldn’t say no. He’s wonderful, truly. A living Saint! What a blessing to call him my son. You should take a serious cue from him, young lady.” She waves the tip of her knife in your direction again. “But enough about your brother. What do you do when you’re not wasting time? Lay around and smell nice?”

“Well,” you swallow nervously, already knowing that she won’t be satisfied with your answer, “I meet a lot of people, take correspondence, travel across the country or read if I find the time.”

Nikolai must notice the telling crease of disappointment between your mother’s eyebrows. He joins the conversation under a skilful facade of a proud, boasting husband. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. Our Queen,” he puts strange stress on the title, “has started a scholarship for disadvantaged children, takes the time to teach young girls sewing, foreign languages and arithmetic.”

“That’s quite useless, isn’t it?” your mother looks between you and your father, not acknowledging Nikolai’s presence. She keeps stabbing the roasted pheasant on her plate with a fork as though there’s still life inside the poor poultry. “Shouldn’t you try harder?” she hisses at you. “If you continue being this lazy, the whole kingdom will fall apart! What will our neighbours say then?”

Nikolai suddenly gets up. He’s still holding your hand but you can’t be sure whether he’s doing that on purpose or if it’s just an unconscious reflex. The candlelight from the crystal chandelier cascades off his face, pronouncing the clenched muscles of his jaw - he’s angry and barely holding it in.

“Our meeting at this table is adjourned,” he announces in a firm voice. “This is beyond unacceptable. I have overlooked your transgressions simply because of your affinity to my wife. Still, I am disheartened and disappointed with the way you address your queen in her own home. The guards will escort you back to your chambers.”

You hear your mother and father trying to argue and protest, saying something about you being ‘too proud’ and ‘forgetting your place’ but you’re so dumbfounded you can’t make out the details. The guards lead them out of the dining room through one of the tall pairs of doors. When they close behind them, everything goes silent - the brick walls muffle any turmoil your parents might be causing.

Suddenly, your throat constricts. It’s hard to take a breath. Has it always been so hot in here? The tips of your fingers tingle, blood never reaching them.

He threw them out and you didn’t say anything. If they didn’t hate you before, they surely do now. You’re a disappointment, not their child. They haven’t done anything wrong, after all. You’re no good, useless, ungrateful, dramatic.

Suffocating with panic, you run out of the room through a different pair of doors, across the dining hall from the ones behind which your parents had recently disappeared. You hear Nikolai’s footsteps behind you but they are muffled by the noise of bloodflow ringing in your ears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he calls out in a soft voice. You turn around to look at him. His hand is almost at the height of your shoulder but it momentarily drops as though he just backed out from touching you. “What’s going on?”

For a man as smart as him, that’s a really stupid question.

“Why did you do that, Nikolai?” you snap at him.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. A gasp of disbelief brushes past his lips - he clearly thought the two of you were on the same page. “They were insulting you over and over again. I couldn’t just sit and listen to that.”

Truly, you should have expected that. He’s been adamant about standing up to your parents from the very beginning. Still, you’re angry that he just had to be stubborn and do the one thing you explicitly asked him not to do.

“What happened to laugh at insults? Isn’t that your own advice?”

“It is.” Nikolai finally finds it in himself to place his hands on your shoulders. “But I found myself unable to remain collected when the bitter words were aimed at you.” His palms brush against your dress and the skin of your neck until they’re cradling your face.

“I can,” you state firmly. “You should have let me handle this, I’m used to this.”

You escape his loving grasp and he lets you. Walking forward away from him, you’re not quite sure where exactly you’re heading. ‘Away’ would be a lovely direction but quite impossible when you’re confined to those four walls of marble and gold.

“You shouldn’t be,” Nikolai calls out after you.

Suddenly, you halt. You look at him around your shoulder. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be used to being treated like this,” he says in a defeated tone while walking towards you again. “They just keep putting you down, humiliating you. You’re not even slightly upset about that?”

“Of course, I am but…” you hang your voice, finally questioning your own feelings towards your parents. “It’s unfair for me to be angry with them. Ungrateful. I never went hungry or cold. They gave me medication when I was sick and made sure I went to school. Every year they’d give me something for my birthday. Neither of them has ever raised their hand against me. They’ve done all they could to give me a good life. Who am I to complain?”

“You’re the Queen,” he drones the word. His hand holds the side of your face again, thumb lovingly brushing your cheek. “People say your name in the same breath as the names of all the Saints. When I don’t know what to do or what decision to make, I always ask myself what you would do. And I’ve never once regretted that. There are important people who have agreed to my invitation only after hearing that you’ll be there too. You change everything. So you get to be angry when someone refuses to see that. I know you can take a few mean words but I don’t want you to.”

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable, intimate silence. Your absent gaze is stuck to the floor as you’re pondering his words. Whenever you’re about to accept that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something good and important, the voice of your mother echoes inside your head: ‘Vain’. But Nikolai wouldn’t lie to you, would he? At least not in those circumstances.

“Can you keep a secret?” he speaks up quietly, bringing your attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you put a wild racoon in my parent’s bedroom,” you joke, surprising yourself at your newly-found humour.

He scrunches his nose. “Alright, can you keep two secrets?” The echo of the empty halls carries your bright laughter. “To be honest, I wanted to marry you the moment you argued with me about stealing that merchant frigate in Kerch.”

“I could tell,” you answer with a slow nod. “You had a really stupid look on your face, all dazed and absent. In fact, you wore the same one on our wedding day.”

Nikolai’s lips turn into a playful smile and he’s about to say something definitely smart and smooth but a servant interrupts him:

“Your most royal highness,” she says nervously as she curtsies, “your mother wishes to see you. She seems thoroughly upset, if I may say so.” Judging by her fearful, wide-open eyes, she must have gotten a taste of your parents' hurt ego.

Anxiety once again floods your mind. Maybe you should go, apologize and pray they won’t go on a tirade about ‘raising you differently’. But then you hear Nikolai inconspicuously but meaningfully clear his throat.

‘You’re the queen’, his voice echoes in your head. A queen doesn’t cower and bow her head, does she?

“Tell her I don’t take visitations tonight,” you order the servant.

“Right away, моя царица.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice. Judging by her already fearful demeanour, she can guess quite well what will happen the moment she relays the information.

Yes, you will have to warn your parents that they actually can’t hurl insults at your servants. It’s going to be challenging, yes, but this newfound confidence is a ferocious beast, driving you to own up to the title of the queen - not in the way your mother and father want you to but in a way that you need to.

“Oh, one more thing.” The girl immediately stops and turns around at the sound of your voice. “Make sure they don’t leave their wing until either of us says so. I don’t want them wandering around my home.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The servant bows again and leaves the two of you in a rushed step. Nikolai waits until she disappears around the corner to let his hand drop to the small of your back. He leans in close, indecently so. “I love it when you get all commanding,” he whispers against your neck.

An airy laugh leaves your lips as he pecks the soft skin behind your ear.

____

мой царь [mo-ee tzar] -> my tsar/king

моя царица [mo-ya tsa-ree-tsa] -> my tsaritsa/queen

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bones x you

[baby-yongbok]

4:26 am

Best friend!Bang Chan × Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: You love your boyfriend Minho, but lately your best friend has been on your mind.

Warnings: Cheating, Chan is a tiny bit manipulative, Car Sex? (That should be all, sorry if I missed anything!)

A/N: This might might, be the last of Chan's birthday posts. I have one more that I prepared awhile ago but I might save it. Who knows lol. I hope that you enjoy! I'm trying to start writing again and it's been hard so I'm sorry if this is a bit rough 😅

✨️Masterlist✨️

 “Tell me again why we're parked in an abandoned parking lot at 4:26 am.” Chan asks quizzically. I sighed, running my hands over my face. 

“I needed someone to vent to.” My gaze stays fixed on my lap, I don’t know if I can look at him, I don’t know what I’ll do when his eyes meet mine. He’s my best friend and I know I can tell him anything, hell, he picked up the phone in the middle of the night and came running to me. So I know that I can trust him but right now the thought of looking him in the eye with these thoughts running through my head is dizzying.

“Well I'm here, start when you want.” He leans forward, crossing his arms and resting them on top of the steering wheel. I run my hands through my hair as I try to gather my thoughts.

“Okay so, uh, Minho came home early tonight and he surprised me with this really cute home date and ya know… we had sex and it was good, really it was, but I just don’t feel… I haven’t been feeling…” My heart is beating a mile a minute, Chan and I are extremely close and we talk about our sex lives all the time but this time it’s different. 

“Unsatisfied?” Chan asks with an eyebrow raised. I nod my head, thankful that he finished the sentence for me. Talking about Minho behind his back feels so wrong but I suppose it’s not as wrong as what I plan to confess next.

“Yeah, unsatisfied and I've been… thinking of someone else.” I swallow hard as I play with the zipper of my hoodie, desperate to pay attention to anything but the look on Chan’s face. I know him, I know that he’s looking at me with semi wide interested eyes and he’s waiting for me to look back at him but I just can’t. 

“Who do you think about?” If I were in a hospital right now the nurses would go crazy because I am almost certain that my heart stopped, exploded even. I knew that he’d ask me that question but hearing it actually come out of his mouth sets off a whole new type of panic. Should I tell him the truth? I’m in a relationship, a beautiful and loving one at that, I shouldn’t go around confessing these things. But on the other hand, the thought of my fantasy coming true is too inviting to ignore. It’s now or never and I choose now.

“Well, it depends on the day. It could be Hyunjin, Seungmin, but… I mostly think of you. I guess it’s because of our connection or some shit like that, I don't know” My nerves got to me half way through my confession, shit, he must think I’m fucking with him. The silence around us lasted far too long for my liking, causing me to look over at the man in the driver's seat. His eyebrows were slightly raised and there was a red tint to the tips of his ears but other than that he seemed completely cool and collected. 

“Okay, uh, you think about me in what way? Like, do you daydream about me and kind of dissociate from Minho or do you pretend that he's me?” His brows knit together briefly before relaxing again. He shifts in his seat, leaning back completely and bringing his crossed arms to rest over his chest. He’s clearly trying not to show the effect that my confession has on him.

“I imagine that he's you, that his hands are yours and that you’re the one fucking me, it's better when I pretend.” I look back down at my lap as a deep blush creeps onto my cheeks. 

“Do you come faster? More intensely?” My head jolts up quickly and my eye’s find his immediately, the look of disbelief written all over my features makes Chan grin. He chuckles a bit and that's when I realize that he's messing with me. I sigh dramatically, relaxing into my seat before flashing my middle finger in his direction.

“Fuck you, don’t taunt me.” He smiles wider, looking down at his lap.

“I just want to know for my own personal records.” He licks his lips before looking back up at me  “It's fun hearing what I do to you.” 

At this point I’m sure that my brown skin is as red as a rose. Why did he have to look at me like that? Is he trying to ruin me? 

“I called you because I need to vent.” I remind him as I turn to look out of the passenger window, anything to avoid his gaze for a second. 

“Sorry sorry, continue.” I clear my throat and unzip my hoodie just a bit, is it getting hot in here? Why does his car suddenly feel so small?

“He falls asleep after sex all the time, I mean how could I blame him? Three rounds every night for four or five days a week is a lot on top of working and all of the other stuff that he does in a day. But no matter how many times we do it I’m still not satisfied afterwards, I watch porn and use my vibrator on the bathroom floor, every time.”

“Did you do that tonight?” His eyebrows knit together in curiosity, I open my mouth to try to answer him but when I look back in his direction I get distracted by the sight of his strong arms. He leaned back in his seat a bit more than he was a minute ago, his fingers intertwined and tucked behind his head giving me the perfect view of his biceps and everything that matches it. 

“No, I called you instead. I just needed to talk to someone. I feel like I'm going crazy, I keep wanting more and more sex. This can’t be normal.” Chan chuckles lightly and I can’t help but to roll my eyes. Is he even taking this seriously?

“Well either you're a sex addict or you aren't satisfied because you want someone else. In this case that person would be me.” He moves his hands from behind his head and rests them in his lap lazily.

“So, what? I fuck you and it goes away? If anything I'll keep wanting it.” I scoff, shaking my head in an attempt to erase the thoughts.

“You'll never know unless you try.” My eyes meet his quickly, I open my mouth to reply but no words make sense in my head. Is he serious? He’s messing with me… right? 

“I couldn't cheat on… I can't.” 

“Haven't you already though? Thinking of another man inside of you while he is? Imagining that you're with me.. your best friend. If he were thinking of someone else while he fucked you would you call that cheating?”  I turn away from him as if I'm physically trying to run away from his words. This is all too much to handle. The man that I can’t stop thinking about is basically offering himself to me. But I can’t do that to Minho, he’s been nothing but good to me for all of these years, he’s loving and attractive and he shares all of my values… but so does Chan and right now my best friend has one up on my boyfriend when it comes to intimacy. Is this really worth it? Is sex really worth potentially ruining my relationship to start a new one with Chan?

“I'm single, Y/n, if I screw you no one will care. But you, you're in a relationship. If we fuck you'll either feel guilty and confess everything to him or you'll feel so amazing that you'll call me at 4 am every night, The choice is yours.” Silence surrounds us and it almost feels heavy on my skin. What should I do next? I could tell him to take me home or I could get in the backseat and let him fuck me until I’m satisfied. I glance over at Chan to find that he’s already looking at me, his relaxed gaze is raking over my frame slowly but that’s not what did it. It was the way he licked his lips as his eyes met mine, like he could already taste me. Like he already had me. 

“Fuck it.” I blurt out, making up my mind all at once. It’s like every system in my brain shut off at once. I'm not really even thinking anymore, every move is now driven by desire. “Let me see your dick.”

 I maintain eye contact so that he knows that I’m serious. A smirk plays upon his lips and his eyebrows raise instantly.

“That escalated quickly.” He chuckles and I try my best to hide my giddy grin, Am I really doing this? Maybe I can take it back?

“Show me.” Chan takes a deep breath, hooking his thumbs into the waistline of his sweats before giving me a glance. I can tell what he’s trying to say with his eyes, he’s asking me if I’m sure about this and to be honest that answer is no, I’m anything but sure. All I know is that part of me is desperate to see if he really has this effect on me or if it’s all in my head. I nod to him and without another word he lowers the hem of his gray sweatpants and his cock springs up, resting against his clothed stomach.

Fuck what I said before, I don’t want to take it back. The mere sight of his dick, makes my mouth water. It takes every ounce of control that I have in my body not to lean forward and take him in my mouth. I want to taste him, to feel him, to use him.

“No underwear?” I tease with a smile and he shrugs.

“You said it was an emergency, I rushed over to you. Threw on the first thing I could find.”

“Mm maybe that's a sign.” He furrows his brows slightly as he watches me with curious eyes. I unzipped my hoodie completely, revealing the lingerie that I had put on for Minho tonight and never changed out of. 

“Fuck.” Chan says in a breathy sigh, bringing his hand up to his cock.

“Is it still cheating if I don't touch you?” I slip off my silk sleep shorts and turn my body towards Chan so that my back is against the passenger door. I open my legs to give him a full view of my cunt, reaching down to spread my arousal over my folds. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, babygirl” His tone is a bit deeper than before, the soft and playful tone replaced with a deep and husky one. He holds his hand out towards me and I nearly moan at the words that follow.

“Get it wet for me?” A low hum vibrates from my throat as I lean forward, pursing my lips and spitting into his palm. He coos at me, a quiet ‘good girl’ leaving his lips as he watches me. His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes his hand back and spreads my spit over his leaking tip mixing my saliva with his pre-cum. Slowly, his eyes trail down my body until they fix on my dripping pussy. He slowly starts to stroke himself, exhaling heavily when he rubs over his tip.

“Play with yourself for me, yeah?” At this point the only thing going through my head is Chan. He’s all I can remember, all that I want, all that I need. I feel drunk off of the sight of him sitting across from me, cheeks flushed and his long fingers wrapped around his hard cock. How could I possibly want to do anything but please this man?

I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly through parted lips, my eyes stay trained on him as I slowly trail my hand from my neck to my stomach. I watch his expression as he grows a bit impatient from my teasing, his dark gaze warning me to give him what he asked for. 

“Does it look like I want you to tease me, baby?” The tone of his voice sends chills down my spine, his words are breathy and challenging and it makes me hungry for more. What would he do to me if I kept teasing? How would he punish me? 

“Why would I give you what you want right away?” I run my fingers along my inner thighs, smiling at him as his gaze drops from my eyes to my core, watching my hand carefully. “That would be boring.”

“Touch yourself or I'll do it for you.” A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine him getting impatient with me and taking control, using his long fingers to fuck me. Why do I feel drunk off of that thought? It hasn’t even happened and yet I feel like I’m on cloud 9. 

“Fuck.” I hiss as I run my fingers between my folds brushing against my clit and circling it. Chan strokes himself a bit faster as he watches me, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. 

“Put a finger inside.” He looks up from my cunt and my eyes follow his meeting for a second. My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate for something, anything, him. “Pretend that it’s me” 

He nearly sounds like he’s pleading me to do it, like he’s desperate to see how I fuck myself. Desperate to see what the thought of him does to me. I nod, slowly obeying his command and slipping my middle finger deep into my cunt.

“Oh fuck.” My back arches up off of the passenger door once I start fucking myself, increasing the pace gradually as I start to become desperate for more. I pressed the palm of my hand against my clit, trying to add as much stimulation as possible. He watches in awe as my hips buck into my hand a bit. 

“Add another.” I quickly obey his command, adding my ring finger inside, eliciting a groan of pleasure to fall from my parted lips. I try my best to keep my eyes open, I want to watch him, I need to watch him. His strokes are much faster now, small grunts and sighs leaving his parted lips, his head thrown back in ecstasy. I take in the way that his jaw clenched as he builds himself closer to the edge, his right leg slightly bouncing, it's a masterpiece that I wish I could become a part of. 

“Chan.” His name passes my lips in a breathy moan and he looks over at me as he strokes the head of his dick, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the sensation. “I need you so badly.” 

“Your choice.” He groans out as he throws his head back again squeezing his eyes shut. “ Better make up your mind, I’m so close, babygirl.” 

I sigh heavily as I try my best to fight the urge to climb over and ride him until I pass out. I focus on my own pleasure again, Imagining that it’s Chan rubbing tight circles on my clit while his long fingers reach spots that I didn’t even know existed. I imagine that it’s him bringing me closer and closer to the edge, I wish it was him. The wet sounds of Chan stroking his cock mix with my moans as we both draw closer to the edge. I watch his hand as he pleasures himself, I wonder if he’s imagining that, that’s me. I wonder if he feels that same way. Does he touch himself to the thought of me at night? Thinking of all of the times that we were play fighting and his fingers grazed my bare skin, all of the tight hugs that we shared, my chest pressed up against him. Does he think about me?

“Shit, oh my god” I squeeze my eyes shut and arch my back at the thought of him wanting me just as much as I want him, maybe even more.

“Fucking cum for me, babygirl.”  Chan groans “I'm so fucking close for you.”

Those words alone throw me over the edge, one of my fantasies is coming true right in front of my eyes.

“Oh my- I'm gonna..” Before I could get another word out my orgasm rushed over me, breathtaking and mind fogging.  I clamped my legs shut and arched my back off of the car door. My moans filled the space around us but I couldn’t hear them, the pleasure was deafening. 

“Fuck, Y/n.” My name fell off of his tongue in a sweet moan and my pussy clenched at the sound of it, sending another wave of euphoria through me. “Oh shit, I'm cumming.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, his strokes becoming shorter but still just as fast. A rush of adrenaline hit me and suddenly my vision changed. I felt like a rabid animal who was desperate for food. Suddenly, I forgot about everything that was looming over my head. All of my thoughts about Minho and saving our relationship were gone. All that I could think of was pleasure and I was absolutely driven by it, so much so that after the first stream of cum came leaking from Chan’s tip I leaned forward, getting on my knees in the passenger seat and running my tongue up his length. He moved his hand quickly, clearly surprised by my sudden confidence. I licked up to the head of his cock and then took the rest of his length down my throat. His seed spilled into my mouth in warm and delicious spurts, painting my throat with his sticky arousal. Every bit of him tasted like heaven and in this moment I swear that I would do anything that anybody asks as long as I get to stay here. As long as I get to feel him. 

“Y/n” His hand lightly lays on the back of my head, stroking my hair slightly. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” I bob my head a couple of times, milking his arousal from him until I’m sure that I’ve got every last drop. Once he’s come down from his high I sit up, releasing his cock from my mouth with a faint ‘pop’ and licking my lips. I sit back into my seat, settling in a bit while we watch each other. Chan’s chest is rising and falling heavily and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, once he seem to have composed himself a little the tiniest chuckle falls from his lips as he begins to tuck himself back into his sweatpants

“Do you think that fulfilled your lust for me?” 

“Not even close.”

#skz #stray kids #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #bangchan skz #bangchan #bang christopher chan #chris bang #skz chan #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids bang chan #bangchan smut #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan x reader #christopher bang #bang chan x you #stray kids bang chan smut #stray kids chan smut #skz chan smut #skz masterlist #stray kids masterlist

[eeeeuuughggg]

Omg I’m sorry, I never saw your post😭 I was the anon that requested Toby, and really it can be general or in a relationship with him, which ever you’d like best

what's it like being in a relationship with toby?

notes: AUGH. im srry this is short anon but tysm for the request its been ages since i've wrote something over like 300 words

w/c: 319

warnings: none

Road trips. Lots of them. The two of you driving around in his shitty old car at night, music blasting. You're not going anywhere in particular, but sometimes he'll take you to a fairly empty 7-Eleven parking lot. Maybe you get high, maybe you don't— it's up to you. Or maybe he'll take you under the old bridge a few miles away to graffiti, tagging your initials or carving them into a tree nearby, who knows?

He's a fucking nerd. He'll take you to music stores, looking through the vinyls, cds, posters, funko pops, merch, etc. Seven times out of ten, he'll start rambling about the band or artist, or drop the most random lore about how he supposedly met them at a garage sale or something like that.

Tags you in stupid shit on TikTok. Two feral stray cats fighting in an alleyway? "@/yourusername us". Silly video of a horse eating hay? "@/yourusername this is what u look like when u eat".

Dates with Toby will usually be away from public places. Either they're at home, in a secluded or abandoned area, or in a dark place, like an aquarium for example. Do you like a certain movie? He'll raid a gas station for snacks, set up a pillow fort, and put on that movie so the two of you can spend time together.

Maybe you like lego (because who doesn't?). He'll steal buy a bunch of sets for the two of you to build in your free time, sitting on the floor and talking about nothing or everything while building the set.

Play fighting is a big thing with him, too. Sure, he can't feel pain, but he loves the adrenaline. Both of you press your hands against the others, pushing until someone eventually falls over. Other small competitive activities aren't uncommon, like thumb wars, or arm wrestling, maybe a bit of staring contests in the mix.

#i keep forgetting my layout OOPSIES #oh well #creepypasta #ticci toby #toby rogers #toby erin rogers #tobias erin rogers #creeypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers x reader #toby erin rogers x reader #tobias erin rogers x reader #creepypasta x yn #ticci toby x yn #toby rogers x yn #toby erin rogers x yn #tobias erin rogers x yn #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby headcanons #i give up on tagging

[babybluebex]

may i ask you for a fluff story with joe? i feel very lonely and have cried my eyes out, because my exams drain me and i’m fully exhausted, i’m doing my best to not forget eating and staying hydrated. i have crippling anxiety disorder. i’m a girl with disability, so my spine hurts out of the pressure.

can you write some blurb or fluff about joey taking care of me? <3 like making a cuppa of tea, hugging me, reassuring that he loves me and I will make it. i would be beyond thankful!!

oh darling i am so sorry to hear that you're having a hard time :( i hope this will help a little bit

He could tell that you were nearing your limit. You had practically locked yourself up in your office under the guise of studying for exams, but Joseph was starting to think that something else was happening in that room. You hardly came out, only when Joseph asked; you only ate when he delivered you a plate of food; and he tried to pretend that he couldn't hear you crying every so often. If you wanted to talk about it, you would, and he knew that, but he was a worry-wart and his heart hurt.

Finally, as he was getting ready for bed, he decided that enough was enough. He put the kettle on as he washed up after dinner, and he waited impatiently as it boiled and came to a whistle. He remembered exactly how you took your tea— a splash of milk, one spoonful or sugar, brewed endlessly until it was a deep, dark brown. For added love and comfort, he plated up your favorite biscuits, the ones with a thin layer of chocolate on them, and he carried the after-dinner snack to your office. Joseph lightly rapped on the closed door with his knuckles, and he said, "Darling? Are you awake?"

There was movement inside your office, and a sniffle, and the door opened slowly to show you. Joseph frowned at the state of you, your rumpled trackies and tear-stained face, and he stepped inside past you. There was in fact your study materials scattered around, pens and highlighters and textbooks, mountains of revisions, your computer open but abandoned. "Figured you could use a cuppa," Joseph said softly, settling the plate and mug on your desk. "I've missed you today."

"Missed you too," you mumbled, and Joseph's heart clenched in his chest. "But I've had so much work—"

"I know, it's okay," Joseph said. "C'mere, I want a hug."

"I need to—" you started, but Joseph shook his head.

"No, you don't," he said quickly. "It's time for bed, you can study more tomorrow."

"Joe, I need to finish," you protested, and Joseph only shook his head again and reached forward to slip his hands into your sweatshirt pocket. He drew you close to him, wrapping his arms fully around you, and he began to slowly rub your lower back, right where the ache persisted, and your complaints died on your tongue at the relief from pain. Your knees felt weak and you fell into Joseph's chest, and, as soon as you felt his warmth and smelled his warm cigarette scent, your tears began to really fall. "I'm so worried that I'll fail!" you sobbed, holding him tightly, and Joseph shushed you gently, squeezing you firmly. "I-I can't fail, baby, I just can't, and I'm so hungry and tired, but I need to study!"

"Please calm down," Joseph whispered, and you could tell that his throat was tight, near tears himself. "Come, sit down, eat a biscuit. I think your blood sugar is probably low and making you feel worse."

"Wanna lay down," you sighed, and Joseph kissed your head. He took up the plate of biscuits and the cup of tea, and he followed you like a little puppy to the bedroom. You sank into the mattress and sniffled, curling up on yourself, and Joe set the stuff down on your bedside table and laid down next to you. He stroked your arm and kissed your cheek, and he said softly, "Sit up, eat a biscuit."

You did as he asked, reaching out and taking the biscuit into your hand, and you nibbled on it as you gazed listlessly at the wall, trying to calm down. Joe continued to rub your back as he watched you, and he softly said, "I love you, my smart girl. You're gonna pass your exams with flying colors. You're gonna get the highest marks in the class, I know it. You're gonna make it through."

"But what if I don't?" you mumbled.

"But what if you do?" Joe pressed. "Darling, you're gonna do this perfectly, you've been studying so hard and I love you. You're so much smarter than me— fuck, I'm hopeless— but you're going to do amazingly, I have no doubt in my mind. And then when you've written your exams and passed with the highest marks, I'll take you to a nice dinner and celebrate how strong you are. Alright? Does that sound like a promise?"

You nodded, and you crawled over to Joe, settling yourself between his legs and nestling your head in the crook of his neck. He kissed your forehead and rubbed your lower back, and he said, "Now, let's watch something funny and get a laugh outta you. Wanna watch I Think You Should Leave?" You nodded quietly, reaching out for the cup of tea and sipping at it carefully, and Joe reached for the television remote, making sure to keep you in his grip. He pressed his chin into the top of your head and sighed, and he said, "I love you. Don't forget that."

#bex answers #anon ask #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you

[beautyyandthebeatt]

omg i really love your works!!! can u write smth about maybbee stepsis haseul whos just figuring out shes into girls and u help her out 🤔🤔🤔🤔 need her so bad….

also non g!p if possible :ppp take ur time^_^

MEN DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

so so sorry this took so long! I've been very busy

!!: Stepcest, scissoring, masturbation, maybe dom!reader ?

It had been a few months since you had met Haseul, both of your parents introducing you two at your mother’s home. She stood by her fathers side, slight and lovely, a wonderfully pleasant smile adorning her face when greeting you and welcoming you into her family. You liked her, very much, as did she. Though, perhaps she may have liked you a bit too much.

She often found herself admiring you. Her eyes dancing along your pretty facial features, down your nape to your body, tracing along the dips and curves of your frame. She never took issue with it, of course, she’s just admiring her gorgeous step sister, how could she not ? There’s nothing strange about that, it’s not as if she likes you. It’s not as if she likes women… right ? oh.

Oftentimes, late at night when she was certain that everyone had retired to bed she would touch herself to the stills of the mental images she had saved from her moments of admiring you. Covering her mouth to suppress her soft moans, her poor mind wracked with guilt and arousal. She made an attempt to stop, at least that’s what she tells herself, but her visions of you would always win her over, her hand dipping between her thighs once again. Her fingers desperately circling over her clit, slick coating her middle and ring fingers as she chases and inevitably loses her orgasm. it had been like this since she had started, the rise and lack of fall, she knew that only you could finally give her what she so desperately wants.

One night you decide to stay up later than usual to finish an extra chapter of the book you had been reading. Settling into your bed, room silent, dimly lit by a lone lamp you pick up where you left off before being startled out of your focus by a noise coming from your step sister’s room. A whine echoes into the hallway and seeps into your quiet room, a pang of worry flashes across your mind. Was she hurt ? What happened to her ? 

Without hesitation you abandon your room and beeline straight to her door, entering without warning. And there she was, your dear step sister, laying there face down on her bed, fingers deep in her wet cunt. Her eyes snap open and she scrambles to compose herself. You can't tear your eyes away from her despite knowing that you should, she was too beautiful. The way her usually impeccably styled hair had become loose and messy, spilled beautifully across her sheets. The way her skin glistened with a thin coat of sweat. Oh, and how perfect she looked coming undone, a rose flush glowing across her cheeks, eyelids heavy and fingers buried within herself.

You return to reality “I’m- I’m sorry… I should’ve knocked” is all you can think of to say, hastily turning to leave “wait… y/n, please, don’t go.” she whines, poor girl was in such a haze she couldn’t stop herself from trying to get what she had been aching for. “Haseul..” “I feel so strange, I- I can’t stop thinking about…girls” she pauses “I can’t stop thinking about you.” And that’s all that it took for you to crash your lips against hers, so fervourish, you felt like collapsing into her. The hand that had once been between her thighs pulls you in by the waist as close as she can hold you, the other wrapped around your upper back, embracing you as if you were about to slip through her fingers. Parting your lips from hers you pepper kisses along her neck “Oh, you poor thing. You need my help, don’t you ?” you look up from her neck to meet her gaze, she nods weakly, her eyes heavy and her face flushed. 

With the confirmation you slide your panties down, putting them aside then trailing your hands down her thighs, they shake slightly as you do. Once your hands meet her inner thighs you part them, revealing her glistening cunt to you “So pretty, Seulie.” you’re met with a whine in response. Settling between her legs you press a soft kiss on the side of her face before hiking one of her legs over yours, slotting the both of you together. You moan, soft and airy, at the sudden contact, feeling her wetness coat your already dampening core as you press against her harder. You hear a broken whine escape her lips as you drag your now soaked cunt against hers, her clit catching perfectly against your own. “y/n..” she says, drearily your gaze meets hers, she leans over and catches your wrist, taking it up to her plush lips and sliding one of your fingers into her mouth, moaning around it. She looks so pretty like that, you think, falling apart for you.

The way that your step sister’s cunt rocked against yours was heavenly, her hips stutter often from the new sensation, making her bump against your clit deliciously. You moan, loud, it’s music to her ears, to think that she's making you feel this way, it makes her grind against you quicker, so in love with the knowledge that she’ll finally be able to achieve the orgasm she had been chasing for so long with her step sister. You feel your release creeping up on you, that telltale knot forming in your core, the feeling of Haseul’s quickening thrusts becoming more and more overwhelming. It made you match her pace, hips hungrily bucking into her soaked core, both of your slick coating eachother’s thighs and threatening to paint her cotton bedsheets. “Please, so close-” she attempts to say instead tumbling into a whiney moan and gripping at your back, drawing hot red lines down it. Then you felt it, your orgasm bursting from your core and fluttering across your body, like a warm glow. You knew that she had came too from how her still bucking hips fucked both of your cum across eachother lower halfs.With trembling thighs still tangled together you pull her into an embrace.

You had not thought that this is how your night was to end, wrapped up in your step sister’s arms in her (very used) bed, though, you didn't mind, not at all. “I love you” she says “I love you too.”

#i cannot write dialog oh my god #WLW #haseul x reader #Haseul x fem reader #haseul smut #loona x reader #loona smut #gg x reader #girl group x reader #girl group smut

[solarmorrigan]

Yessss!!! I love love love the newest chapter with Jeff! I feel like he was the perfect one to approach Steve, I’m so glad that Steve knows that he wasn’t the only one seeing that he and Eddie were dating.

Melvald’s was the perfect neutral territory for it to happen, too. Steve wouldn’t retreat in public so that was the perfect place for Jeff to sneak up on him. I hope they have a little baseball/hockey date with the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys sans Eddie, I just want them to also be friends with Steve.

Also, even if Robin doesn’t feature in the chapters I’d love to know how she reacts in your mind to first, Steve’s conversation with Eddie and second, the Melvald’s conversation. I’m sure she has so many opinions on both!

The best parts of my days are when I get the notification that you’ve posted a new chapter, thank you so much! 💖💖

Okay, sorry, I've been sitting on this until posting today's update (and also because I was thinking), but see-

Robin's been at work for maybe two hours when Steve pulls up. When he comes into the store, she tries to joke that she knows he said he'd be back to pick her up, but her shift doesn't end for another six hours, and he gives her a little smile, but she can tell he's upset

(Not as upset as the last few days, but definitely a bit shaken up)

He says he's just going to sit in the break room for a bit. He doesn't really want to bother her, he just wants to know she's nearby. Of course, there's a zero percent chance Robin isn't going to abandon the counter to check on Steve (it's a weekday morning, who the hell is going to come rent a movie now?), and she follows him back to ask what happened

(She's spent the last two days with him, in spite of his insistence yesterday that he was fine. She thinks they were supposed to be having "space" today, but she doesn't feel like she needs it. She's fine being attached at the hip if Steve is)

Steve tells her that he'd gone to pick up his stuff from Eddie's place, and after her flurry of offended questions about why he hadn't waited for her, she demands to know what Eddie's done now

Apparently, he wants to make things up to Steve. Wants a second chance if Steve is willing. Wants to romance Steve (Robin snorts at that, and Steve cracks a smile, too). Robin insists that isn't good enough. It's too little, too late. But Steve-

She knows that look on his face. She knows Steve

"You're considering it," she says

Steve shrugs. "It's not like he did this on purpose. He wasn't trying to, like... hurt me, or whatever."

"He wasn't not trying, either." Robin scowls

Steve shrugs again. "I can't make him suffer forever."

"It's been two days, Steve."

"I asked him to think about it for a couple of weeks. Just... be sure about it, y'know?"

Robin sighs. She guesses that's better than immediately folding and saying yes. She knows boundaries are hard for Steve, especially when it comes to the people he cares about; giving them deadlines is easier than giving them hard limits. It's... an improvement, even if she doesn't like it

"You don't have to give him a second chance, you know. I know you feel like you screwed up, too, but you don't owe him anything," Robin reminds him

"I know," Steve says, but she wonders if he really does. "Anyway, I'd feel like a hypocrite if I didn't hear him out, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" Robin asks

Steve gives her a tired little smile. "You guys all gave me a second chance. It would kind of suck if I didn't do the same for someone else."

Robin knows then that Steve is going to say yes to Eddie. She won't be able to talk him out of it; she can only hope she won't have to pick up the pieces again at the end

#also; hello! ❤️ #I haven't thought as thoroughly about Robin's thoughts on Steve's conversation with Jeff #but I think it firmly puts Jeff in her good books #and she teases Steve about having a sports playdate with the boys but she's pleased for him #(he also invites her along obviously and she does show up to one eventually and she and CC get along pretty well I think) #anyway I hope this is coherent I'm running on like four hours of sleep and an abundance of anxiety #long post #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #stranger things #answers from solar #solar wrote #I guess??

[hannahssimblr]

The low, blue light from the tanks is relaxing, meditative, even, and though the aquarium is loud with the sounds of small children rushing about and pointing out fish to one another, it’s still peaceful. Maybe it’s womb-like, I don’t know.

We stare at the turtles for ages and laugh about the description plaque, stating that all of these turtles were donated by families who no longer wanted them as pets when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle craze passed. 

“They’re a bit like me,” Jen says, “my parents kinda donated me to Michelle’s family when the novelty wore off.”

I don't know if she wants me to laugh, but I don't think it's funny. The smile slips off my face and suddenly these turtles are tragic figures, metaphors for the cruel, shallow nature of humanity. We just toss living creatures aside and flush them down toilets as soon as they are no longer trendy. Usually Jen would be impressed that I had such a liberal thought without first seeing it somewhere on the internet and adopting it as my own opinion, but I can sense it’s not really the right time to start a discussion about consumerism, or whatever. 

“I’m sorry about your mam today,” I say, “I would have expected she’d at least have the decency to say hello.”

Jen pauses for a long moment. I let the silence go on, and am beginning to think she won’t answer at all when she says, “I don’t know what I expected, to be honest.”

“It’s probably normal to expect your own mother to acknowledge you in public.”

“I just wonder if she’s missed me at all in the last two years.”

I don’t know what to say, “...I’m sure she has.”

“I doubt it, to be honest,” She stares dejectedly into the tank, “She’s had a lot of chances to reach out and make up, I just feel like she won’t do it if she hasn’t done it by now. I think that part of me thought she’d care more, I suppose, but then again I’m not really surprised that she doesn’t. She only had kids because people would have thought it was weird if she didn't.”

“Yeah but if she didn't then I wouldn't have a best friend.”

“You'd be best friends with some other loser if I didn’t exist.”

“Well, I'm glad it's you, is all.”

“I just think it’s a pity when… when love is supposed to be, like, unconditional, but it isn’t. You’re meant to love your kids no matter what, so I just think that if you’re going to give up on them as soon as they do, or… or are something that you don’t approve of then why would you have them?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Ugh,” she shoves me lightly and turns to sit on a nearby bench facing another tank of fish, “Obviously I know, I was just saying.”

I join her, “I know, I feel the same way about my parents, sort of.”

“Well, I mean, it’s different too, isn’t it? Because Chris and Colette actually do love you.”

I hesitate, “I think they love what I do for them and all, how convenient it is for me to be around and helping with things at home, but I don't know if that's proper love.”

“That’s probably not everything you are to them, like, yeah, you help your mom out with the parenting thing when your dad refuses to be involved with it and that’s hard, but I don’t think they’d ever kick you out of the house and try to forget you were ever born. They brought you with them, didn’t they? When they moved to Ireland, and they didn't have to do that.”

I wish they didn’t. Sometimes I wish they’d just abandoned me at aunt Maureen’s house and let me grow up like the normal American kid I was on track to be, doing normal American kid things like blissfully finger painting awful, shit butterfly pictures in elementary school and going to summer camps with campfires and raft building activities.

Memories of the desert are lit up in technicolour for me now, so clear that I swear I can still taste the air. It was drier, sweeter than the air here. It smelled different too, carrying some indescribable scent that only snapped back into my consciousness when I visited again two years ago and I've had a hard time not yearning for it since. Everything was beautiful. At the house that I used to call my home I would carry my breakfast out to the terrace, hopping on flagstone scorching already from the sun, and just look at the distant mountains, jagged blue, for ages, while the Rio Grande shimmered like a mirage in the dust land below.

It's because of Ivy that we left, though I still don’t know why my parents thought that bringing another child into the world, on purpose this time, would somehow fix all of the tears in the fabric of their marriage. And what about me? What kind of real, genuine good was lifting me out of the place that was making me so happy? But I know it's too late to waste time wondering, and if I ask them they'll just repeat what they've always said about how raising children would be better in Europe, as if they would even know.

“Yeah,” I say to Jen, “I guess that proves they love me.”

“I know what your problem is,” she says, and I’m curious enough about hearing it summed up that I look at her, the tanks throwing moving shapes and colours across her face, “You’ve just forgotten how to talk to them, like, how to really talk about how you feel, and they’ve forgotten how to do the same with you.”

“Hm.”

“You and I are good at talking, I think. We can talk about anything, even really hard things, even when we get upset about it, so I know you have it in you to do the same with your parents, you just won’t. You’re just too awkward now because you’re used to the way that it is, but I think if you just tried to change your habits then you’d probably find that they’d do the same with you.”

I nod. I don’t really know what she’s saying, but it sounds wise in that oh-so-very Jen way. 

“Maybe your parents want to be close to you too,” she continues, “you really don’t know. Maybe they’re just scared that you’ll push them away, and I know you’re scared of the same thing so you’re all just walking around on eggshells trying very hard not to get hurt.”

“Do you think so?”

“Well, they could have just not had you, but they did. They got married because of you, and they wanted to bring you here with them. They still take you on holidays and buy you school supplies and nice clothes and fancy gifts, and even though you are the worst behaved boy of all time you don't get punished half as harshly as you should. Mine learned I was gay and changed the bloody locks,” she sighs, “You’re a lucky boy, actually, like it or not.”

It's always hard to talk about her parents, not just because they were awful, but the casual way that Jen speaks of the event, like she's just repeating some bland school gossip she heard in the locker room. I know it hurts her. It must. The destruction they have done to her is immeasurable, and Jen has become so good at covering it all up, but I know her better than anybody. She’s vulnerable, sensitive and easily hurt, and even when her face doesn’t show it her eyes do. She knows I can tell, which is probably why she refuses to look at me for several moments and turns her face towards the shark tank to her left. 

As for my parents, maybe she’s right, maybe I don’t know how good I really have it, and if I tried to talk to them more I’d be pleasantly surprised by the things they have to say. There are worse parents than mine, evidently. 

We don’t speak again. I just sit close to her in silence while we watch the fish swim and weave between the rising bubbles in their tanks, fluid, free, mindless, until it is time to catch the DART home again. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #name drop moment lmao #I like the way this aquarium looks but omg the stress of trying to figure out how to get actual fish into it? #and you can barely see them lmao #ain't that the way #tw: homophobia

[hoedamn-eron]

mrs tillich's hot grandson

Your elderly neighbour, Mrs Tillich, is so lovely...as is her grandson.

Warnings: Mentions of dementia in a relative. Elderly relative needing a live-in nurse. Mentions of past military career. Sort of proofread, prone to mistakes. Word count: 1,714 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

What's this!? A one shot!? I'm sorry I've been gone for four weeks, I've been hyper fixating on Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit (it's taken 20+ years but I've finally watched them).

Your neighbour, Mrs Tillich, is a ray of sunshine.

She’s pushing on 100, she has a live-in nurse with her, and loves to be in her garden, which was when she usually caught you to have a chat, over the fence you share, usually when you were leaving for work or coming back. Honestly, you had no problem with speaking to her; as you said, she was everything that was good in this world, and she brightened your day.

You suspected she had some sort of dementia; she’s introduced herself to you multiple times, and repeatedly tells you about her ‘very good looking and single’ grandson.

“He’s a strapping young man,” she’d told you one day, giving you a wink. “He’s in the military, you know?”

You always smiled politely and told her that he sounded very interesting and maybe one day you’ll be introduced, but so far, you hadn’t met the guy.

You hope it’s the gentleman who visits her once a month, who gives you a polite nod if he ever catches your eye if you’re in your driveway. He’s a real silver fox and is always dressed so smartly. He makes your stomach do somersaults whenever his dark eyes meet yours. And God, that jawline.

Today’s forecast was sunshine all around, and you decided that it was the perfect opportunity to give your garden some TLC, and maybe even wash your car. You dress in light clothes, accommodating the hot weather outside and you step out. Your long-abandoned gardening tools were in your garage, and you had some old plant seeds from last year, gifted to you from Mrs Tillich. Hopefully, they would still be okay.

After gathering your things, you settle on your lawn and get work picking out the weeds and giving your garden a general tidy up. You bask in the sunlight, listening to the sounds of birds, and cars passing, and the sounds of the Johnson kids a few doors down, having a water fight from the sounds of it.

You’re so lost in your own world that you don’t realise someone has joined you.

“Hi.”

You jump and look up at the source of the voice.

It was him. The silver fox. He was stood on Mrs Tillich’s side of your adjoining fence, his arms crossed, and Christ, is it normal for a shirt to stretch like that over someone’s arms?

“H…hi,” you stammer before you clear your throat. Pathetic. “Hi.”

His gives you a small grin before he holds his hand out. “I’m William. But I usually go by Bill, you can call me Bill if you want.”

You stand quickly and make your way over. You shake his hand as you introduce yourself. You ignore the way your skin tingles as he shakes your hand.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, before crossing his arms again. Defensive guy. “We saw you – me and my grandmother – in your garden, and she told me I should introduce myself. She said you were friendly, and ‘single’. I apologise if she’s been a bit persistent.”

So he is the grandson!

You shake your head at his words, giving him a soft smile. “No, not, she’s…not at all. I enjoy chatting to her, she’s really nice.”

“She can be...” he says before going quiet, giving you a look as if he felt sorry for you, but also trying to placate you. “She’s a bit...you know.” he motions to his head.

“Really, you don’t have to explain yourself,” you say, giving a kind smile. “I don’t mind chatting to her, really.”

William nods at you and you both fall into an awkward silence. You bite the inside of your lip as you study him for a second. What do you talk about? You feel like you know this guy pretty well, thanks to your neighbour, but now he’s in front of you, you can’t think of anything to say.

So you blurt out the first thing that come to your mind that you remember about him. “So you’re in the military?”

He tenses, his jaw setting as he stares at you with a hard look on his face.

“Mrs Tillich mentioned you were...” you say, going quiet at the look on his face. “Never mind, I might have misunderstood - “

“I’m not in the military anymore,” William said quickly. “She gets confused, because...you know...” he motions to his head again.

You stand and chat some more before he says he has to get moving. He was nice; a little quiet and reserved, maybe, but polite. And a little awkward. He stared so intently as you talked, and it gave you butterflies. He tells you it was nice to meet you and he heads back inside the house. He sends you a wave goodbye when he leaves a few hours later.

He visits again sooner than you expect, just a few weeks later. He gives you a small wave with the usual nod this time as he pulls into her driveway. You give him a wave back, but you don’t stop to chat. You don’t know when he leaves.

He comes back again a few weeks after that, but you’re not home. You only know because Mrs Tillich tells you about it the next day. She mentions Bill asked about you, causing your cheeks to warm as you tell her, “That’s nice, I hope he’s doing well.”

She actually giggles at you.

He doesn’t visit again for another few months, which was odd. You couldn’t help but ask Mrs Tillich about it, and she giggles at you again. She explains he’d been busy.

“He travels a lot,” she said, but you’d gathered that yourself. “He still calls me every few days.”

When he does come back, you’re shovelling snow in your driveway. He drives carefully up his grandmother’s driveway before climbing out the car, wearing the warmest – and most expensive – looking grey coat. He gives you the nod and a wave in greeting as he walks towards Mrs Tillich’s house, and you give him a smile and a wave back.

Like the last time you saw him, he doesn’t stop to chat.

You can’t help but feel disappointed, and somewhat put off. Had you made a bad impression last time? You had made that comment about the military, and he didn’t seem too happy about it, maybe it was that? But you were only going off the information given to you.

Whatever, you didn’t know they guy, you shouldn’t feel so sad about it.

You continue to shovel the snow from your driveway, trying not to think about William Tell, but after a while, you’re shocked out of your reverie again.

“Hi.”

Just like in the summer, you jump, and you look at him, where he’s stood behind the fence with a small smirk on his face as he watches you, his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” you say, stopping to face him.

“Been a while.”

“It has,” you say, giving him a nod.

He swallows, and it was so subtle you would have missed it if you weren’t watching him as intently as you were. Surely, he wasn’t nervous?

“I’d like to apologise,” he said after another moment of silence. “For last time. I’ve been told I can be a little intimidating and it comes off as rude. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

You shake your head at him. “I didn’t think you were rude at all.”

He gives an amused huff through his nose. “You don’t have to spare my feelings - “

“No, really, I thought...it was nice talking to you.”

You go quiet, and you stare at each other again in silence.

You can’t get a read on this guy. You can’t tell if he likes you or not. You’re not even sure if you want him to like you. He’s only your neighbour’s grandson, and sure, he’s good looking and has a nice-looking body from what you could see, but really, he doesn’t seem all that interested in you –

“I may be way off base here, and I apologise now if I’m wrong, but would you like to go out for dinner sometime?”

Oh. Maybe he is interested.

“Yes,” you say instantly, without even thinking.

“What?” he asks, his eyes widening a little, as though he wasn’t expecting you to accept his offer.

“What?” you asked back, eyes just as wide, because had you answered too quickly? Were you being too eager?

“You want to go out for dinner with me?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you say, immediately again.

“Okay,” Bill nods, before giving a small smile. “Okay. Okay, great.”

Your cheeks warm as you smile shyly. “Great,” you breathe.

You stare at each other for a while, and your insides feel all gooey. Then he’s looking at you expectantly, but you’re sure you’re just giving heart eyes to him. “So…can I have your number?”

“What?” you ask, blinking at him before your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh, yeah, yes!”

He hands you his unlocked phone and you place your number into it (you’ll deny your hands were shaking until your dying days). You send yourself a quick text and feel your phone vibrate in your pocket as you hand his phone back to him.

“I’m pretty much free most evenings and weekends,” you say, trying not to sound like too much of a loser.

Bill nodded at you with a smile. “I leave in a few hours, but I’ll be back to visit next week, so…I’ll call you later, we can arrange something?”

You nod. “Yeah, that’ll be great.”

He gives you a nod. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you say as he turns and walks back into his grandmother’s house, but not before he turns back to look at you and gives you a wave.

You wave back.

You can’t stop smiling. And now your thoughts are filled with the forthcoming phone call about your date next week. What were you going to wear? Where would you go? He isn’t from round here, so maybe you could suggest a really good place. You’ll be cool, you’ll be collected, you’ll not throw yourself at him…you say as you shamelessly think about how much of a filthy kisser he might be…

#the card counter #william tell #william tell x reader #william tell x gn!reader #oscar isaac

[elisysd]

Dandelions - Ruth B

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

tw: mention of depression, suicid*l thoughts

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

Charles woke up with a tremendous headache the next morning. He fumbled for a familiar presence but found only an empty bed. He struggled to sit up and opening his eyes was agony. On his bedside table were some aspirin and a glass of fruit juice, which he drank in one gulp. He could hear noises coming from the living room and tried to get up to see what Lyanna was up to. The room was swaying dangerously and he had to try twice before he reached the door. The light dazzled him and he wondered what time it could be.

Lyanna was busy getting her things together and packing her bags. The next day she was off to New York for a photoshoot and an interview with a major magazine that she had been putting off for several months. Part of her couldn't help but laugh when she saw Charles stumble into the room. She felt sorry for him and went over to him to help him onto the sofa.

“Tough morning?” she sarcastically asked.

“Don’t laugh. I feel like my head is about to explode. I’m not drinking ever again.”

“That’s what they all say. So this is true then, once 25 years old is over your body can’t handle alcohol anymore.”

“I handle alcohol very well.”

“Sure, seems like it.”

“Laugh all you want; I'll remind you of this when you're 25.”

“Still two years to enjoy then!”

She continued to walk back and forth across the apartment, while Charles watched her, trying as best he could to recover. Once she was done, she sat beside him as he let his head rest on her shoulder.

“What do you want to do today? Since it’s my last day, I was thinking we could do something just the two of us.”

“I’m in no state to go out so maybe we can do something chill?”

“Like what? Netflix? You promised me we would watch Drive to Survive together if I remember, months ago.”

“If I promised you then, I shall keep it.”

Halfway through the last season, Charles fell asleep while Lyanna was deeply into the show. She was amazed by how Netflix managed to make it overly dramatic when it was not that deep. Still, she thought that Charles looked good on camera. As if it were made for him. A shame he was such a bad actor, Hollywood would love him.

Charles's head was now resting on the young woman's lap. Lyanna ran her hand tenderly through his hair, finding him very cute like that. Her heart ached at the thought of having to leave the next day and abandon him, even if only for a few days. She would meet him again in Austin but she knew that they would only have a short time for each other. Charles had a Grand Prix to win and apart from being there for emotional support, there was little more she could do.

She was more apprehensive about Austin than she cared to admit. Deep down, she knew there would be a before and an after. This was their first official public outing as a couple and she knew the media would have a field day. She just hoped that it wouldn't be the only topic of conversation in the media and that Charles would be able to dodge questions about their relationship.

She was happy in Monaco, away from it all and with Charles. A protective little bubble just for them, far from her daily routine and her obligations. She still had a bit of trouble with the city, but she was getting used to it. She thought back to what Kika had said to her a few weeks earlier and she finally understood what she meant. It wasn't that she was getting used to Monaco or that she was beginning to like the city, it was the presence of Charles at her side that made everything better. She knew that no matter where she was, if he was near her, everything would be fine. Then reality hit her as hard as a speeding truck. She was falling in love or maybe she already was, she didn't know. She couldn't work out when it had happened, it was just there.  She had no real idea what love was or what she was supposed to feel. But this feeling of well-being, this urge to stupidly smile every time Charles broke into her thoughts, which happened far too often than she cared to admit, this desire to be close to him all the time, she knew it went far beyond simple infatuation. 

The air suddenly ran out of her. She tried awkwardly to get up from the sofa without waking Charles, but failed miserably.

“Lya? What’s wrong?” he groggily asked.

She didn't seem to be listening to him, too busy analysing what she had just realised. She was in a state of panic, pacing up and down the room in front of Charles, completely lost and wondering if his girlfriend had gone mad.

“Love, are you listening to me?”

He ended up ambushing her in a corner of the room, taking her in his arms and forcing her to look at him. She looked confused and on the verge of tears, which frightened Charles.

“Lyanna, talk to me. Please baby, you are scaring me.”

“Charles… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how or when it happened…”

“What happened love? Tell me, I promise I won’t be mad, I just need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

“Charles, I think I’m in love with you!” she blurted out, choking on her words.

Charles's heart skipped a beat. He had imagined this moment in so many ways, but never, ever, had he thought that it would be Lyanna who would say those words first, let alone that she would be in this state when she confessed them. Charles let out a small laugh, which soon turned into a full-blown laugh. A big mistake, because it only made Lyanna panic even more, as she couldn't understand what was so funny about it.

“It’s really not funny, Charles! Stop laughing out me!”

Seeing her distraught expression, Charles stopped immediately. He approached her gently, cupping her face in his hands and resting his forehead against hers.

“You think you are in love with me? My Lyanna, I’ve fallen for you a long time ago but was too stupid pour admit it. I was waiting for the perfect occasion to tell you without scaring you away but you just beat me to it. You never cease to surprise me.”

“You love me?” she asked needed to be sure of Charles’ feelings.

“So much. You have no idea to the extent.”

“Okay. It’s good.”

He giggled while capturing her lips with his.

“It’s good indeed.”

“It’s a scary feeling for me.”

“I know. For me as well, but we will work it out and everything will be fine, I promise.”

“I’m in love.” She repeated again, seeming to fully comprehend how deep her feelings ran for him.

A long smile stretched across her lips and her body relaxed as Charles traced small circles down her back. The young woman stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips gently against Charles'. This kiss conveyed much more than her feelings for him, it was a promise. A promise that she wouldn't run away and that even if admitting she loved him made her feel vulnerable in a way she hated, she wouldn't back down.

“Don’t break my heart, okay?” she told him, pulling away and resting her cheek against his chest where she could feel his heart beating loud.  

“Don’t break mine either.” He responded, kissing the top of her head, and pressing her against him a little closer as if he wanted their bodies to become one.

They spent the rest of the day in the comfort of each other's arms whispering sweet I love you’s between kisses. For both Lyanna and Charles the day after would be hard to let go of each other.

And indeed it was. Lyanna never cried that much when it came to say goodbye and Charles had a hard time letting her go through the security’s doors. It was especially harder considering that her flight was long and they would not be able to talk to each other as much as they wanted.

Charles spent the day, brooding alone in the apartment where everything started to remind him of Lyanna. How cute she looked, cutting vegetables in his kitchen, how perfect she was in his bed when she was wearing nothing but one of his shirt, how ethereal she looked on his balcony during golden hour. He was so whipped, he knew that. He probably looked stupid behaving like a lost puppy, but he did not care. She loved him. She said the three little words. Her. To him. Not the other way around. And the thought of it made him feel like his feet were no longer glued to the ground.

On the other side of the Atlantic, after a long flight and a few hours' rest, it was time for Lyanna to get ready for her shoot and the interview that would follow. So it was with eyes ringed by lack of sleep and red from crying during the 10-hour flight that she greeted the hairdresser, make-up artist and stylist. Several hours later, she was barely recognisable.

The photo session went off without a hitch, Lyanna being used to it. When she had finished, she was ushered into a small room away from the hall where the photos had been taken, where a journalist was waiting for her, coffee in hand.

“Miss Michel, I’m Elena Doherty, it’s me who is going to conduct the interview today.”

“Pleasure, to meet you.”

Elena motioned for her to take a seat in one of the armchairs as an assistant came to bring her a cup of tea.

“You don’t mind it being recorder, right? So I’m sure the transcription of your words will be correct.”

Lyanna told her that everything was fine with her and Elena finished putting everything in place before settling down to face her.

"So, Lyanna. First of all, I'd like to thank you for your time and for agreeing to this interview. I know your words have been few and far between in recent years. It’s going to be an intimate interview. Imagine that as a journey inside the mind of a talented actress that some dare to call a once in a lifetime kind of prodigy.” Started the journalist.

“I don’t know if that would be accurate. It’s probably a bit too much.”

“But that’s what people said when it came to your performance in the last Steven Spielberg’s movie that owned you an Oscar nomination for best supporting actress.”

“To be honest, I don’t really read what the press says about me. I care about art and work well done, not reviews.”

“But surely you must be flattered to hear such things about you.”

“Well, of course. It’s always a pleasure to see people enjoying your work, especially when there are so many people involved in a project. I’m a team player, I’m never going to take all the credit for a movie. I’m proud of my work for this one, but what makes me even prouder is the effort the whole team put in it. A movie cannot be great if the team is not at 100% no matter how good the actors are.”

“That’s for sure. You were recently involved in Flowers and Crowns, a romcom that you shot in Monaco. Care to tell us a bit more about what made you jumped in the project? It was a bit bold, especially since everyone was expecting to see you aim for bigger and Oscar worthy type of movies.”

“I’ve always been someone who follows my guts. There is nothing interesting to say about it. I loved the script, I’ve never done a romcom before and I think after all the pressure from the Oscars, I needed to do something light where I could have fun.”

“And did you? Have fun, I mean.”

“I did yes. I think people will enjoy the movie. In terms of vibes it’s a mix between a Bridget Jones’ type of humour and Notting Hill with Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. I can’t wait for it to be released.”

“Can you tell us a bit more about your character or is it still something you cannot say?”

“Well, I guess that I can tell you that from all the amazing characters I had the chance to portray, she is definitely the one who is least like me. I can't say any more at the risk of being told off by production.” She added while laughing.

“Shooting in Monaco must have been a dream though, it’s a dreamy location for a movie. Did you feel like you were working or was it more like holidays’ vibes? What was it like?”

“Well it was very different from what I’m used to, very sunny and hot if you compared it to London where I live. But of course, it’s beautiful. We had the chance to shoot in various places, not only in studios. And it was amazing for me to be able to speak French for once.”

“I can’t beat around the bush any longer Lyanna, you must know it, but there were some rumours about you and F1 driver Charles Leclerc while you were shooting the movie. I won’t ask if it’s true because I know that you are not one to talk about private matters in the media. I’m going to ask how you handled that?”

Lyanna gulped and looked at the window. When her agent asked her if she would like to the interview, her first question was to ask for the most trustworthy journalist to conduct it and to not ask personal questions.

“It was hard. I don’t have the greatest relationship with the medias, it’s not new, you know that. So seeing my private life once again being displayed and speculated for entertainment purposes was not a good feeling. It brought back a lot of bad memories.”

“For our readers that might not know what we are talking about, do you feel like explaining?”

“A few years ago, I was a victim of what we call revenge porn. I was in a relationship that did not end well and the person I was with at the time decided to leak intimate pictures and videos of me in the press. The worst thing is that all the videos and pictures had been taken without me knowing about it. And from there onwards, things started to go downhill.

 I started to get harassed by paparazzi to the point that I could no longer leave my flat since they were always outside of my building, waiting for me to come out. I’ve been called names on social media as well as in magazines. You can imagine what kind of things were said. I was dropped by brands and projects that did not want their names to be associated with mine. I lost everything to the point that I had to fly back home to hide.

I was not eating anymore, I was spending my days in bed and I’m sad to admit it, but at some point, I started to wonder why I was still on this planet. What for? And that maybe people would be better off without me since this whole thing had repercussions on my family. My mom was shamed because of me to give an example. Later I was diagnosed with PTSD and depression. And you know, the worst in this story is that I’m the one who was blamed for everything when my ex-boyfriend was able to get away with it unscathed. More than that, he was praised for it, people were saying at the time how lucky he was to have broken up with me considering that I had no shame posing for pictures. I was the victim but everyone put the blame on me. It took months if not almost a year for the truth to be told but it was too late and up until today, I’m still blamed for this story.”

“How did you get through it?”

“With the love and support of the people around me and a lot of therapy sessions. I spend the year following the event working on myself to get back on my feet.”

“And career wise, how did you manage to come back on top?”

“I thought that I would never step on a movie set ever again. I really thought it was over for me. I had to start all over again. No important names from the industry wanted me back, so I started to shoot short movies, unpaid ones sometimes, and I started to work with independent directors on low budget movies. It was an amazing experience despite the circumstances. It really brought back my confidence. I think, somehow, it saved me, and I will be forever grateful for those projects. I thought that it would be my career from now on. And the Steven Spielberg called me and who can say no to Steven Spielberg? The rest is history.”

“I have to ask the question after hearing your story, how are you today, Lyanna?”

“I’m proud and glad to say that I’m happy. Really happy. Probably the happiest I’ve ever been. I have a good support system; I work with the most trustful people and I’m not putting pressure on myself. The projects I choose are ones I truly believe into. I don’t have special career plans; I go with the flow. And I have fun, that what is the most important.”

“I’m glad to hear that. If you could change something in the industry you work in, what would it be? If there was a message you wish to pass on, what would it be?”

“I wish Hollywood would be more supportive of women for starters. And to advocate more when it comes to mental health. So many artists struggle with it and it would be nice for us to feel supported by the industry.”

“Thank you, Lyanna, for your time. I wish you the best in your future endeavors.”

“Thank you, Elena. “

When Lyanna returned to her hotel room, she felt relieved. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and for the first time she was looking forward to reading the article in the press. It couldn't have been late in Monaco, she knew that Charles was due to fly out soon and that he must have been in the middle of packing his bags, so she grabbed her phone to send him a message in which she told him, without going into too much detail, how the interview had gone. She was surprised to see him answering her almost immediately.

I’m so proud of you. I know how painful it must have been to relived that. I can’t wait to read it and to see you. I already miss you like crazy. I love you.

========

author's note: SHE SAID IT. Finally. I so loved writing this chapter. I just love how cute they are. Next chapter, Austin GP... I can't wait. As usual, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts and reactions in the comments, in the ask box or through DM. Take care!

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@zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals @aundercover @ruleroftheuniverse @fangirlika @writerscurse @elijahmikaelsonbitch @leclerc13

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#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #fiction #writing #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #cl16 #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc blurb #f1 x oc #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

[renonv]

genuine question from someone who’s been following for 5 years now and has long since left the hetalia fandom but still loves your art to bits - are spain and romano related? because you do ship art if i’m not wrong, and from what i remember in the show it depicts spain adopts romano, yet in the later seasons they’re treated as the same age. what’s up with that, if you don’t mind answering??? is it a fandom thing that we’re never gonna get an answer to????

Hi!! First of, thank you for being here for so long Omg? Sorry for all the disappearances

Short answer: In my personal perception and canon I’ve been creating of hetalia since I've joined the fandom, they are not.

Below is a more rambly long answer

Long answer: It doesn’t make sense for them to be, and I personally always hated that aspect of the manga/show with Romano being so much younger (doesn’t make fucking sense) and with people equating them to be brothers bc Spain asks him to call him that (cringe, but to me it never meant that he saw Romano as a brother figure, just an underling, but still it's all so cringe).

Hima is a freak and I don’t agree with a lot of stuff he put into Hetalia, but unfortunately this has become my hyper-fixation from a young age, so its been really hard for me to abandon this ship. I've been mentally tossing around the shit that comes with liking hetalia and how people see me for interacting with it, and it is one of the main reasons I’ve stopped making content for it for so long.

bc I can’t defend it, some shit in hetalia is just straight up bad. But over the years I’ve found people that think like me and also developed these better stories/relationships/ideas than Hima could, and together we had developed something that’s good with characters and an idea that was unfortunately poorly executed imo

There will always be people that do see them as siblings and honestly that ok because at this point it seems that hetalia is what certain people want it to be, that’s why I’m starting to put out my own head canons on the beginning of everything and such. I try not to interact w that stuff just bc that’s not something I agree with, but again people will do as people will.

But yeah I personally hate the incest, the gross pedo shit, and the poor take on whole World War Two situation, and the racism. And generally try to avoid interacting with people in the fandom that support those things.

Hope this makes sense!!

[sublimecatgalaxy]

hey! Are you okay? I hope so, can I make a request for daryl dixon? something angst but cute at the end as if daryl had moved away from reader(they were a couple) because of leah, and then she leaves with maggie, but at the end of season 10 they meet again. something like that if you want, sorry for the english and the inconvenience, thanks for the wonderful writing

I’m doing well honey, thank you. Please don’t ever feel like an inconvenience, I love this request! Thank you for your lovely words :)

Maggie looks at me, eyes full of worry as I stare at the familiar man standing in the middle of the clearing, guiding new people around a beaten and broken Alexandria. He looks older, hair longer as if Carol decided to let him grow it a bit, but still the same Daryl as I knew before.

"You didn't tell me he was back." I mutter, hands shaking at my sides and I shove them into my pockets, sending her a frantic look. She reaches out to me, looping her arm around mine with a sad smile.

"I didn't know." I allow her to lead me further into Alexandria, occasionally stopping to say hi to friends that we've gone too long without seeing and I let a relieved smile slip across my lips.

That is, until Daryl approaches me while Maggie is talking to Carol.

"You still mad?" He asks, swaying awkwardly back and forth as a dog whines at his feet, obediently glancing up at Daryl before giving me a curious look, head tilting cutely.

"You still stupid?" He scoffs at my rebuttal, hand reaching up to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I'm taking that as a yes." I go to move past him but his fingers wrap around my upper arm with a sigh.

"Listen to me, alright-"

"No, you don't get to call the shots right now, D." I snap, holding a hand out to him before snatching my arm from him, a frown pulling on my lips as I fight the tears that want to so desperately rise to my eyes. "You left me, willingly, without hesitation." The reminder hits him like a punch to the gut, his head drooping a bit so he doesn't have to look at me, so he doesn't have to remember the pain that he put me through. "Did she leave you and you remembered that I existed and thought to pay me a visit?"

His eyes lift to mine briefly in a heated gaze and I realize that he never knew that Carol told me about his little fling out in the woods. He thought that the betrayal that I feel is simply from him running away after Rick died but I can tell by the worried look in his eyes that he knows that this is so much deeper than him running away from me.

"I never forgot about you." He promises, stepping up to me in a desperate attempt to be close to me but with every step forward he takes, I inch away from him. "I didn't know what to do after Rick-"

"So you're blaming this on your dead best friend?" His eyes close in frustration, head shaking as a scoff escapes me. "You went out and fucked another woman, abandoned me, and somehow it's Rick's fault." I can't fight the tears now, reaching up to bat them away quickly as Maggie looks over to us and an apologetic look flashes through her eyes.

"I'm sorry." He mutters.

"You're not."

A minute or two passes and I take the chance to look anywhere but him, watching them attempt at building the walls back up, patch together walls on buildings that tumbled down in the fight and share meals together. I've missed this.

"But you're right. She left." Daryl sighs, heartbreak riddling his voice as he shuffles his feet against the dirt beneath us, a bitter smile slipping across his lips. "I couldn't choose her. She asked me to."

"So who'd you choose?" I ask, not even trying to hide the eagerness to my voice, hoping that he'd finally give me the answer that I've been waiting to hear for years from him.

"My family. You." He says almost instantly, shoulders rolling back in relief as if just saying the words lessened the load on his back. I let him step towards me, hair falling in his eyes as he smiles softly. "When Carol would come out and find me, I'd ask her if you were back yet. Every time she said no and it just gave me no reason to come back." He explains and his words make my heart ache so badly that I reach up to rub my sternum, sucking in a gasp of air as my tears dry on my cheeks.

"You didn't come back because I wasn't there?" I ask with a small pout, not missing the fond smile he wears when he looks up at me, eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

"You were my family. Without you there, I didn't wanna go back."

"You're making me a little less mad." I allow myself to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that was swarming around us just moments ago and, though it takes everything in me, I do truly feel less bitter after hearing his explanation. "If you keep saying nice things, I might give you a hug." I offer and his face falls in relief, head nodding as he reaches out to me, pulling me into his arms desperately.

"I love you and I missed you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @bungunz

#daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fic

[rachellesedai]

A tiny holiday fic for Lockwood and Co. I've only read the first two books so please forgive any inconsistencies. I just love them so much.

Lockwood & Co Happy Holidays

“What are you doing?”

Lockwood’s cool voice startled me and I teetered on the stool I’d dragged into the living room. I put out a hand and steadied myself, careful not to knock any of the artifacts off the wall where I was attempting to affix a string of lights. Only then did I half turn and look down at Lockwood standing below me, his hands on his hips. I couldn’t tell from his expression if he was amused or annoyed at the transformation I had worked on our little sitting area.

Cut paper snowflakes covered in silver glitter were tacked up in various spots. A few even hung from the ceiling tied to bits of string. An evergreen garland with sprigs of plastic holly wound its way along the shelves and an old-fashioned Christmas village adorned the mantle.

“I found a box of decorations in the basement shoved behind some old sparring equipment. I thought we could cheer the place up a bit.” I turned back to the wall and secured the lights. I bent to step down and found that Lockwood had crossed the room and was holding out a hand to assist me. I took it and hopped down, but rolled my eyes at him. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“No,” he said slowly, “It’s very… festive.”

I peered into his eyes, my stomach tightening as I worried I’d trampled on some old family tradition or brought up an unwanted memory. I opened my mouth to offer to take everything down when George burst into the room. He still wore his puffy coat and his cheeks were red from the cold.

“Did you make this gingerbread, Lucy?” he asked, taking a large bite, “It’s quite g—” George stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening. “What’s all this?”

“Lucy’s done some holiday decorating,” Lockwood said, “It’s quite lovely, don’t you think, George?”

“I thought you hated Christmas,” George stammered, taking in the lopsided miniature tree on the coffee table, “A load of sentimental nonsense, I think you said.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” Lockwood muttered, at the same time I said, “I should have asked you before putting it up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lockwood said, glowering at George.

I shrugged. “My mum always thought decorations were a waste of money. I guess I was always a little jealous of all those cute little houses covered in pretty lights with their fancy trees and perfect little families inside. When I saw the box I just really wanted to put lights up everywhere and have a real holiday for once.”

I looked away, my cheeks heating up. I hadn’t intended to say all that. The last thing I wanted was for the boys to feel sorry for me. I brushed a bit of glitter off my jumper and wrapped my arms around myself. I studiously avoided looking at either George or Lockwood. The multicolored lights blinked on and off as a thick silence hung in the room.

“Well, I think we could use some Christmas cheer after last week’s job,” Lockwood said, “That abandoned school was enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.”

I sighed. He was right. Dealing with the ghosts of so many children had been depressing, if not terribly dangerous. I risked a look at him and saw that quirky little smile he always used to try and tease me into a better mood.

“A little nonsense will do us some good,” he said, an encouraging lilt to his voice, “What do you think, George?”

“I think it’s fine as long as there is more of this gingerbread,” George said, “In fact, I have something that will make it perfect.”

I looked inquiringly at Lockwood as George hurried out of the room. He shrugged at my unspoken question. “I have no idea.”

I looked around the living room; the glow of the lights reflected off the glitter on my handmade snowflakes. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Lockwood’s fingers brushed mine and I realized he was still standing quite close to me. “If it makes you happy, Lucy, I’m all in,” he said in a low voice. I turned and looked up at him. His eyes were warm and sincere. A riot of butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“I’m very happy,” I whispered. Lockwood leaned in. Our foreheads almost touched.

At that exact moment, of course, George returned. He had shed his coat and was lugging the skull, an old cassette player, and a dusty shoebox shoved under one arm. He was also wearing an alarmingly large Santa hat.

I shook my head, laughter bubbling up as George placed the skull on a chair and put the Santa hat over the top of the jar. “I think we should see just how much Christmas cheer this thing can stand,” George said, plugging in the cassette player.

The shoebox, it turned out, was stuffed with cassette tapes in tiny plastic boxes. George selected one, popped the tape in, and pressed the play button. A slightly tinny rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” filled the room. The skull materialized, an expression of disgust forming for an instant before it dissolved into a sullen green glow.

Lockwood smiled and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll make some cocoa,” he said.

Soon Lockwood, George, and I were curled up in our chairs, sipping cocoa, and listening to George’s very eclectic collection of Christmas carols. I looked over at Lockwood who had tossed aside his magazine and was leaning back in his chair, regarding me thoughtfully.

Thank you. I mouthed. He nodded, a rather satisfied smile on his lips. I smiled back and settled down to enjoy a rare quiet evening at home. “Happy Christmas,” I whispered to myself, confident this was going to be the best holiday season ever.

#lockwood & co #locklyle #Christmas fic #Rachel writes #fan fiction

[hopefuloverfury]

may i request something with Elliott? something fluffy, perhaps? I've had a bit of a bad week and need a pick me up, and your hc list for how the bachelors fell in love was so sweet :') I just had his post-marriage heart event and can't stop thinking about it, so maybe something like that? maybe the moment when he comes home?

I’m sorry you had a bad week, anon. I hope this helps cheer you up a bit, even if it’s a little late. And I hope this week is better! I still haven’t married any of the candidates in my (singular) save file because I love all of them and can’t choose. Ugh. Anyway! Elliott is husband material and I love him.

898 words. Kinda short :( GN!Farmer, pure fluff. A planet made out of squishmallows. A field full of grazing sheep. Pillow stuffing fluttering around you after a pillow fight gets too crazy. So. Much. Fluff. Not beta'd or proofread, sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it anyway <3

Elliott closes the front door behind him, nodding in satisfaction when the lock clicks into place quietly. The house is silent, and Elliott carefully toes off his stuffy dress shoes and abandons his suitcase by the door. He’ll unpack in a bit, but right now he has more pressing matters to attend to.

Slipping on his house shoes, he climbs up to the second floor of the farmhouse. Miso meows from the top of the stairs, greeting him with an eager flick of the tail. Elliott smiles fondly at the gray tabby and scratches under his chin for a moment, before straightening up and making his way to the bedroom. 

Impatience nips at his heels as he pushes the door open, and his breath leaves him all at once at the sight before him.

Yellow morning sunlight streams through the windows, bouncing off the white flannel sheets, and the whole room glows, edges blurred like an old polaroid. At the center of the world is the Farmer, curled up in the middle of the bed with their arms held tight around a pillow. 

His throat closes.

His pillow.

He presses the back of his hand, still chilled from the frigid morning air, to his burning face. The things they do to him, truly.

Collecting the scattered pieces of himself from the floor, Elliott shuffles across the room and kneels beside their bed. Affection ripples in his chest like the surface of a pond disturbed by a fallen leaf as he watches them sleep for a few moments, but then it gets to be too much and he’s moving.

He presses a kiss to the top of their head, and squeezes their shoulder in tandem. They grumble in their sleep, and he smiles into their hair. He leans away as they shift a bit, groggily untucking their face from where they’d smushed it into his pillow, and their eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, gorgeous. I’m back,” Elliott whispers, brushing the pad of his thumb over their cheek as they look up at him. They blink a few times, the sun glaring in their eyes, and he smiles softly, endeared by their initial sleepy confusion. 

He clocks the exact moment the realization dawns on them, and suddenly his arms are very, very full.

He chuckles, hugging them tightly as they bury their face into his neck.

“Elliott,” they whisper, tangling their fingers into his hair, and he sighs happily. Their weight against his chest is a welcome pressure. 

“My love.” He rubs his palms up and down their back, refamiliarising himself with the contours of their body. “Ah, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Their arms tighten around his shoulders, and he presses a kiss to the side of their head. They pull away, eyes sparkling in the sun. They’re still soft with sleep, a little less alert than usual, and he tightens his grip on their waist. “How was your tour?”

He hums, running the tip of his finger over a loose stitch on the hem of their shirt. “Nothing I didn't already say in my letters. But one drop of the big city and I’m quenched. I much prefer being back here with you.”

He pecks their forehead.

“I really did miss you,” they whisper, cupping his jaw with a calloused palm when he’s settled back. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Elliott shakes his head with a smile. “You know well enough it was the same for me.”

“I do, but—”

The shrill call of the rooster echoes outside, cutting the Farmer off sharply. They frown, a displeased wrinkle appearing between their eyebrows.

Elliott smiles and smooths out the lines on their forehead with gentle fingers. “Don’t be so disappointed, my love. I’m home, but we’ve both got chores to catch up on, hm?”

He makes to pull away, but their arms keep him firmly locked in place. 

“Stay?” They brush a loose strand of hair behind his ear, and tingles shoot down his spine. He nearly shivers. “I already took care of everything.” 

“Of course you did.” He chuckles, petting their side. “But Darling, I must insist. I have to at least feed Miso.”

“All of his bowls are full. I filled them last night, and we can go to the saloon for a late breakfast if you come back to bed with me. When did you get up this morning? Wasn’t your train at four?” Their lips pillow out in a pout, tempting him. Elliott swallows hard. “Please? I almost forgot what sleeping next to you feels like.”

“Well now you’re just playing dirty,” Elliott mutters, reaching to pinch their hips softly. They jerk against him, and the tip of their nose brushes his own. 

“Is it working?” They ask, grinning.

God help him, he is a weak, weak man.

“You know it is, just—let me change.” The farmer hums, smiling like the cat that got the cream as they bring their hands down to grip at the lapels of his suit jacket. He stares at their lips.

“Hurry up then. I wanna cuddle.”

"Yeah." He nods stiffly. “Anything you want.”

#stardew valley #sdv #elliott #asks #requests #anon #fluffy as all hell good lord #so sweet it's making my teeth ache #it is a bit shorter than I hoped but #I think it's alright #also i used snippets of his dialogue from the actual heart event #but i did try to modify it a little because sometimes the dialogue is awkward #blurbs #gender neutral reader

[your--isgayrights]

Probably a bit silly and you’ve likely answered this before, but do you think you’re going to come back to “at the Very least, the Wall will change?” I’m just getting into ORV and I want to read some fanfic! I promise I am patient but I’m hesitant to start reading something that’s abandoned. I hope this doesn’t come off as disrespectful! I completely understand burnout (med student here hehe) and there’s no shame is shelving a project for a time if it no longer speaks to you. I just wanted to check

You're right that I've answered this before but like it's totally fair to ask me again after how long it's been lol. Bc like I think about this a lot too and thus the answer/feelings I have about it kind of changes?

Like my journey with this fic has kind of been tumultuous because I started it before I had access to ADHD medication and a lot of my life can be divided into the Before times and the like Now Times where my baseline happiness/standard of care of myself is vastly improved. I outlined all of wall fic before publishing the first chapter and then the scenes I wanted to include took up a lot more time to create than I initially thought they would and that like frustration was really harmful to like my sense of being a "writer," I guess?

Sorry, getting into this bc I'm trying to articulate my own feelings to myself, but I'll tldr; it at the end probably.

Like when I first started wall fic it had like a strangle hold on my imagination and was a way I was able to articulate feelings about things in life. Truth is, I'm someone who has called 911 for suicide/self-harm of friends/classmates like 4-5 times before turning 18. There is this feeling of helplessness I always had as a minor that the world was always ending around me but even when I was up till 5 am making sure my friend got to the hospital ok without any way of really knowing except waiting for a text back, I still had to just buck up and go to school the next day. The emotions I have towards these times in my life really latched onto omniscient reader, because the way it discusses suicidal ideation and what can help with it rang really true to me. I love KDJ a lot, part of that is, in my interactions with suicidal ideation, his sense of narrative inevitability really describes the emotions behind it well, the feeling of "this is the only Solution that will Actually work" is sewn into the fabric of the universe as "probability." And I've actually been thinking about that term "probability" a lot lately, and how it relates to ideas about Narratives. We're always estimating the likelihood of future events based on past experiences, calling things "realistic" or not. But the function of this system in my own life has often been to convince myself to 'give up' on certain things, conserve the energy it would take to try them. Sure that has helped me when Ive not had any free time/energy in crunch times or big projects, but when something is actually important, giving up feels like shit to be honest. Which is part of why I really love and kind of idealize this character of Yoo Joonghyuk, someone who 'never gives up.' To me KDJ and yjh in wall fic represent these two radical sides of a spectrum where someone becomes unhappy by giving up caring about everything and someone becomes unhappy by never giving up on anything. KDJ is then sort of this love letter to people who give up on themselves, people who could never imagine living past a certain age and yet somehow implausibly remain. YJH is a love letter to people who have been left behind and are So aware of their choices and their power over situations that they blame themselves for things that were actually out of their control in the first place. It's these two different ways of interacting with helplessness and grief and fear, giving up knowing you never could have made a difference in the first place or being convinced you could always have done Something and blaming yourself for failing, constantly stressing about what you could have done and what you ought to do the next time it happens.

Codifying these themes into Characters is originally this fun way of exploring emotions I have about them and sharing the experience of feeling them with others without having to tear too much of my self a part. I feel like when we're young it feels like a sense of self is something like a wall, an image of ourself that we have Built and must put in work to Maintain from erosion. This sense of self and protection makes us feel distinct from other people, the line we draw where we begin and end in the universe, and they become rules dictating How we will Act and Appear towards others. Drawing these walls and lines is pretty important to KDJ's perspective in wall fic, but i now realize I had sort of started doing to myself? Towards the middle of writing it?

Just because I've been on the Internet so long, I know the sort of "narratives" of being different "kinds of authors" online. Because of this, when I started posting wall fic, something that was of a lot of concern to me was how I appeared as an Author to people reading. I honestly think now that the performance of things I associated with like Being an Author were more sort of motivated by a fear of failure and disappointing others than anything else. It's kind of only been recently that I've realized that I have a choice to do things because I enjoy them instead of the fear of not doing them, which sounds a little crazy/obvious to be honest, but forcing myself to be an honor roll student for like more than a third of my adolescence while completely unmedicated kind of made that sort of intrinsic fear of disappointing others the ole'reliable of Task Motivation. Participating in ORV fandom has sort of been this emotional tight rope walk for me of like. Kind of really desperately desiring validation from others but also being afraid of receiving it bc of like the pressure it then puts on to Keep Doing the thing that Works and otherwise feeling like a Failure. But obviously like creative writing isn't going to have the same like Fear/Urgency factor as life stuff and it shouldn't feel that way, anyway, tbh. I'm kind of having to like. Re-invent the idea of writing being Fun and Relaxing for myself. And the idea that talking to other people on the internet (also like. People in general I still do this at uni even) does not actually have to have like any performative elements or factors of like? Disguise? Because like my sense of self doesn't actually have to be a wall I keep building and have to repatch whenever someone comes along with a pickaxe like my sense of self doesn't actually need a metaphor attached to it because it just is what it is lol. Like whatever I am RN is my "self" and that meaning would only suffer under the restraint of comparison, lol.

It's been easier to like feel normaler/better quicker in like my day to day stuff, but because a lot of the time I spent previously trying to write wall fic lies in that like that brain space where I felt afraid and stressed out etc I think I currently have like an aversion to sitting down with it out of like a fear of returning to that mindset. Because I'm like looking it in the face and such I do have like strategies of getting over it like doing warmups or taking time to make nice writing spaces and having a name to/strategies to access the creative part of my brain, but that stuff takes time and because it's a lot less likely I'll have writing on the brain than go through my every day life like the process of becoming normaler/feeling better goes a lot faster day to day than in my approach to writing.

Because in my brain the progress of wall fic is a sort of gentle curve I've been trying to shape the growth of upwards, I wouldn't say it's abandoned at all. But also like because the next "update" is not really guaranteed and I'm kind of hesitant to force myself to commit to a timeline for finishing/releasing it, I think it makes sense to like hesitate about starting it as a reader? In terms of a sense of completion, the chapters are organized in such a way that each one concerns a sort of complete Section of KDJ's life/relationships, tho. Like, Chapter 1 shows KDJ and YJH's first meeting as kids and establishes the "soulmate" setting. Chapter 2 shows the life KDJ carved himself to thereafter, how he and YJH's paths have diverged, established the stakes of KDJ's current "world" in a way parallel to the first few chapters of wos/orv. Chapter 3 focuses on how the soulmate worldview and KDJ + YJH's characters/past interact with the way they view children/the idea of "childhood/youth." Chapter 4 is meant to show how that worldview encounters adult life/ adult friendships/relationships, but the final part of it is something I'm still working on a bit. The structure is such that I tend to bring the end of the chapter back to a moment of peace/resolution/settling in the "new world" after the events of the chapter and then writing a one sentence cliff hanger about what the next chapter includes. So if you want to give some of it a read but don't want to be left feeling too incomplete, I'd read up till before the last sentence of Chapter 3, tho that's a bit silly, lol.

I will say again and have said before, I don't mind that much getting thoughtful comments/messages like yours at all. Thoughtful in the sense of like, desiring a response from me as a person, I suppose? Towards the start of writing online i really like needed the validation of little comments to feel good about myself/my work, but now I realize that the thing I like actually desire that ao3 comments aren't often a good format for is that I just like talking/discussing these things with other people. Sometimes comments will make me feel more like an unpaid customer service representative getting feedback or a student looking at a quick note on my report card. The kind I like most are messages where people want to ask me questions, argue with me about something, share something of their own interaction with the text that there's room for me to interact back with them as a person. The thing I hate most is feeling like I care too much about something/talk/think too much to the point that people are tired of hearing from me/form a bad opinion of me.

So like typing this all out has actually put myself in the brain space of remembering some of the things I like to write about and feel and how the current part of wall fic explores them. I'm kind of setting up my computer and such to start working on it like rn actually, hopefully the like feelings I'm having towards wall fic won't evaporate when i have to go to my class in 1/2 an hour or when i try to reread some of what I've written so far lol.

TLDR; Wall fic isn't abandoned or on hiatus or anything, but I am super slow about it lol. If you wanna give it a read I recommend stopping before the last sentence of Chapter 3 if you don't want any "cliff hangy" feelings. Questions like yours that ask me to interact with orv/wall fic/related themes do honestly help me start thinking about it again and I'll probably try to work on some of it tonight bc of you so thanks 👍

#long post #wall fic #ask #anonymous #TLDR; Wall fic isn't abandoned or on hiatus or anything #but I am super slow about it lol. If you wanna give it a read I recommend stopping before the last sentence of Chapter 3 if you don't want #any “cliff hangy” feelings. #Questions like yours that ask me to interact with orv/wall fic/related themes do honestly help me start thinking about it again and I'll pr #obably try to work on some of it tonight bc of you so thanks 👍