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milliesdiary · 2 years

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What if you are Jace's sister and he realizes you are in love with Aemond (and he also finds out that you two have been having premarital sex) which causes a fight so you go to Aemond for comfort and he soothes you

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐕𝐎𝐖

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; princess!reader, targcest, mentions of sex. for some context: reader is daemon’s bastard child who rhaenyra welcomed as a part of the family. yes, aemond is a hypocrite :/ we still love him tho!!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for awhile because i hate it. im going to be working on commissions for a bit though, so i decided to post it anyway to keep you guys fed :) please reblog and comment with your feedback. it means the world to me and keeps me motivated! ♡

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃."

Those were Jace’s words the second you walked into the dining room for breakfast. They take you aback, shock you into a frozen stupor.

You and your family have been in King’s Landing for the past few weeks, trying to set aside their differences with the Greens and do their best to reconcile. It has been rough for your younger brothers, though you have been having a brilliant time.

You and Helaena spend plenty of time together, Alicent treats you kindly, and Aegon leaves you alone. And Aemond? Well... you and Aemond are closer than most in terms of relationships.

But that’s a story for another day.

No one else is in the room thankfully — Luke wakes up later in the day, Helaena is presumably outside catching bugs, and your mother is probably off at a meeting with the court — so it’s just you, your younger brother, and the few servants that set the table.

“What?”

Jace gives you an unimpressed look; his chestnut-brown eyes are slightly narrowed, lips melded into a frown. “You love Aemond,” he repeats.

Your heart nearly stops when he says it, and you’re instantly terrified you’ve been caught. It would appear that misfortune has a tendency of catching you off guard. You honestly don’t know what to say.

“...That is quite an accusation,” you try to deadpan. That heated expression of his is chilling; you invite him to sit next to you in hopes of extinguishing it. “Why don’t you just sit down and eat?”

Jace isn’t deterred. He holds his head high and keeps his voice stern; a trait he has undoubtedly learned from your mother. “You told me a couple moons ago that you had no affections for him.”

Oh, Gods. You don’t really want to sit here and listen to him complain about how much of a burden you are from rejecting all of your parents’ attempts at arranging a marriage. For hating every single man they tried to set you up with. You scold yourself more than enough.

“I know what I said. And I mean it. I do not love him, Jace.” You let out a nervous laugh, trying to come across as naïve. The servants are staring now. “What has brought this on?”

“You must think of me as a fool.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you acting so innocent?”

“I don’t love him, Jacaerys. I swear it.” A bitter lie.

For a fleeting moment, you think you’ve won; your brother stands next to the table without saying a word, his mouth clamped shut as he bites the inside of his cheek.

And then he drops the bomb.

“I know you have been seeing each other,” Jace says. It doesn’t come out as a question; it’s a statement. “Stealing each other away in the night.”

Your heart drops in a single second. How does he...?

For these past few weeks, you thought you were being careful. Undetected. There was never anyone around when you slipped through the dark halls of the Red Keep every night and sidled up to Aemond’s door. Not a single voice to stop you as Aemond tugged you into his room and spoke High Valyrian in your ear as he undressed you, as he kissed you senseless, fucked you senseless. It was a dangerous game, of course — but you never actually expected to get caught.

“…Where did you hear that?”

“A kingsguard told me that you parted from his company last night.” Jace’s mouth twists into a disgusted frown. He hesitates, almost like he physically can’t say what comes next. “...From his chambers.”

In that moment, you knew it was over. The gist was up.

“Jace…”

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

And that’s the thing: you can’t say you don’t love Aemond, because it would be the furthest thing from the truth. Your hands fall to your lap and you fist your hands in the skirt of your dress, begging for courage.

“Don’t tell mother.”

Your response — shameful and pleading — speaks volumes. It makes Jace’s skin boil; he had been praying that the knight was wrong. And that hope he clung to so religiously? It’s gone. You can feel the symptoms of a dispute brewing: sweaty hands, agitated eyes, labored breathing. Tension hangs over you like a dark cloud and refuses to dissipate.

“Why?” Jace looks disgusted, repulsed even. It sparks a flame inside you. “You saw his true colors that night. All of us did. Baela, Rhaena. Luke.”

You know what he’s referring to. It is a memory that you want to squeeze the life out of.

“I thought we talked about you sorting out your priorities,” he continues. “What self-respecting daughter of the future Queen runs off and beds whoever she likes without a marriage proposal?”

Yes, perhaps your growing annoyance is misplaced. Your brother wants the best for you, and it’s only natural that he would have his reservations about Aemond.

But he doesn’t know the man like you do; he hasn’t seen his hidden softness.

Sometimes people lose their ability to be recognized when they are joyful — in a pleasant way, of course. Aemond is one of those people. You’ve seen him smile once before. Truly smile. It was not sly, snarky, or coy; for once, it was the sincere kind. You wished he would do it more. It was incredibly beautiful.

If only Jace could have experienced it.

“Don’t speak about him like that,” you mumble.

"I won't restrain myself to appease your ignorance.”

Inhaling sharply, you take a seat at the table and busy yourself by playing with the napkin beside your plate. It’s a feeble attempt at controlling your rising panic. Jace must think you’re acting a bit too calm, because he seems to bristle at your alleged indifference. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. Really, I am. I was just scared—“

“You lied.”

“It was a white lie. No harm was meant to come from it.”

Jace fixes you with a firm scowl. “A white lie? A white lie? Meddling with our uncle who you are not betrothed to is not something that just happens.”

“You are blowing this out of proportion. I did it to keep you from getting upset and—“

“This is not just about the lie itself,” Jace huffs.

“Then what is it?”

“You believed I wasn't worth your honesty.”

Your gut tightens at his remark — you know he’s right and that he deserves to be informed of such things. Finding out that someone you care for is hiding something this important is a rude awakening.

But you can’t stop.

“I knew you would act like this,” you retort. Raising your voice wasn’t planned, but it happens anyway. It feels like your veins are being ripped to bits as the telltale marks of wrath sweep throughout your body. “I will do you a favor next time and not tell you anything at all.”

“Or you could not encourage him,” Jace spits out. “You think that he does not act like his brother, Aegon? For all you know, he could be gallivanting with a servant every second he is not with you.”

Your jaw tightens so firmly that it seems to lock in place. You’re pissed now. “Aemond is not like that.”

“When you see him next, you can tell him to jump in the damn Dragonpit,” Jace continues. You aren’t used to hearing such crude language from him; it has you reeling. “Perhaps he’ll do that after he’s done fucking you.”

Something inside you bursts. Agonizingly. Ferociously. It's a jolt to your system that throws everything off-kilter. It is a painful fury that splits you in two.

You slam your palms down on the table and rise in your chair; you're astonished the wood doesn't split with the force of it. The plates and forks clatter, and Jace almost jumps. The servants bustling around you certainly do.

Your brother has some nerve. You want to spit foul names in his face. Wish to seize him by the collar and force him to kneel before your feet, because why? Why can’t you be with who you want? First it was Daemon who denied that you ever get betrothed to Aemond. Then it was your mother, and now it’s him.

“I do not need protecting, Jace!” Your chest is rising and falling faster now, like the erratic pull of the tides. It feels like there is so much bottled up energy inside of you that you could scream, erupt, or break something … you need to break something. You choose his spirit. “I don’t need you at all!”

Jace’s expression falls then. Along with it goes your anger.

His gaze flits to the ground for a second — as if the stone is a safe haven from your wrath — and you’re about to apologize when he lifts his chin to glare daggers at you.

“I get it now,” Jace laughs bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You would do anything to be held by him. Ceasing to care about who he might hurt next and ignoring his callousness. You see only what you want.”

In his rage, Jace’s lips spew poison from deep in his chest, a dark place that you didn't even know he had.

“You make me wonder how I ended up with a delusional lunatic for a sister.“

Dead silence.

The two of you are just staring at each other now. Jace braces himself when you step away from your seat; he looks like he’s expecting you to slap him, like he’s preparing himself for the sting.

And as much as you would like to do it, you just walk away.

You’re not even sure if Jace tries to stop you at first. Not sure if a servant tries to tries to grab you by the arm. You are running on pure adrenaline, pure buzzing energy, blood pumping like a battle cry in both eardrums.

It takes until you’re exiting through the giant wooden doors to hear Jace yelling your name — and you loathe how worried he sounds, detest it — and then you’re practically running through the stone hallways.

You want to go to bed. Shut everyone out and sleep until you awaken in a different world: one where you are not expected to get married to certain people, where your brother doesn’t expect you to be a person you can’t, and the 'losing an eye’ thing never happened, and … and it’s just you, Aemond, wrapped up in the sheets of your mattress. That’s all.

The world is just cruel.

Every step echoes as you make a beeline for your room. Tears slip down your cheeks and your fists quake; everything hurts. Emotionally, at least. You’re too worn out, too aggravated, too... mad? Hell, you’re not even sure if you’re still mad. The emotion that rips you apart right now feels more like an indigo-drenched sadness than a red-hot anger.

It’s a strange, crushing feeling that has you stifling a sob while rounding a corner.

But, as if the universe hates you, you catch a glimpse of that ethereal man — the fucking bane of your existence — walking down the same hallway. His back is to you, long white hair swishing with every stride he takes, and his posture is strong.

You don’t want to ruin his day. Spoil the mood, or show how weak you can be.

You call out his name anyway, because there’s only one thing you can think of in this moment. A mantra:

I need you right now, My Prince.

I need you to truly look at me and understand me.

Aemond, I need you to see me.

The man turns then. He says your name, and you, who denied loving him, practically run and throw yourself into his arms.

For a moment, Aemond doesn’t move a muscle; he’s confused, at a total loss. But then his palms slowly come down to your waist, supporting your body as he allows you to sniffle into his tunic.

He doesn’t speak for awhile. Instead, he just looks down at you.

Your cheeks are dressed in tears that resemble droplets of honey. Your gardenia scented hair, pressed against his chest, is beautiful. He discovers an unexpected heaven amidst your grief.

“He doesn’t want us to be together,” you try to whisper, but the words falter and trickle pitifully out of your mouth. They lack the power that you so urgently need.

At first, Aemond is silent. He has no idea what you’re talking about; and then it clicks. Jace.

Aemond has never been one to comfort others. You don’t really expect him to do much, honestly. But when he decides to speak, his tone is gentle and holds no judgment. “Your dear brother has found out about our arrangement, I presume.”

You pull away slightly to stare up at Aemond. You drink in every plane of his face; those high cheekbones, his pretty lips, the silver hair that brushes the ridge of his jaw and the scar he hides. You want to absorb all of him.

Aemond’s hands come to rest on your elbows, and then they slide all the way down your arms until he’s tenderly holding you by the wrists. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer before speaking more resolutely. “Did he hurt you?”

“No — No, of course not,” you sniffle. Jace could be stubborn and fierce, but he would never lay a hand on you. “He was just being a brat. We got into an argument and he was ... he was mean.”

Aemond hums at that. “It must not have been too bad then. He is all bark and no bite,” he muses softly. Every syllable is gentle, each vowel soothing in its own right. He’s calm somehow.

It’s in these moments that you wish so deeply you could be like Aemond. Wish that you could stand your ground, despite wanting to run away. Wish that you could hold the barbs of someone’s anger in your palm and not get stung; not allow the sharp edges to slice under your skin and leave streams of blood in its wake.

But you are not strong like him.

With bated breath, you move to embrace Aemond once more, arms wrapping around his middle as you press your nose into the leather of his tunic.

It doesn’t last long.

Aemond leans into you, and then with both hands on your shoulders, gently tugs you away from his chest. You glance at him in confusion, and meet his gaze with an infantile glare.

For a second you think he doesn’t want to hug you. That he’s about to chide you for being a big baby, for getting in a fight with your sibling and blowing things out of proportion.

But then you quickly realize that he just wants to see your face.

The truth is, Aemond doesn’t want you to hide in his arms. He doesn’t want you to bury your head into his chest and conceal your pain, or for you to dig your face into his clothes until each cheek is dry and you look composed again.

He wants you to share every emotion with him openly, no matter how warped or ugly or bruised.

Perhaps that’s what love is; recognizing someone's greatest vulnerability and still choosing to love them.

It’s hard to place what emotion rests itself in Aemond’s eye after that, but whatever it is almost has you numb to how he’s holding both of your hands in his own. That is, until he trails a thumb over your knuckles.

“Convince Jace, please,” you beg once more. The edges of your mouth start to turn downwards as you tear up again, and Aemond’s eye follows; he takes in your grief intently, and you are fully conscious of that fact. “Please. Show him you are worthy of my hand.”

There’s a sort of surprise that swirls in his lilac gaze; however, his lips are in a straight line, his face nothing else but cold, and you can picture the war that rages inside his head.

“I bear a hatred that could draw blood,” Aemond finally murmurs. “Those who do not deserve to be forgiven will not know my mercy. I will not betray my feelings to please others.”

“Try, Aemond. Please. If not for you and your sanity, do it for me.”

Aemond can only stare at you — his only love, his life, his breath of fresh air. The woman who he hopes will be his future wife despite your family’s distaste. He inhales deeply, chest rising and flattening the creases in his tunic, gaze roaming the tear-tracks on your face. And then he caves.

But not before making a demand.

“Do not cry, my love,” Aemond breathes. “It does not suit you.”

And when you blink up at him so sweetly, nodding in a wordless vow, Aemond presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Then he kisses your left cheek, and the right, before slowly tracing his lips against your own.

“Your body is mine,” He whispers into your parted mouth. “And I will find a way to claim it. They will have no choice but to accept me.”

Aemond is a professional at pressing your buttons. It’d be a lie if you said it didn’t excite you; quickly, you capture his lips into a searing kiss. He returns the favor, knowing damn well that you want him, and yet he doesn’t tease in between kisses. He chooses tenderness over taunts just this once.

The air is filled with a sentence unsaid:

Touch my soul with warm words, and I shall do whatever you wish.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd imagines #millie’s works — 📓

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thisismeracing · 8 months

Text

Call me obsessed | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 2.2k ― Warnings: +18; not proofread; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (p in v, fingering, dirty talk, praising kink, mean!dom mick, squirting, no protection); jealous!mick; Minors DNI! ― Summary: Everyone talks about how good it is to date someone who’s exactly like you, but Mick has been finding it hard to believe, especially when his girlfriend has the same sunshine energy as him. The problem? Too many friendly flirts around her. And though he’s not a jealous guy, he finds himself ready to praise her and prove to her that he’s the only one. You can say he's obsessed. ― A/n: I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

⁕ Based on three requests (one, two, and three). ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

It was past midnight. The party was in full swing. Everyone seemed too busy either with drinks, dance, or lip moves. Mick had a beer bottle in his hands and he listened to whatever his group of friends loudly chattered about while keeping an eye on Yn. Well, or trying to keep an eye on her since Yn would fly and disappear around the packed club as if she were literally a social butterfly.

For a long time, people have been comparing the couple. They always pointed out Yn as the sunshine girl, just like Mick was the sunshine boy. You would never see her raise her voice or be openly rude. Her snarky comments were usually very subtle, and the only thing that gave Yn a hard time when the subject was flying under the radar on how she was feeling was her eyes. Which, curiously, was the same as the Schumacher boy.

He would stare the person up and down or arch his eyebrows in confusion. Sometimes he would let out a fake laugh, and his eyes would tell everything you needed to know about how he was feeling.

And contrary to everything people tend to say about dating someone who shared a lot in common, their relationship was amazing. They were able to agree on disagreeing, and when they shared the same opinion they would often gossip about it whenever it involved famous people. Both not being so open to doing it with anyone else. They were each other's favorite confessors.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters in her ear when she slots herself between his legs, a big smile on her lips, her forehead a bit damp from going around talking with everyone.

“I’m sorry, babe, I just met Jana’s girlfriend, she’s so funny, I love them. We were talking abo-”

“The team’s social media manager?” Mick asked, kissing her naked shoulder, and Yn nodded. “Not even I know Jana this close.”

“Your girlfriend is the social butterfly, Mick,” Esteban, who was sitting at the barstool beside them, stated. “She’s just like you, but much more open to new friends. Where you’re kinda shy, she’s…” he stopped, hands on his chin. “How do you say extravertie?” he asked himself.

“I think it’s extroverted, Estie,” Yn said, turning her front to Mick.

“Yeah, oui! Where Mick’s a bit shy, you’re extroverted. So it’s like sunshine and double sunshine,” he explained, but neither the German nor Yn was paying much attention this time, too wrapped up in each other’s stare.

“You look so pretty tonight. Prettier than ever,” Mick whispered in her ear, and Yn draped her body on his, kissing his heart through his white shirt.

“You look like quite the catch too,” was her answer.

And when Mick leaned in to connect their lips in a kiss, he was interrupted by Lando, “Yn, Yn, Yn, he’s about to play the song we asked for.”

And before Mick or Esteban can question ‘Who’s he?’ Yn explained that it was the DJ who was super friendly and ended up friends with Lando and her, to which the French guy just arched an eyebrow to his best friend, as if saying, ‘See my point? Double sunshine’. Yn kisses Mick’s cheeks briefly, and in the blink of an eye, she disappears in the crowd stopping here and there to talk to people that the Schumacher was almost sure she just met that weekend. And you see, he wasn’t a jealous guy, far from that. Mick knows Yn loves him. He knows she’s someone warm and happy, and that seems to call people to her, and though people say that they’re the same he secretly thinks that everyone’s in love with her, not with him.

And he doesn’t judge.

He’s in love with her too.

The problem is that lately, everyone is on her lane, so much they can’t seem to catch a break, and the line is crossed for him that night when he’s in a friend’s circle and Yn gets there straight into Pierre’s waiting arms exchanging some kind of internal joke. And he knows Pierre’s a flirt as a joke. He knows the French is very much in love with Kika. But the second one of the guys asks if Yn is Pierre’s girlfriend Mick is fuming.

“No,” it’s Mick’s monosyllabic answer before he brings Yn to his embrace, holding her in front of his body and burying his head on her neck. He doesn’t even register that Kika is right beside Pierre laughing at the way they got it all wrong and explaining that Yn is just like Mick, rarely, somebody doesn’t like her.

When he closed his teeth after nipping at her skin, pinching her pulsing point, Yn held back a whine and laced their fingers. And it was just what Mick needed to drag her out of there. He doesn’t stop to say goodbye, doesn’t stop to explain why they’re leaving, they just navigate between the crowds to the waiting drivers outside the club. The second they reach the hotel and get inside the elevator, Mick is all over her and that fire is completely new to Yn. So much so that she can’t even formulate a question about what got him like that, because he answers for himself too, when he mumbles “Gotta show them you’re mine. Show them you can be friendly with everyone, but there’s one side of you that only I can see.”

Yn relishes in the feeling of being trapped between the elevator walls and his hard body, the way one of his thighs presses against her core and he holds her face between his big hands, making her lips pluck just for him. In fact, everything she would do that night would be just for him. For their pleasure only. In the security of being free to be as nasty as she wanted because that was just what Mick was doing by whispering the most unholy things in her ears.

She was fucked.

Would literally be in just a few seconds, there wasn’t any doubt about it.

Once they were inside his room, Mick made quick work of taking off her dress, exposing her bare breasts to the cool air of the room, her nipples hardening in an instant, she whimpered asking for his touch.

“Oww, poor girl. I haven’t even touched you yet, Schatzi,” he mocked, holding the strings of her panties in his hands and pushing it up a bit, dragging the material right on her clit. Yn moaned, and he smirked deviously. He was being mean because he could and because he knew it turned her on, “I wonder how wet that pussy is.”

“It’s for you, Micky. All for you,” she manages to breathe out her answer.

“I bet it is, Schatzi. I bet you kept thinking about me losing my patience, dragging you into one of those bathrooms, and fucking you until they all heard you screaming,” his dirty words kept going dragging more and more moisture from her body. Making it hotter. “Or did you think about me fingering you under the table?” he chuckled maliciously, and louder when Yn grabbed one of his hands and pushed it inside her pants.

Mick shook his head, keeping his fingers still right on top of her clit, “tsk tsk, that’s not how this works, Yn. You know that though everyone says you’re a ray of sunshine, you’re actually a bad girl, don’t you? You tease me so much by being just like me, it’s not even fair,” he remarks.

“Micky, I-” she’s interrupted by his pointer finger on top of her lips.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson tonight, OK?” Yn could swear she never saw that gleam in his eyes. “You’re mine and only mine. Ok?” he repeated his last remark, grabbing her chin and turning her face to his.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now that’s improving,” Mick nodded, and finally his fingers dragged on her slit, feeling how wet and piling she was for him. He took his time caressing her, circling her clit, and getting so close to inserting his fingers, that Yn wanted to scream at him whenever he retreated.

That was mean.

He knew that was mean.

He was having fun with it all.

But it did not take him long to push her against the mattress of their bed. Big hands held Yn’s waist in place while she tried to make herself as comfortable as she could, supporting her body on her arms, face down on the pillows, and ass up in the air like a piece of art made for his eyes only. Yn heard the drag of his zippers, and his pants coming down. She heard the material of his shirt, and she heard the slap he gave on her ass too, moaning into the bed.

She felt dizzy, a rush of ecstasy running through her body when he pushed her panties to the side and bottomed out in one swift motion splitting her in two. She felt her arousal messing where their bodies intertwined and his firm grip on her waist that would certainly leave bruises behind. The cotton of her piece of clothing pushed deliciously against her clit, and she had to register both feelings when Mick draped part of his body on top of her and bit her shoulder.

“Stay still,” he commanded, and Yn shuddered with how sinful his desire was, “Now show me how much you need me.” She pushed her hips back sending shockwaves through their bodies, starting a lazy pace, with deep but slow strokes.

“I need more, Micky,” Yn cried out, without stopping her movements. She turned her face slightly trying to make eye contact and he caressed her spine with one hand, “Please, give me more, love.”

And that he did. Mick moved one strong leg to the bed, his other foot planted on the ground, and dived into her pussy with strength and pace, taking moans out of Yn. He felt the sweat start at his hairline, and his hands gripping her waist started to slip, making him sink his short nails into her skin. His frantic moves brought them closer to their orgasms, and when he felt her walls contract against his dick he gripped her neck bringing her back flush to his front, creating a new angle and hitting new spots that made Yn see stars. She gripped his waist and slid her hand to his ass digging her own nails there.

Mick grunted and lost a bit of the self-control he had, slipping dirty words in German on her ear.

“You’re taking me so well, being such a good girl for me.”

“All for you, just for you, Mick,” she whimpers moments before he tells her to milk his cock, to let go, to jump off because he’s ready to catch. And Yn does just that. She cums and Mick’s not far behind, giving her just a few more strokes to ride her orgasms and reach his.

“You look so sexy fucked up like this,” the German mumbles after a second of silence catching his breath. Yn smiles lazily. “But I want one more, give me one more, Schatzi.”

Yn lies on her back now, Mick hovering over her, eyes searching for hers in an attempt to make sure she’s still navigating the same boat, feeling the same waters. There’s a wicked glow in her eyes too. He smirks.

Still holding eye contact with Yn, Mick drags his shaft on her slit, messing his dick with their juices, before sliding inside again. She purred in his ear, lacing her arms around his broad shoulders. Mick rolled his hips, and Yn bucked hers, looking for relief again. Searching the shockwaves.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” She confesses, and he grins on her neck, nipping her skin.

“Say my name,” this time his forehead was touching hers, blue orbs trained on hers, and when she moaned his name Mick snapped his lower half, dragging his body against hers. “You’re taking me so well. Always takes me so well. Such a good girl now. I’m obsessed with you. Love you so much, Schatzi,” he praises.

Mick gives another series of commands, telling Yn not to take her eyes off him, to roll her hips, to dig her nails into his shoulders, and to moan louder. She does it all. She does everything in a trance. Each syllable is pronounced against his lips, each movement is made with the permission of his eyes. There’s too much to gather, too much to concentrate, she feels her body convulsing, a sob passing between her open lips, right before the gates are opened and she’s squirting for the first time. Pussy gushing on Mick and their bed. Making a mess of everything, and making him cum right on the spot while watching everything unfold. His eyes keep going from hers to their joined bodies, to hers again, and he smirks proudly before they both slump in a mess of sweat, cum, and limbs on the bed.

“That was so hot,” he blushed. After saying the dirtiest things and doing them all, Mick Schumacher blushed.

“You gotta keep teaching me lessons. I feel like I have so much more to learn,” Yn joked with a giggle, and he kissed her chin.

“If it depends on how friendly you are, I’m gonna teach you you’re mine after every social gathering.”

“I kinda like this new side of you.”

“Kinda?” he arches his brows. Y/n can almost hear him mentioning the hottest sex they’ve ever had. She smiles.

“A lot, actually. I like it a lot.”

“I thought so too.”

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hiii!! I hope you guys liked it! I just noticed that there's always a hint of softness in the versions of Mick I write, I don't think I was able to portrait him as a reeealy mean!dom, but hopefully it was close enough. Make sure to let me know your thoughts by leaving me an ask and reblogging. Love y'all! And sorry for the people who requested it ages ago, I took my time, but the piece came together hehe

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr @mellowpizzapuppy @mickslover @dalsuwaha @iloveyou3000morgan @formulakay3 @mishaandthebrits @crimeshowjunkie @fdl305 @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @leclercsluv @baby-is-crying @balekane_mohafe @uuuseeerrr12 @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @pinksstrawberry @callsign-scully @moonyscholate13 @dearxcherry @p8dris @heelariously @peachiicherries @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @alm334 @mehrmonga @thatgibbsygirl @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart (I'll be removing the ones I cannot tag, make sure to message me/send me an ask or update your tag setting so I can get you tagged next pieces <3 *virtual hug*).

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

― reblogs, comments, and asks are extremely appreciated, make sure to leave yours <3

#ms47 #millie writes smut #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher fic #jealous!mick #dom!mick

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chkn-soup · 1 month

Text

.PUDDLE.

—————————————————

Warnings: These little demons are too silly..silliness overboard (also some slight sexual innuendos/references)

Syno: Helluva cast and what they’d do if there was a puddle or wet spot infront of you while you were walking to your date…(this is so stupid..)

(Suffering with severe writers block rn but I managed to juice this out of me, bare with me yall!!)

—————————————

Moxxie:

Moxxie is a die hard gentleman, and I will stand by that. So he will totally be prepared for this occasion (like he was in the Loo Loo land episode with his little Fanny filled with meds for Via) He’d most likely whip out some sort of plastic or cardboard like walk way for you to step on..and he just like had that..on hand, meanwhile you’re saying things like…”I can just walk around it”, but please let him be cautious and spoil you, he loves being prepared for such drastic situations to get his partner away from danger..even if the danger is just getting your shoes wet. Afterwards he’ll ask if you are alright..as if walking over a puddle is traumatic or like it took a toll on you.

Blitzø:

Blitzø probably won’t care or even notice the puddle in the first place. In fact if he does notice it, he’ll purposely push you into it so your feet get all wet, especially if you’re trying to avoid it in the first place, then he’ll laugh at you and your pouty face. But if you’re actually upset about it and don’t start laughing with him he’ll definitely be like “What..you mad your shoes are wet?” Once he realizes you’re pretty pissed about it he’ll say “Ok ok..sorry.” And will then join you in the puddle and make sure his feet end up equally as soaked or even more so just so you aren’t mad at him the whole night.

Stolas:

Stolas will most definitely see the puddle and he’s all for keeping his partner out of harms way especially the smallest ounce of it, and he knows that appearance is everything and so is comfortability, he doesn’t want your feet to be wet and soppy therefore uncomfortable for you. So he’ll do the reasonable things and use his powers to make you float over it…like Stolas..really? He’s one that likes to one up, and he really loves to show off, especially to his partner. So he will use his magic for the smaller things just to impress you, that includes making you float over a puddle just so your precious feet stay dry and warm.

Fizzarolli:

Our little froggy will do what he does best and leap! You don’t think he’ll extend the both of you over a mere puddle then you are wrong, Fizz is the king of Drama, and he will be super dramatic about this whether you like it or not, He’ll extend the both of you over thoroughly and will look very badass while doing so. And he’ll even ask too “didn’t I look so cool.” Sure Fizzy, the coolest.

Asmodeus:

This big boy will not hesitate to pick you up into his arms, and he IS strong enough to do so, all while he walks into the puddle himself, but you know anything to make sure his sweetheart is alright, and no no, he won’t be setting you down afterwards, he’ll just carry you the whole way to the date just because he feels like it..and you know what you’re much safer up there with him anyways…so why would he let you down?

Striker:

This mf cowboy (“save a horse” iykwim) will not hesitate to pull some dramatics as well, he’ll whip out his little lasso from his side and wrap it around you throughly while he pulls you away from the puddle in the last moments before you even get the chance to step on it and he’ll draw you in to send you spinning (or more like falling) straight towards him and into his chest..he’ll hold you mighty close to him as he walks the both of you to your date and he will keep the lasso on you…just incase there’s anymore danger up ahead, or he’ll totally lay down his jacket for you over the puddle, just like an old school gentleman would do.

Mammon:

Mammon will definitely pull a Blitzø where he’ll purposely push you into it and will laugh at your reaction but on the other hand he won’t join you in your wet shoe’d state, he’d rather just laugh at you and say that you should audition for his pageant because watching you in dreadful situations is funny to him. He will be kind enough to dry your feet up at home/or even the restaurant, and he’ll make sure your feet are dry.

—girls—

Millie:

This precious lady will honestly want to get into the puddle with you just to splash around, it doesn’t matter that you have reservations that you’re already 20 minutes late for, she’ll dead stop and be like “Baby look a puddle!!” and you’ll understand her and begin to jump in it with her, she loves just doing childish things with you even if some people might find it gross. But! if you don’t like puddles and won’t jump in it with her she understands completely and will quite literally pick you up over her head and carry you over it…doesn’t matter if you are taller or bigger than her, she’ll carry you anytime, anywhere.

Loona:

She’s another one who will pull you into her closer so you aren’t near the puddle but instead near her. She doesn’t want your feet wet and will try to protect you or prevent you from going into it, just because she knows how annoying wet socks are, But don’t even try to mention she did it or she’ll go back/find another puddle to push you into….the shell feel bad and will lend you her socks..don’t mention that either.

Verosika:

Hehe..Verosika really loves you she does, and that’s why she has high expectations of you. One of them being that you’ll carry her through the puddle instead of her carrying you. So she’ll see the puddle, purposely get closer to it and pause when she’s a step away from it..she’ll look down roll her eyes and say something about her shoes,…take the hint [reader]! And if you do take the bait and carry her (if you can) well..she’ll give you Tenfold for treating her so nicely and will peck your cheek after..but don’t think you’re putting her down immediately after..the fun has just started.

Stella:

Hello..??? She’s royalty and is lowkey a little bratty (she need a brat tamer..I’m here for her😏) so she’ll obviously expect you to do something for her to get her out of this drastic situation, do you want her new heels to be ruined by mud? She doesn’t think so. So she’ll pause before the puddle and eye you to see what you’ll do, you can do anything and she’ll absolutely love it, pull her out of the way, lay your jacket on it, or even carry her and she will laugh and grin smugly, kissing you before continuing to walk with you again. She likes when you treat her nicely..she’ll do the same for you coming back that way at the end of the date.

——

Hello my loves! I’m trying to write your requests, thank you all for being patient and supportive I love you all and you deserve your asks to be answered, you beautiful people!!🫶🏼🫶🏼!!

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fandomnerd9602 · 8 months

Text

She was your princess. You were her knight. Sworn to protect her, to let your last action ever be your sword hitting the ground because your opponent bested you. To make sure that she lived while you’d die for her.

How could you have not fallen for her? How could the very sight of her smile not ignite the fury of a thousand dragons’ fire in your heart?

How could Rhaenyra not fall for you? Your steadfast nature, your kindness, the way you smiled when you locked eyes with her from across the royal court. All of it just made her fall deeper in love with you.

You took whatever moment you could just to be in her presence. A second, a minute, whenever you could, you were by her side. A gentle walk in the garden. A token of her favor before you went to train with the other knights. Any time with her was welcome.

You pledged everything to her.

“Everything that I am,” you whisper against her knuckles, “ my sword, my shield my very soul I have pledged to you.”

“Then run away with me” she practically pleaded with her hazel eyes.

“ you and I both know that wouldn’t be a life.” you sadly counter You take her chin in your palm and lock eyes with her, "but know this that after these bones have turned to dust and dragons no longer fly in the skies above Westeros, my heart will always keep on beating for you.”

“And mine shall beat for you" her lips formed a silent promise.

You gave her hand a soft kiss and she walked away from you sadly.

What you failed to notice was that king Viserys had noticed the whole ordeal. An idea was quickly forming in his mind.

The king summoned you into his throne room within the hour. Your heart was beating out of your chest. As you walked into the massive throne room to find it was only you and him. You fall to your knees at the base of the intimidating Iron Throne, fearful for your very life.

"Your majesty" you put your own sword before Viserys' feet.

"Arise my son" he gently orders you, "have you heard of House Valor?"

You've heard of it, "the grand isle to the far west of Westeros?"

"The very one" King Viserys walks down from his throne and approaches you, "I'm sending you at once as my emissary"

"But, your Majesty, my duty as protector to Princess-"

"That is a direct order from your king" Viserys gently interrupts you. "the ship is leaving promptly at sunset"

You could feel the color drain from your face. You couldn't even tell Rhaenyra goodbye, you had to leave in that instance.

Your journey to Castle Valor was a day's journey aboard a ship across the sea to a land beyond the horizon of Westeros. House Valor was long held as a house that held true to its very title. If the world believed that morality was dead, Valor held the lifeline showing that it was not.

You arrived at your destination. A humble island nation, vast villages that dotted its landscape. The castle sat in the middle of the island, not massive by any stretch of the imagination but its stronghold told of its pride and honor.

The guards lead you directly to the throne room and there sat Lord Valor, an elderly man with a kind smile and eyes that told of a life time of heart aches. You kneel before the ruler.

"Lord Valor" you state, "I come on behalf of King Viserys as his emissary. I may not have a title but I will serve you to the best of my ability."

"Welcome my son" the older man greets you, rising from his throne and putting his hand on your shoulder, "we have much to talk about"

A day's journey became a few solid weeks. Rhaenyra's heart was only growing all the more fond of you in your absence. She found herself summoned to her father's throne room.

"Rhaenyra I have selected a husband for you" King Viserys states, not allowing any room for debate.

"What?" Rhaenyra's heart broke in that moment. She could only hope it was not with House Velaryon.

"You are of age and we must secure our borders with House Valor" Viserys explains. "Your betrothed will be arriving shortly."

"But Father I can't marry into House Valor" Rhaenyra tries to explain, "I am in love with-"

The doors of the throne room opened and you walked in, dressed in the royal dressing of House Valor. You carried yourself calmly with every bit of might and pride that a prince would.

"Your majesties" you offer a bow to the two royals. Rhaenyra could feel her heart fluttering at the sight of you.

"Ser Y/N of House Valor" Viserys smiles, catching the smile already forming on Rhaenyra's face. "Glad you could make it."

The truth was that while you were not of noble birth or of privileged title, the lord of House Valor was in search of a successor. A kind man, beloved by all under the banner of his house, he did not have any children or heirs to speak of. Viserys had been in talks with Lord Valor for a while. The king noticed your own sense of morality and kindness, especially to Rhaenyra. Viserys offered you and your sword up as a potential successor. So Lord Valor took you in and named you his 'son'. You had spent the last few weeks learning all that you could from your newly adoptive father. And with it, you finally realized that you could wed the princess. Your heart was brimming with joy over that mere thought.

You walk up to Rhaenyra and gently kiss her hand, "if my lady will have me, i would treasure each second of the day with you."

"I think this marriage is more than agreeable," the young princess giggled, tears beginning to stream down her porcelain face. You pull her into your arms and kiss her tenderly. She wraps her arms around your neck, holding you close.

You briefly look to King Viserys who gives you a wink as you guide Rhaenyra out of the throne room.

#rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #princess x knight #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house targaryen #milly alcock #game of thrones #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #male reader #male reader insert #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon x reader

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"I wanna meet your dad."

You freeze.

Jake is staring up at you with his brows drawn together, with his mouth in a tight line--though you can see that a tentative smile is starting to tug at his lips. There are little beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, his cheeks flushes that pretty pink you like so much. He's gripping your naked hips, holding you down on him, and he was bucking his hips into yours a moment ago but he's still now.

"You've...met my dad," you say, shaking your head softly, throwing your hair over your shoulders.

You're panting now--you were licking the heels of another orgasm, so close you could taste it. It's fading fast, a fleeting thing that's exiting stage right as Jake pulls you stage left.

"Yeah, I know," Jake breathes, pressing his forehead against yours and pressing a few chaste kisses to your lips. He groans softly when you wriggle, just enough for his cock to pulse. "But like I want to...meet him."

He's seated deeply inside you, filling you up so perfectly that it makes you wanna cry--and yes, you have told him that and yes, it did go to his head but yes, you don't really mind anymore--and he's securing your stillness with the capable palms of his hands. He's stroking your hip bones absently, the way he always does.

Jake didn't even know that he liked to touch--or, honestly, to be touched--until he started spending his evenings with you. Now he wants to touch you in any and every capacity, all the time, everywhere. His arms around your waist as you bake cookies in his kitchen, his lips against your shoulder as you wash your face at night, his hand on the small of your back as you walk through the foyer, his foot nudging yours under the desk in the briefing room.

"Jake," you whisper, adjusting again--which makes the both of you moan lowly--and pressing your lips to his forehead. "Maybe we could talk about this later?"

Jake nods, cheeks pink. He knows he should bring it up really...any other time. But you don't really like to talk about your dad--and he gets it, he respects it. You spend all day listening to everyone talk about him dying and come to Jake's house to find solace in his company. He doesn't want to force anything on you.

And really, he didn't mean to start thinking about it right now of all times, but it's just something that happened. When you came to his house tonight, just after eight o'clock as usual, he could tell that you'd been crying. And when he'd started to coo at you, pushing your hair behind your ears, trying to coax some sort of admission out of you, you'd kissed him with a hunger that only he knew how to quench. Who was he to deny you? Especially when your lips were so minty and your body was aching for him so bad and he hadn't touched you hardly at all today.

So as the two of you trampled to the living room, feverishly kissing each other's open throats and tearing clothes off two at a time, he wondered about the cause of your tears. Really, he knew. Your dad--it's always your dad. And he knows that it isn't going to be long now. He'd looked it up; most people who start hospice live about three weeks. It'd been two since your dad started.

And just as you were totally bare before him in the glow of the television and nothing else, just as Jake brought his mouth down to your nipples, just as you cried his name and raked your fingers through his hair the way that drives him crazy--the thought occurred to him.

Your dad won't be here for someone--maybe him if he plays his cards right--to ask his permission to marry you. Your dad isn't going to walk you down the aisle. Your dad will never meet any of his grandchildren.

He has one foot out the door and you're living everyday like it's his last but still pushing through your own life because that's what you have to do. Jake understands this. He gets it.

And even though he wrapped your hair around his fist a moment ago and started a merciless assault on your clit the way he knows you like, he has the sudden urge to be very gentle with you. He can't think about all the nasty things he's said to you in the past--really, it makes him nauseous and keeps him up at night, even if you're tucked into his side--so he whispers your name and tells you what a good girl you are.

You're just trying to survive, your orgasm approaching with a suddenness that leaves you genuinely quaking in his arms. Your eyes are clamped shut in ecstasy and your skin is goosed and your cheeks are frying.

"Let go, baby," Jake was whispering to you, his breath hot against your chest. "Give it to me, baby. I've got you, I'll take it."

And just as you knew you were being tipped over the edge, just as you were about to cum on his fingers, you opened your eyes to look at him. He liked to look at you when you came--you knew that and you gave it to him regularly. Recently, you were starting to think that it had less to do with ego and more to do with affection, though. But when you looked down at him, all those planes of rippling muscle and tan skin, the breath was knocked out of your lungs. Because even in the dim light in the living room, even though your eyes were bleary and your mind was buzzing, you saw the softness in which he gazed upon you. His sweet, green eyes were glossy and swimming with something that was achingly close to love. His brows were knit just so, just that tiny bit, and his mouth was parted and wet.

When you met his eyes, your fingernails embedded in the skin of his arm, he smiled very softly.

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered and it proved wildly effective.

You did cum for him, crying out his name, writhing on his lap. There was something so delicious about him giving you pleasure with no expectation. You weren't even touching his cock, but you knew he was hard. Just him touching you made him hard.

And as you came down from that first orgasm, mind still reeling from his gaze and his touch, he muttered little bits of affection towards you until you were dizzy. You collapsed onto him, laughing dryly, trying to catch your breath. Instead of picking your hips up and pushing into you, instead of pushing you that much further, he wrapped his arms around you. It was something he was careful about doing, choosing his moments wisely, and you didn't shy away when he stroked your hair.

"Y'alright?" He muttered softly.

You nodded into his neck, wrapping your arms around him, too.

"Fine," you told him. "You ready to go?"

And now, right now, he's staring back at you with those soft eyes again. He looks mildly embarrassed for having brought up your dying dad while filling you to the hilt and it makes a pang of chest radiate through your chest. Because despite yourself--and your best efforts--you don't like Jake to feel embarrassed. You don't like him to feel anything but happy and good. This is all new, achingly new, but you know that with every little hair on your body.

"Yeah, I--sorry, I was just..." he starts to ramble, absolutely wanting to kick himself for bringing it up right now. He leans forward, starts to feverishly kiss you again, but you're smiling now.

"Slow down," you whisper. Both of you choose to ignore the fact that he's inside you right now. "It's really--it's okay. Don't be sorry."

He nods, biting his lip. He pushes your hair behind your ears, the way he's been doing for a while now, the way you like so much. And then he smiles softly. You're waiting for him to continue his thoughts and he's trying to gather them.

"I just thought I could meet him. You know...as your," Jake shrugs, swallowing hard and shrugging, "boyfriend. If that's, like, what you want."

You're tingling now. The two of you haven't had an explicit discussion about what your label is. You haven't been explicitly hiding it around base, some less-than-subtle glances and lower back grazes here and there, but you haven't been broadcasting this from the rooftops either. You've just been in your own little world together.

You've known for a while now that this is more than just fucking--you can tell, he can tell. But you didn't think he'd want this. You didn't think Jake Seresin was the kind of guy to settle in, settle down.

But he's been exceeding your expectations for a while now.

"Boyfriend, huh?" You whisper, a grin tugging at your lips. "You sure you wanna get involved with...all of this?"

He knows you're trying to make the situation seem less serious. He knows you're trying to kid with him, trying to get him to crack a grin. But he doesn't smile. He just keeps looking into your pretty eyes and nods, very seriously.

"Yes," he simply says. "I'm sure."

Your heart stutters. You could press him. You could tell him the Hell your life has been since your dad's cancer came back. You could tell him about your terrible third cousins that you're almost certain are stealing your mom's silver. You could tell him about your sister and the way she's been drinking a bottle of wine every night in the name of grief. You could tell him about your dad's unwillingness to accept that things are a fucking mess right now. You could tell him about how badly you want your dad to stay--how you're so afraid of what will happen when he's gone that it's almost unthinkable.

But looking at Jake now, looking at him look at you with those fucking green eyes, you know that he won't scare off. Not that easily. It would be a fruitless attempt if you tried.

"Okay," you bite your lip, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Yes, let's do it."

Jake can't help himself--he kisses you, kisses you with a grin on his face, kisses you with a giddiness that has you laughing, kisses you with a sweetness that makes your toes curl.

"Good," he mumbles against your lips, shaking his head softly. "I won't let you down, okay? I promise."

You hold his cheeks, brows knit slightly. You're making him look you in the eyes and for a moment, he's worried that he's upset you. But then you just tut.

"Jake," you whisper to him, "I wasn't worried about you letting me down. Not even a little bit."

✧ ✧ ✧

You're nervous. Even though you know you shouldn't be, you're nervous. Maybe it's because your house is so quiet right now--like quieter than it's been in months. Your mother, the saint that she is, had sensed your nerves and somehow managed to get all of your family out of the house for a movie and lunch.

So it's just you and your dad as you wait for Jake.

Maybe you're nervous because your dad hasn't ever met any of your boyfriends before. And despite this feeling in your gut that knows better than you do, you're worried that it's too new. You've only been official for a few days. Your shower encounter was almost three months ago--maybe you should start counting from there.

Or maybe you're nervous because this feels like an ending of sorts that you are wildly unprepared for. You know that Jake is doing this because this is his only opportunity. You know that he's doing the right thing meeting your dad, trying to do right by you and Ice. But it still feels like this is an ending you're ill-equipped for. Really, you're not prepared for any ending. At the very least--you're readying yourself for your father's death.

But for him to meet Jake as your boyfriend for the first time, for them to shake hands and agree that you're something special, it makes your heart ache. If things keep going the way they're going with Jake now--good, just blindingly good--you think it might break your heart even more to know that Ice will never meet Jake as anything but your very new boyfriend. Never a fiancé, never a husband. You know you're getting ahead of yourself, really you do, but when your dad is dying--you have all the time in the world to get ahead of yourself.

A sudden tapping takes you out of your swimming mind and drops you down in the big chair beside your father's bed. He's awake, and more than that, he's knocking on the wooden table beside him to get your attention.

"Hey, dad," you whisper, sitting up a bit straighter. You make it a point to not cry in front of him, like you always have, so you're all smiles as you lean forward. "You're up!"

Ice nods, mustering a tired smile for you. He points to his hair with an eyebrow perched and watches your grin spread.

"Lookin' good," you tell him. "No bedhead here."

He nods, settling into his pillows.

"Can I get you anything? Water?"

He shakes his head. He's been up for a little while. When he came to, blinking himself out of a fitful sleep, he just watched you for a while. His daughter--his precious, sweet daughter--so pensive. You've always been pensive; you get it from him. But as he watched you chew on your lip, glazed eyes gazing out the window, he knew there was something you weren't saying. There was something you weren't saying for his sake; he knows this. He's always been able to read you like an open book.

And even now as you smile at him, Sarah's smile, he knows it's just between your teeth. Ice knows he's dying--he's accepted this. He's lived a good life, raised good kids, loved a good woman. He's okay with this being the bookend of a very fruitful life. But what he has not accepted is leaving you all behind. He has no accepted putting you in a position where you can't cry in front of him, a position that makes his other daughter drink too much, a position that makes your once-peaceful home a revolving door for strange family. He has always been a provider and protector; it's hard for him to sit back and wait.

He makes sure you're looking at him when he signs it: what's wrong, flower?

You smile. He's called you that since you were little.

"I'm fine," you say with a soft smile. "Nervous, maybe. But fine."

Ice gives you a pointed look--one that makes your heart falter. Of course he can tell that you're lying. He always can.

Tell me. Humor an old man.

As if to prove his age, he pretends to cough wearily. You laugh. He's always been able to make you laugh--even when you want to cry.

"I don't wanna worry you," you tell him, wringing your hands.

Ice scoffs, waving you off.

I'm a retired Admiral. Don't flatter yourself.

You're laughing again. Ice smiles--he loves that sound. He's going to miss it.

So now you look at him, your face softening in the glow of the sun. And you can feel that you're going to be honest with him. Like the kind of honest that makes your teeth hurt. You can't lie to him. You can't say everything's okay.

"I'm scared," you admit.

It's the most honest you've been with him in week. Honestly, it's the most honest anyone's been with him in weeks. And Ice relishes in that honesty for a moment. It's such a simple thing to tell him, but he knows that it was hard for you to say it. There's that courage you've always had, the one that makes you tough enough to fly F-18s.

I'm not. Ice smiles very gently. Lived well. Loved good.

There are already tears clouding your vision. You nod, sniffing, but continue.

"Are you ready, dad?"

He thinks for a moment. Of course he isn't ready to leave you--any of you. He's going to miss cashmere blankets and the sun on his face. He's going to miss the scent of leather and good Scotch. He's going to miss Sarah's snores and playing charades after big dinners. But he's been sick for a long time; he's tired.

I'm tired. Ice nods, sighing before continuing. Don't feel good.

You nod. You keep nodding. He knows you're about to crack. And he's right--as soon as you bring your hands up, your lips begin to quiver. A few tears stream down your face.

"I'm not ready for you to go."

Ice already knows this. He knows. And it's a strange sort of pleasure and pain that fills him up that someone has finally said it. All of you, his sweet women, have been putting on brave faces for him. Telling him that you understand, that it's okay. But here you are, being so honest with him the way you used to be, the way you've been trying to hold back.

You're proper weeping now, sniffling and wiping your eyes with your shirtsleeve. You're blinking at this force of a man, this man that used to carry you on his shoulders around Top Gun and let you sit in his jet, and feeling an overwhelming loss wash over you. Time is running out. You both know it. And you're not ready for him to go. You're really, really not.

I know. Ice signs, shaking his head softly. But you're gonna have to be.

He signs this with softness. He's never been anything but soft with you and your sister and your mom. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear.

"I'm scared that I'll mess up. I'm scared I'll make the wrong choices. You tell me when I'm wrong. You tell me when people are good or bad, dad. What am I going to do? How am I going to live?" You're rambling--you know it. But you can't stop it now that it's started. "What am I going to go, dad? Tell me."

It feels good to let it off your chest. All of these things you've kept buried deep with the help of Jake.

Ice clears his throat.

Fuck it.

You laugh--partly in shock and partly in wonder.

"What?" You sputter.

Ice smiles softly.

That's how you live. You mess up. You let the bad people in. You make the wrong choice. You drink too much. You don't sleep enough. You get bad haircuts. You order the wrong coffee. You get in trouble. You cry. You say mean things. You fight. You nap. Fuck it.

Your chest is aching now. Thoroughly aching. You wish you could write all this down, that you could have it in his pretty script, but you know in your heart that not a word of this will fade from your memory.

"Fuck it?" You ask tearfully.

He nods, clearing his throat.

"Fuck it," he whispers.

His voice is gravely and rough and you know that it hurts him. You know that this is probably the last time you'll ever hear him speak. You want to laugh, but a bigger part of you wants to cry.

Ice watches you carefully. You look so much like a little girl right now. That hard-headed little thing that followed him all around the house, picking up his heavy pens and scribbling on his nice card-stock just to be like him. The little girl that threw a tantrum for Sarah when she took you to get shots but wouldn't let a single tear fall when he took you. You're the strongest person he's ever known. He doesn't know where you get it from.

I love you. He continues signing. I would stay if I could. For you. For your sister. For your mom.

You nod, sighing, still weeping. Your fingers are numb with grief.

"I love you, dad," you whisper. You know that it won't be the last time you tell him that.

That's precisely when Jake finally gets the nerve to knock on the front door. He's nervous, too, but he isn't going to let it show. He's been practicing his handshake with Rooster for the better part of an afternoon and asked Phoenix what he should bring. He let Bob of all people pick his outfit--in exchange for Hangman telling him what's going on between the two of you--and he called Coyote on the way over for a pep talk.

So now he's standing on the front porch of your family home with a bouquet of flowers he doesn't even know the name of and a bottle of wine he's certain is more expensive than his car.

But then you open the door and in all your softness, your red eyes and your swollen lips and your messy hair, he relaxes. It's you. It's you and he knows you and he wants to do the right thing so that's why he's doing this. And that makes it easier.

"Hey," he says softly. "Is this the Kazansky residence?"

You bite your lip, wiping a stray tear. You don't feel ashamed about them anymore. Fuck it.

"If I say yes, are you gonna run for the hills?"

He grins. You've already managed to calm the erratic beat of his heart just by being here, just by being in his direct line of sight. He sees your tears, but he somehow knows that you don't need to be coddled right now. He knows you're okay. You look like you've released a breath that's been held for months.

"Not even a little," he promises.

You're eyeing the flowers now. Bluebells--they're your favorite.

"Those for me?"

Jake hands them to you very carefully, watching the pink in your cheeks spread when you inhale their scent.

"You're beautiful," he finally whispers.

He wishes that he hadn't waited so long to say it to you. It's the first thing he should've said when you opened the door. Hell, it's the first thing he should've said to you when he saw you.

You smile at him, pretending to roll your eyes.

"It's not me you have to butter up," you tease, nodding for him to come inside. "It's my dad, remember?"

Jake is feeling less and less nervous the farther you two venture into your home. It smells like you--or maybe you smell like the house--and it's crowded with photographs and comfy couches and big windows. He likes it--he can imagine that it was a good place to grow up. He can just about imagine you running around the halls with your little brows furrowed, chasing some poor but good-natured dog.

"Don't put those in a vase," he says, his hand falling onto your lower back. "I'll get it, okay?"

You just nod, biting your lip. A man after your own heart.

Just before you're about to guide him into your father's room, where you know he's waiting for you, Jake cups your cheek. Silently, he thumbs away a mostly-dried tear. He doesn't prod, doesn't ask what the tears are for. He won't make you tell him anything you aren't ready for.

And for that--you kiss him. It's a kiss that's becoming more common in your relationship now, one that doesn't always lead to sex, one that is just for the sake of closeness.

"Hope your dad is ready to have his socks knocked off," Jake whispers against your lips, nuzzling his nose against yours. "Cause I'm about to charm them off his feet."

You want to roll your eyes--but instead you laugh.

"I'll lead the way," you offer.

He has even relinquished his nerves entirely when he walks into your father's bedroom. And he's met Ice a couple times, mainly at ceremonies or in passing at galas, but never anything like this. His heart starts to race but then you take his hand and squeeze it and suddenly the world is right again.

"Dad," you start softly, smiling at Ice, who is sitting up straighter in bed now. "You've met Lieutenant Seresin before, yeah?"

Ice nods, motioning for the two of you to come to his bedside. Jake follows you wordlessly, plastering a smile to his face--a charming one, one that could make even grown men swoon.

"Pleasure to meet you again, sir," Jake says, saluting.

Ice smiles and gestures for him to fall at ease. And then Ice reaches out for Jake's hand--and Jake just about trips over himself to shake it.

This is the moment him and Rooster have been waiting for.

You watch on with a fond smile, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. You're glad you were honest with your dad--but it's still a whole lot of truth to swallow in a short amount of time.

Ice lets go of Jake's hand and catches your gaze.

Good grip.

You smile, holding your hand against Jake's lower back.

"He says you've got a good handshake," you tell Jake, who's watching with a small smile. "That's a pretty high compliment from someone that's shaken the hand of two presidents."

Ice knocks on the table, his brows furrowed.

He holds up three fingers with his lips pursed.

"Sorry," you chuckle. "Three presidents."

Jake laughs, too. He can see where you get your sense of humor from now. That and your attitude.

You tell Jake to sit in the chair and he does, wanting very badly to pull you down over his lap, but knowing better. You perch yourself on the arm of the chair and fight the urge to comb your fingers through Jake's hair.

How long?

"He's asking us how long we've been together--?"

Ice shakes his head again.

How long as he been in love with you?

You gape at your father, your cheeks instantly flooding. Your heart is suddenly racing and you're narrowing your eyes at him, shaking your head. He's smiling at you, something between a grin and a smirk, and he just shrugs.

Ice is only kidding around with you--partly. But he knows that you're falling in love with Jake. He can read it all over your face, the same way he could read it all over your mother's face. You're wistful and sweet, prancing around the house, smiling down at your phone. He knows it. And just seeing the way Jake is looking up at you now, something dazzling in his gaze, Ice knows that Jake isn't far behind if not up ahead.

"You're bad," you hiss playfully. "Why don't you start with some lighter conversation? Like how was your afternoon?"

Jake's heart is squeezing watching you talk to your father. He can see it, clear as day, that you admire your father. You love him. He knows how difficult this is all going to be. And usually, that would scare him. It would send him running for the hills. But right now, the only place he can imagine being is right here; next to you.

Ice sighs, shrugging. He signs again and you laugh. Jake watches on, amused.

"He says I'm no fun," you say with a fond smile. "Jake thinks I'm great fun."

Jake finds himself nodding, letting his hand rest on your lower back. He strokes the skin there softly, content in just feeling you against his skin. It soothes you, too--just knowing that he's here and he's close.

It goes swimmingly, really--like better than you could've imagined it going. Your father is on his best behavior and Jake is, too. Jake is charming--more charming than you care to admit. You act as your father's translator, hardly getting through a conversation about cigars and scotch. Jake presses his hand to yours the entire three hours he's there, squeezing you to check in on you every now and then. And you're smiling, lighter than you've felt in a long time.

So when you're at the front door, tangled in each other's arms, you feel like crying again just from the relief and the grief of it all. It's over--that was the first and the last time.

"Thank you," you whisper to Jake, pressing your forehead against his. "It means a lot to me. I'm sure you didn't want to--!"

Jake kisses you, shaking his head. He tucks hair behind your ear, kisses your nose and cheeks.

"Hey, it was my idea, remember?" He whispers. "You can't take the credit for this one."

It's the perfect thing for him to say--it's enough to make you laugh and just enough to keep you from crying. You kiss him again, holding him tight.

"I'll see you in a bit, okay?" You whisper to him. "Gonna help my mom make dinner and then I'll head over."

Jake nods, kissing your forehead.

"Okay," he whispers. "I've got a bottle of wine with your name on it, sugar."

And it's after a few more kisses, after you've waved him off, after you let your heart settle in your chest again, that you walk back into your father's room. He's waiting for you, has even scooted over to make space for you.

Wordlessly, you climb into bed beside him. He puts his arms around you and you lay on his frail chest. You've always been a daddy's girl--this position is familiar. It brings a warm, warm comfort that you can feel in your bones.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The house is quiet. His breathing is shallow. His heartbeat is steady. You're not crying anymore.

"What'd you think?" You ask finally, your voice hushed. "About Jake."

Ice is still relishing in holding you. He hasn't held you in too long. He hates that father's stop holding their daughter's when they grow up. He's thinking that if he could live his life again, he would hold you everyday. But he can't, so he just keeps you close to him and hums softly.

You look up at him and he smiles down at you.

Kiss-ass.

You pat his chest softly, laughing.

Ice hopes that he can still hear that laugh when he gets to where he's going. It would be mighty lonesome to never hear it again.

He's good. He loves you.

You're blushing now, shaking your head and biting your lip. It's almost too much to think about. Your dad is dying--you can't think about Hangman being in love with you.

"It's new," you tell your dad, your voice thin. "Like, really new."

Ice waves you off.

Doesn't matter.

You nod. Him and Sarah famously got married after knowing each other for four months.

You think hard about it now, chewing your lip. Maybe this dizzy way you feel is you falling in love. Maybe this is why there are butterfly wings in your veins. Maybe this is why your tongue gets thick with tears when you think about the color of Jake's eyes or the gatorade in his fridge. God, you've been in love before--here and there--and you've always known immediately. But there is so much happening in your life, so many moments you're worried are going to be the last, that you haven't even stopped to consider it.

And usually you can tell when boys are in love with you. But the more you think about it, Jake's displayed all the tell-tale symptoms. He's soft with you, never grasping you harder than he would a baby bird. He makes you cum before you even touch him. He kisses your eyelids when he thinks you're asleep. He knows your favorite drink. He always saves a spot for you at every table. He likes to hold your hand in the car.

But now, in the safety and comfort of your father's arms, the realization dawns on you. Shit. Jake is in love with you. And you're pretty sure you're in love with him, too.

"And what if we are in love? What do I do next?"

Your father smiles--it's good to see him smile.

Fuck it.

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬

uhhhh hi guys. first of all? I am. so sorry. this was so sad. I was literally bawling when I wrote this. but yay, I updated!!

thank you so much for all your love and support!! let me know down below what you want to see from this couple!!!

here is my official apology for this chapter :( I'm sorry!

here is my tag list!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

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@popsycles

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@chicomonks

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s1ater · 10 months

Text

cherry pie.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

summary. reader never would have thought about getting high until she seems to have lost all her morals in one night with a boy she had never met before.

warnings. swearing, underage drinking and smoking

ricky rocks. YALL PLEASEEE bare with me. you can probably tell this is an older story because of the format, but just disregard the first half, i know it’s the lower end of my writing. it kinda gets better 😬 (edit: this story is so mid, i’m just trying to clear my drafts)

the room danced with colors, so many colors and shades you seemed to have never seen before. unfamiliar with their cause and purpose, unsure why you couldn’t touch them; it frightened you with the way they moved around, the way they twirled around your head like little ballerinas.

you swallowed, dropping your head back against the grungy brown couch sat in the corner of one of the back rooms of connor’s house, a boy you found yourself calling on day after day for the past two months for fun, and by fun you meant sex.

but tonight, you hadn’t seen the boy for what you could count as hours. there were other things on his mind rather than a high off their ass you. other pretty girls with less clothing on their bodies and longer hair that was paid more attention to than your own.

you couldn’t care less at that point in time as you felt so deep in a haze, nothing could pull your attention. nothing, until the seat next to you sunk in from the pressure of bodyweight and another high body, seeing the same things you were seeing, feeling the same things you were feeling.

he just had it more under control.

“you going to stare at the ceiling all day, love?”

you rolled your head to meet the eyes of a crazed blonde with matching brown eyes. delight swirled in his irises while he looked at you with also dazed eyes, almost ceased shut from swelling of the high. you looked amazed right back at him despite sober you would have been disturbed, never seeing a person so out of their mind.

“who are you?” you stared at him, shocked.

“your new boyfriend,” he wiggled his eyebrows, jumping and readjusting himself up against you, his arm now slinging up and over you shoulders. a new kind of energy swelling through his chest, “i say we go on a date.”

he stared in front of him focused full hearty, as if visualizing something at that moment. you squinted, looking to where he was looking as if trying to see what he was seeing, but not enough weed could put you on his level.

“i say, we leave right now, get some pie, maybe some coke. whatever you like sweetheart, i’ll give it to ya.” “I think your sweetheart wants some space, jake,” your eyes looked from the boy who sat next to you, jake, to the boy who now stood before the two of you, an unimpressed look on his face. his arm reached out to jake, practically yanking him from your side. “alright pal, let’s go for a walk.”

you watched jake stumble into him, “but louis, she’s pretty.”

louis glanced back over his shoulder as he begun to pull jake away from the couch and toward the door, now really coming to your attention. his eyes raked you up and down before smirking a little bit, nodding to himself, “sure man, she is.”

he begun to walk away with jake wrapped around his shoulder before you got up fast almost tripping over your feet, not wanting them to go, “wait, i want a pie.”

he looked back at you and your disoriented self. your shoulders were slung low, making you smaller than you actually were. your hair was all staticky, hanging above your head like a crown, and your eyes; dilated and filled with innocence.

he smirked, looking you up one more time before nodding you over, cuing you to follow after him, his arm still holding jake to his toes.

the boy’s car was blue. louis’ car was blue. it was one of those old, nice, restored cars that must have been worth thousands. the interior had light brown leather seating that made noise every time you shifted and readjusted yourself due to the old springs lying beneath. it made you giggle as you sat next to him in the front seat, jake lying in the back due to him not being just high, but rather cross faded. louis had apparently found him completely plastered out of his mind once he had first arrived at the party, leading him to hand jake a blunt to finalize his out-this-world experience. it wasn’t smart, but it kept louis entertained to say the least.

louis had glanced at you multiple times as he drove through the silent streets. he seemed eager or maybe even a little irritated as he watched you bounce around, lacking the ability to sit still as your eyes darted everywhere, from street lights to stop signs to anything that’d fully occupied your vision.

“have you ever been high before?” he asked, stopped at a stop light with red lights shading upon both your faces.

“nope,” your eyes wandered across the ceiling of his car. you ran your fingers along the soft carpeted interior—strange, but very stimulating and soft—making you feel all fuzzy inside of satisfaction. “louis, i love you car.”

he chuckles lowly, directing his eyes back to the road, “a lot of people do,” his lips were turned upwards into a slight smirk. it made the fuzzy feeling in your stomach turn warm as there was something very satisfying about just the way he looked. “we’re here.”

your eyes flick to the front of you where your visions bursts with neon lights beaming from the large “diner” sign pinned against the small vintage looking building. you're quick to slip out of the car to the euphoric sight.

“y/n!"

you stopped in your tracks at the sound of your name, glancing over your shoulder where your eyes immediately find a group of boys congregating together with one single boy appointed to attention to you.

louis.

"hold on. give me a minute, guys," you watch louis from five feet away, brush his friends off despite the yearning looks of amusement on all of their faces, looking between the both of you. he’s far from bothered or just doesn’t notice; brushing them off before meeting you to where you stood.

it was a wednesday after school. the sweet sound of louis’ voice and sight of his captivating face was the last thing you thought you’d come across. it must’ve been a mutual feeling with the way he looked you up and down, all winded looking.

"you're a hard person to find."

"you've been looking for me?"

"of course," he has a cigarette in his mouth.

"I almost didn't think you were real."

"of course i'm real, sweetheart," he grins harder at you. "that fucked up, were you?"

you snort. if not being able to remember half of what took place that night counted for being fucked up, you took the trophy.

"well, alright. i'll take that as you had a pretty good night."

"one of the best."

“good,” he grins, “that’s a rare occasion for girls like you.”

“girls like me?” you scoff, arching a brow. his sentence could easily be something taken for offence, but the lighthearted tone to his voice only proved he was looking to mess with you.

“yes,” he laughs with you. “usually drinking is the only thing you’d catch a teenage girl doing for non-sober purposes.”

you nod, agreeing, because he wasn’t wrong, “i’ve had a fair amount of experience with alcohol and let me just say, i’ll be steering clear of that for a while.”

“ah,” he tips forward on his feet in amusement. “i could’ve guessed you’re a wild one with your liquor, y/l/n. make some questionable choices.”

you feel your face heat up in thought, “i won’t say you’re wrong.”

louis lets out a small huff of laughter, before pausing all movement. he stares at you for a moment with narrow brows, as if trying his best to read you, “you ever wanna smoke with me, just let me know, alright?” he patted your back before suddenly walking past and away from you. your back was to him now but you could hear pat pat pat of his feet in the grass.

you frown, your eyes finding the cracks of the sidewalk as you think of how brief and unusual that was. you feel a large hole in your chest of unfulfillment.

“louis, wait,” you shifted around rather quickly as a reality hit you, but you didn’t make any moves to chase after him. he turned as well as if waiting for it. “you uh, you didn’t tell connor i was with you guys, did you?”

yikes.

that’s not what he wanted to hear.

louis pinched the bud of his cigarette, nodding to himself, thinking contently to his answer before exhaling, a thick cloud of white swirling out into the air before your eyes. you feel dazed, still high from the days before, filled with such naïve joy and lost thoughts of things you couldn’t remember now.

he threw his cigarette on the ground, eyes meeting yours again, only they were hard now and filled with no light heartedness like all times before. and his voice wasn’t soft or full of amusement either but dry as he stared you dead in the eyes, “why, he your boyfriend?”

your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your eyes not meeting his for a while until after you thought about your answer. and it was an easy answer, no, but it was never something you’d ever consider a question.

“no, no he’s not.”

“you sure about that?”

“not my type,” you smile slightly, examining louis’ pale cheekbones and facial features, the cold of the weather turning his complexion slowly red. your eyes drag to reach his red chapped lips.

him, he was your type.

“enough of your type for you to fuck him,” he gave you a pointed look as if he had caught you in the act of something, and almost immediately your cheeks burned, like you were caught for something you knew you shouldn’t have been doing.

you didn't understand why or how he knew. louis was someone you didn't know at all and what you and connor did was something you didn't tell anyone.

"you're surprised?"

"yes."

"why do you care what he knows, let alone fuck him?" he doesn't say anything more on how he knows like you hoped he would. "if he's not your type?"

you bite into your bottom lip, wincing because you didn't know the answer to it, "I don't."

"but you do," he slightly smiles but it's only out of annoyance as his voice catches up to cut you off on your lie. "I think you do, y/n. and you just don't want him to know we kissed."

"your mouth tastes like cherry."

"so does yours."

fuck.

"no, louis..." you wince, immediately regretting stopping him. "that's not what I meant. he doesn't mean anything to me."

he scoffs, "funny."

he doesn't believe you. not even close.

"you know he has label on you."

"a what?" you frown immediately, taking a step forward out of instinct.

“i’m a fool to think you’d ever stop liking him,” he holds his face, running his fingers along the sharp lines of his jawbone as he thinks about his idiotic hope that’d you so fastly fall for him as you did with connor. “foolish to think you’d drop him over one night.”

you’re even more confused now, “it was one night, louis.”

“you act like there isn’t the possibility that i’ve known you even before that night, y/n,” he has a smile that comes on his face but it isn’t something genuine. it’s annoyed. “your jerkoff of a boyfriend isn’t as secretive about you as you think.”

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

he scoffs, “you keep saying that.”

“because it’s true.”

“do you know what he says about you?”

“obviously not, louis,” four steps forward, four steps closer. “you keep speaking of ‘labels’ and whatever, but why don’t you just say it. what does he say about me that is so crazy?”

he didn’t expect the sudden brief and assertiveness you pull with your movement and words. it knocks him into a slight revelation as all he can do is stare at you and breathing, memorizing this side of you.

“did he say i was a whore?” that was the only possible thing that you could think of at that moment that could be so bad. “he tell you i was a slut?”

it’s silent. you watch him think and the way he unintentionally avoids your hard stare with the thought process.

“ask him yourself.”

“has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes.”

you feel your face burn upon the comment. everything in your body felt as if was about to burst upon the simple company of louis. even though it had to of been hours since connor’s house, and the diner, and even dropping jake off at his own home, you still felt out of your mind in the best way possible. all of your sense were still high, but your vision was fuzzy and you felt lag in your movement.

how were you still high?

“you have,” you felt yourself giggle, to which he smiles with a tip of his head, watching you.

“cute,” his fingers rubbed against his mouth in thought before reaching to you. you felt yourself inhale sharply at his sudden movement and hold your breath once they reached their destination; raking through your hair. “how does he do that to you?”

“what?”

“nothing,” he shook his head, still twisting his fingers through soft strands of your hair. you feel yourself relax, watching him and the way he seemed so focused on just you. “you’re just very pretty, y/n.”

you feel your eyes slightly widen, but his face doesn’t shift at all. he’s calm, while you feel your entire body burst once more into heat. you’re itching to move, you can’t just sit still in that burning warmth beneath his stare. you feel yourself move, leaning forward on your knees so your lips meet louis’.

louis smiles against the pressure of your lips against his--he almost forgets to kiss you back because of it.

almost.

his hands rack up and down the front of your body, lightly pressing into the hold he had around your rib cage, as if willing to crush you beneath his grasp as long as that meant you wouldn’t leave. this contact isn’t enough even for you. you want to feel him all over and the heavy hands holding your body isn’t enough.

you’re on his lap now, one of your hands holding the top of his shoulder while the other claps his cheek. louis feels as if his own body is about to burst beneath you... this is all he has wanted, for a while, and now that he’s got it, he feels it’ll destroy him. you’re ignorant to his feelings, but you feel just as feverish with your heart thump-thumping within your chest, as if speaking to his.

“your mouth tastes like cherry,” your chest is heaving up and down as you pull away, your wide stare boring into his own eyes with something of delirium.

he’s smiling wide, tipping his head back against his seat to see your face better, “so does yours.”

now you smile, “i like you louis.”

he almost groans, rolling his head side to side at the sound of those precious words, “you’re killing me,” he pulls the sentence straight out of his mouth like it was sarcastic, but he meant it, “say it again,” he wanted it.

“i like you,” you repeat, this time his hand is on your cheek. “please kiss me.”

oh, jeez.

he stares, breathless, “okay.”

***

it was a week after your fallout with louis and you couldn’t think about anything other than that. you felt a sudden emptiness and need for something that you barely even had; louis.

every little micro interaction you had with him ran through your mind like a record, over and over till you felt you were going to throw yourself off a cliff. and it wasn’t just the connor comment--which was something you really, really couldn’t stop thinking about--but the seemingly quick liking he had taken to you.

it had caught you off guard, but the more you thought about it, the more curious you became as to the whole thing; which was what led you here; connor’s house, on a friday night where he was once again throwing.

“what have you been saying about me?” you stood in front of him, connor, your vision narrowed as you stared at him, examining him as if his whole existence was strange.

“what?” his confusion was genuine as this question was rather abrupt and you made no attempt to make introductions.

“you know louis partridge?”

connor looks between you and the people he currently stood with, confusion still reeking his features, “yes..?”

“what have you been telling him about me?”

“you want to talk about this somewhere else?”

“i want a straight answer,” you feel his hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from his crowd without an answer from you.

“which i can give you if you weren’t so vague... why are you talking to partridge?”

“you got a problem?”

the two of you are stopped in front of a boy; jake.

“no, man, i think we’re good,” connor pays him no mind, side stepping him fast with you still in grip, continuing to interrogate you. you ignore connor, watching jake the whole way you’re being pulled while he watches you. you feel as if the boy isn’t real, like he was someone you had made up when you were high, but there he was, staring just as shocked, but equally skeptical as you were pulled further and further from him.

“are you listening to me, y/n?”

“what?”

“i asked you what you were on about?” you’re now in an empty corner, secluded away from the rest of the party. “haven’t seen you in days and you’re on a tangent about a boy you barely know, what’s going on?”

you finally focus on him, barely processing the words he was putting in your ears, but you didn’t have to in order to hear the fake sympathy and concern.

“how do you know louis?”

he shurgs, “see him every time i throw. gotta get to know my usuals.”

“yeah, and how well have you gotten to know him?”

he shakes his head, feeling attacked, “why?”

“because i think it’s my right to know what you’ve been saying about me to him and whoever else,” the seal of your calmness breaks as you extend an arm out, ready to scold him for anything he was about to say.

his expression drops in return, knowing any attempt to make you calm and make the situation subtle was out of his hands. connor knew you well enough to know you were too far into your frustration to calm you down.

“what’re you talking about?”

but that didn’t mean he had to comply.

“your new choice in men is obviously not working out for you. even they know i’m the best you’ll ever have.”

“what?” your head drops forward, taken aback at the sudden escalation connor had taken to his approach in words. “what the fuck are you on about?”

he smirks, pushing the red solo cup he had up to his lips, glancing around before looking back down to you, “why else do you think he lied to you about whatever it is you’re asking?”

“i can’t believe this,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “pull yourself out of that goddamn lie before you make yourself look even more like a fool. what have you been saying about me?”

“i find it best you don’t lie about this one, mate. you have an audience of witnesses,” there’s a hand on your back and a voice intervening.

the two of you focus to louis who suddenly stands behind you, daring connor to push it. the boy looks confounded looking between you, louis, and the crowd of boys behind him. he doesn’t know what to do within the corner he had backed himself into.

“whatever, this is my own fucking party. i don’t need to do shit,” he shoves past all of you. you all watch him storm away, not looking back, leaving you all to yourselves in the dust.

“let’s talk,” louis says immediately the moment you look up to him, nodding off in a random direction.

you slowly nod, following him.

“i didn’t think you’d actually ask him.”

a laugh gets caught in the back of your throat, shaking your head at the ignorance as he opens the passenger door to his car for you, “yeah?”

“yeah,” he slides into his own side of the car. “but then again, what would i know about you?”

“a lot, apparently. more than i would guess,” you lean your head against the palm of your hand, staring at him carefully. “you gonna tell me what he said now?”

louis looks hesitant, not even looking at you anymore as he thinks on how to answer. he doesn’t want to answer, it’s that simple, but he owes it to you to give you something sense he was the one who told you in the first place.

“when i met connor, he talked about you a lot. a lot for someone i barely saw. it was like every party he had something new to say or nothing new at all. as long as it was you he was talking about,” he smiles to himself, thinking of all the bragging and praising he had put into you, all for connor to just... “you were like a prize to him, y/n--until you weren’t. he called you easy, but you were his. he said he could walk you like a dog because he was the only guy you thought of.”

you feel rage and annoyance fume in the base of your chest as he speaks. he can see it form in your eyes, take over any look of calmness or subtlety from before. you make a move to push yourself back and out the door but louis is quick to grab your arm, pulling you right back to him, only closer.

“hold on there, cowgirl,” your almost in his lap. “you’re better than that.”

“am i?” you’re squirming, almost pulling from the grasp his grasp if it weren’t for how warm he made you feel.

“yeah,” he’s smiling at you. “why waste any more of your time with him anyways when you could just be here with me?”

you couldn’t help but fall victim to the pulling sensation on your lips to smile at him. you feel that fuzzy feeling creep up into your stomach at his stare like the first time you were both alone in his car and suddenly all your anger at connor melts away.

“only if you offer me cherry pie.”

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @remuslupinluvr @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @p-prettysour @sweeth0lland @heyitsmeimdead @ishwiya @thehuntress09 @Anushi @ss-tipton @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @thedeadlythoughts @amourtentiaa @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @sunsetcurving @225786As @lukewearingbeanies @voiddtrinity @kiramdd @oliviasrodrighoe @s8xwz @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @anicon_bby @itzstacie @spencybear @Msvrgs914 @whoreforsophialillis @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @alexmercer-reginaldpeters @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @dayanaralight @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @hizziestial @whoreforpsychopaths @sunsetcurve-95 @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr @youdontlikethatdoyoucupcake @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @xivilivix @morganaah @eichenhouseproperty @confusedchildstuff22 @alliechickens @moonlighy @ancientimes @gabeisinluv @thelaststraw3 @i44nishi @navyabhatnagar @iluvt4ylorswift @liltimmyst @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @esposadomd

#louis partridge #louis partridge x reader #louis patridge icons #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine #peter pan #the lost girls #enola x tewksbury #enola holmes #tewkesbury x reader #louis partridge imagine #sid vicious #millie bobby brown #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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nimmie-nugget · 8 months

Text

~Reincarnated as a Knolastname~

Note: HAPPY SPOOKY MONTH!! 🎃👻 gonna be honest- I actually think Crimson might have cared atleast a bit for Moxxie when he was a child 😭 Anyway~ take some reincarnated Moxxie’s Sister Reader Headcanons!! 🥳 Do keep in mind that characters may be ooooooooc, and when there’s 8 O’s you know it’s extreme 🤯. Also I haven’t been doing Tokito Twin’s content for a while so I just wanna reassure that I have some HCs coming up for them 😫!! Enjoy!

P.s in the back flashes of EXES AND OOHS I think Moxxie was 4? Yeah so that makes you 7, your 3 years older 😋👌 tho age is not mentioned at all- and I will make fics of this 😤

Warnings: a lot of slang(not rlly a warning, just thought I’d mention), ooc, may have punctuation, spelling grammer/etc errors,

Info: idk man just wanted to add this 😐

Edit: HOW DOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS- A POST I BARELY PUT ANY EFFORT INTO GET MORE RECOGNITION THEN THIS POST, THE ONE I ACTUALLY PUT EFFORT INTO 👹👹 I appreciate the likes tho don’t take it in a bad way- 😭👌

Edit#2: I recommend u don’t read 💀👍

Helluva Boss Masterlist

______________________________________________________________________

~Reaction to being Reincarnated~

-long story short you don’t know how you ended up here but you found yourself being the daughter of some random old ass guy that’s gonna be the main reason for your character development arc.

-at least that mom with an unknown name will provide you sweets and shit-

-gonna put sum realz shizz on this family fr.

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~Death~

-isn’t this Tumblr? Yeah long story short this turned into a Wattpad story for a second and the famous Truck-kun killed you 🗿 but you forgive Truck-kun since Truck-kun’s just being Truck-kun 😌.

______________________________________________________________________

~Inside a Mansion~

Yup this “Mansion” is someone’s womb, zamn how da heck do you still have memories of your past life? Also why does your very tiny unformed body kinda look like an imp? Just like one from your favourite show Helluva Boss? How can you even see??? It’s pitch black bro- meh it’s whatever 🤷‍♀️ it’s fun kicking at least-

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~Borth~

…I’m not even gonna explain this 🫡 but just so you know Crimson was not there for your birth 😶

-at least you still have the same Borthdah as you did before you were reincarnated???

-Girly just 🖕 this bullshit why’d you have to be re-born in this family out of all the ones in Helluva Boss? I mean- you don’t mind being Moxxie’s gay emo sister but like- Crimson…CRIMSON. Tho make sure to start those teenager phases early so no one becomes suspicious of you when your going through the teenage thinga ma jig 😔

-but yay! You bet that Moxxie’s mom- well basically your mom now, WILL BE THE BEST 😩

-but girly you weren’t even fazed when reincarnated- just accepted it like a champ 😎

______________________________________________________________________

~Crimson’s First Thoughts On You~

-Absolutely nothing- 😃

-only thought of you as his heiress and DEFINITELY to lead his Mob in the future 😔

______________________________________________________________________

~[Unknown]’s First Thoughts On You~

-this is the Mom btw 😃

-gonna be honest I don’t know much since we’ve never really gotten a FULL view of her personality- all that I know is that she’s kind? 🤷‍♀️ Yuh so I won’t really directly say what she thought but I guess I can just- I don’t know man just read I guess 😃👌

-101% THOUGHT YOU WERE CUTE AF!! what happened to infinite%? 😢

-she felt a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, something she never felt ever since she married Crimson 😔.

______________________________________________________________________

~Moxxie’s First Thoughts On You~

-‘Guppa duppa poo daaah dooo’

-don’t tell me you actually expected a real thought from him- Broski was just born 😔

______________________________________________________________________

~Your First Thoughts On Moxxie~

-‘zamn bro’s crying on his borthduh I could never 🙄💅’

-girly he’s like a few minutes old what on Satan’s ass are you talkin ‘bout? 😀

______________________________________________________________________

~What Crimson Thinks Of You~

-your a nuisance, like- what do you mean when you say “put those dawgs away💀”

-yeah you definitely got in trouble so many times- this stupid MF can’t understand slang and just thinks your insulting everyone around you 😶

-forget about you being his heiress, might as well make Moxxie his heir instead 😠

-Now take a very ooc dialogue 😋 btw this is after the Mom’s death 😃

-“[Name], cut it out. That will happen if you don’t stop.” He says calmly, too calm for you to know he’s pissed. (he was implying that he will drown you just like he did to the Mom btw-)

______________________________________________________________________

~What [Unkown] Thinks Of You~

-Loved you from the moment she layed her eyes on you 😩 (cheesy much 😶)

-wrote more then a dictionary just to prove how much she loves you 😔

-yuh that’s all I got 😐

______________________________________________________________________

~What Moxxie Thinks Of You~

He’s 4 rn-

-HE LOVES YOU!!

-your his sister why wouldn’t he- ?

-your basically his partner in crime 😈 both of you steal treats from the kitchen when your not supposed to 😤👍

-if the Mom found you 2 being naughty then sorry to tell you but yer’ both getting a time out 😔

-…BUT IF CRIMSON FOUND YOU- yuh that’s somehow gonna become a family issue problemo 😶💦______________________________________________________________________

I sometimes forget writing is for fun- but I certainly had fun writing this 😎 now I’m gonna tag this in some tags that this doesn’t even relate to which will make everyone hate me but they will soon worship me after reading this masterpiece. Praise this shit rn *points gun at you*

#helluva boss x reader #crimson x reader #crimson knolastname #moxxie x reader #moxxie knolastname #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss headcanon #knolastname x reader #fizzaroli x reader #asmodeus x reader x fizzarolli #blitzo x reader #millie x reader #loona x reader #stolas x reader #stella x reader #x reader #striker x reader #helluva boss crimson x reader #helluva boss moxxie x reader

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enteringdullsville · 4 months

Text

‘24 was alright, but it’s definitely the Action to ‘23’s Island; stuck having to continue a tough act to follow.

I know I’m skipping Pahkitew Island (and to a lesser extent World Tour) to get to this, but I have a lot of ideas for what I want (but don’t at all expect) for a third season.

First the elephants in the room, the newbies. Assuming season three is full length, 18 contestants is seems like a good cast size. Nick, labeled “The Know-It-All”, is like an unholy cross between Sierra and Dave: He’s seen every episode of this show fifteen times…and he’s already regretting attending. He’s actually an online critic who made the vital mistake of pissing off Chris in front of millions of his (Nick’s) viewers, prompting Chris to personally reach out to invite him onto the show. The fact Nick’s an in-universe character means he’s a lot more fair to the contestants than most fans and critics would be, but he’s still incredibly caustic to everyone with a pulse (and also Scary Girl). Felicity, labeled “The Gamer Junky” combines Sam’s interests and Lindsay’s demeanor…which I guess is just Kitty. More or less the pain magnet for the first half of the season (Damien takes over partway through), Felicity’s a moderately famous streamer with a rapier wit and is almost as athletic and coordinated as Tyler. She’s more straightforwardly a fan of the show, that’s why Chris picked her, but given that her team is a ticking time bomb, she’s gonna hafta work fast.

The teams consist of the Hiding Snakes (Nick, Damien, Julia, MK, Wayne, Raj, Priya, Millie, and Caleb) and the Feral Kittens (Felicity, Nichelle, Bowie, Emma, Zee, Chase, Ripper, Axel, and Lauren).

Episode 1. The cast is dragged kicking and screaming back to wherever the season takes place. Wawanakwa again? The abandoned movie lot? Boney Island? Who knows, but they don’t have to worry about it, since the challenge is solely for the new duo to pick their teams by collecting golden statuettes of the cast. Maybe it is an Action Sequel.

Episode 2. Nick and Felicity both have their work cut out for them. In one corner is Nick, who has to put up with Julia/MK vs Priya and also everyone on his team not named Wayne. On the other corner is Felicity, who has the misfortune of being caught up in a popularity contest: now that Ripper and Axel are dating, Chase feels he and Zee have been left in the dust (Zee has no clue what’s happening), leaving Chase and Axel to bicker endlessly throughout the challenge. Meanwhile, Emma’s finally taking her opportunity to patch things up with Bowie, who himself is more preoccupied with Scary Girl, who’s taking her loss last season about as well as Courtney did in Island. The absurdity of Ripper being forced to play the voice of reason is not lost on him, but it doesn’t save him from elimination by Felicity, Nichelle, Emma, and Bowie to make the arguing stop. I didn’t want to eliminate him so soon, but he made it halfway through two seasons, so it had to be done.

Episode 3. So it turns out sending the one guy keeping Axel in check and Chase from accidentally killing everything packing was not Felicity’s best idea. Feli and Niche bond over poor game decisions (and the fact the latter’s career is starting to pick back up helps too), while Emma and Bowie are now on speaking terms again. Speaking of which, Emma tries to sic Lauren on Chase (he’s voted her off twice now), giving a recap of all the reckless and insane stuff he’s done. Gotta get rid of your distractions while you can. Unfortunately for Ms. People Person, Lauren was nicknamed “Reckless and Insane Girl” before signing up and the two surprisingly hit it off. MEANWHILE BACK AT THE LAB Nick picks up where Bowie left off and commandeers Julia and MK’s cheating skills for the team, much to Priya’s chagrin. Caleb grows worried about Priya’s mental state, but Millie, determined not to screw herself over again, goes with everything she says without question. In the end, Zee goes home, still hopelessly confused about why everyone’s fighting, but at least avoiding any major social gaffes. It’s a good thing he and Ripper merged twice, otherwise I’d really feel like scum.

Episode 4. This one’s a breather, but we don’t have to tell them that. Nick for the first time is divided over his role as a contestant and as a critic. As a contestant, he knows it’s best to keep Julia, Priya, Wayne, and Caleb as close to him as possible (and pats himself on the back for acing the team picking challenge), but as a critic he doesn’t particularly want to keep them around, especially Julia and Priya who pulled a Gweathuncanoey and have stuck around for two seasons in their entirety. He also kinda wants MK and Julia to become an item. On the flip side, since Emma introduced Chase to his demented new bestie, he’s gotten even more crazy himself and spends the entire challenge locked in a dare contest with Nichelle. Emma and Bowie watch on in amusement to take the latter’s mind off of being separated from Raj, while Axel reminisces about simpler times when she was an early boot. Caleb and Millie continue their power quartet with Damien (who has taken it upon himself to start lugging a first aid kit every he goes) and Priya, whose fuse grows shorter than Eva’s.

Episode 5. Caleb should probably know better than to make deals behind Priya’s back by this point, but it’s her own fault for sharing the Bow’s taste in men. Since the final four of the previous season (and also Damien) are all on the same team, Lauren makes her first strategistical move now that she knows the group’s biggest fears. MK proves to be a tougher nut to crack, however, building on the two’s interactions in the 24 finale. Axel and Chase have entered “Cold War” territory and are both trying to gather allies. Emma and Bowie are a given (although the latter can’t promise anything), and Chase has Scary, but Felicity and Nichelle are anyone’s game. Not that it really matters though, since that deal I mentioned was for The Boys (TM) to vote Caleb out, since he doesn’t want to hold Priya back anymore. Priya is crushed, Julia is laughing hysterically, and Damien’s salty that nobody voted him off when he was literally asking for it. I didn’t want to give him the Gwen/Ezekiel treatment where he’s the lowest member of two teams, especially since it means he’s 16th again, but here we are. Curse my impartiality!

Episode 6. Knowing Priya’s going to stick around as long as she has allies, Julia and MK start gunning for Millie, hoping she slips up eventually. Nick, however, secretly chooses to plot against the duo, even though MK is his favorite character from this season, because honestly, who would you pick as an ally? Meanwhile, the Kitty Kold War’s come to a boiling point with Nichelle and Felicity’s votes up for grabs. Bowie’s been on Team Axel, but after suffering a migraine all day decides to join the two wildcards. In the end however, Wayne genuinely asks Axel and Chase why they’re even arguing to begin with. Realizing that Ripper’s already gone by this point, they decide to cooperate this one time…a decision that sends poor Wayne right to the losers’ circle. I wanted to see how long I could keep the Hockey Bros around before I had to eliminate the one who lasted longer last season. At least he still has his sick awesome two buses.

Episode 7. Did somebody say “reward challenge”? With the teams even for the first time since the second episode, the two have to wrangle up old contestants scattered across the lot (I decided this will be the Action reboot), and appropriately it’s the three most frustrating contestants to track down: Shawn for the Kittens (much to zombie slayer Axel’s delight), Dawn for the Snakes (much to tiny Tsundere MK’s horror), and for a bonus, Ezekiel (who Chris has “procrastinated a bit” on retrieving). This one’s more or less an excuse for character growth, so that’s why I’m describing the challenge in a little more detail. Anywho, Dawn, Shawn, and the one whose name doesn’t rhyme are all caught, the Kittens winning. And MK’s secrets are totally safe and not revealed to the public at all. In other news, Dawn and Shawn both want off the lot immediately after finding out Scary Girl’s still on it.

Episode 8. (Sotto Voce) I’m gonna have to eliminate a girl sooner or later. Anywho, the Cold War arc has finally cooled down since even Axel can’t stay mad forever and Chase is too narcissistic to hold a grudge. With the merge coming up, Felicity requests Nichelle train her since her leadership skills can only get her so far at this point. Priya and Millie are taking the opportunity to relax since Julia and MK are still awkward about the secret crush I totally lied about earlier. Maybe they’ll get together, maybe they won’t…but Nick ensures they totally do, if only because he refuses to let his OTP sink…at least not before he takes the opportunity to eliminate MK, who’s both a bigger social threat and less of a physical aid at the moment. I think she’s made it far enough for me not to have to explain her elimination in detail.

Episode 9. With Julia out of allies, she’s gotta either guarantee her team wins, bribe Chris into throwing in another immunity idol, or make one of her teammates look less desirable than her. In unrelated news, Raj is still missing Wayne after I cruelly tore the two apart. Axel’s now in on Nichelle and Felicity’s alliance, meaning Emma and Bowie have to get in their good books before Scary Girl (she’s still plenty mad at him) does what Fang does best. Try as the noble Priyanka and Millicent may, Julia manages to play up Raj’s misery to get Nick and Damien (in a moment of weakness) to vote him off. For whom Raj himself voted, I didn’t think too hard about, but the Snakes are sucking for a team with four different finalists on it. Oh, and Bowie is pissed. TOTAL DRAMA BOMB!

Episode 10. In the final pre merge episode, not much occurs. That dang moon from All-Stars is making Lauren act strange, even by her own standards, and not in a productive way. Bowie throws caution into the wind and goes all out in trying to make sure Julia goes home (don’t have to tell them twice), making Emma realize how tiring it is to have to play damage control to someone else’s revenge schemes. Nichelle takes charge, refusing to get eliminated before the merge again, while Chase gets everything on film. By this point, Millie’s competent enough to single-handedly win this for her team, and also by this point, Scary’s freaked enough people to get voted out. Of course, this isn’t the last we’ll see of her…because she ran off before Chef could apprehend her.

We now interrupt this program to bring you this picture of Team Victory I drew for a follow up to my iconic TDWT/Jellystone animatic. I wasn’t feeling like making a whole video, but I kept the boarded first shot anyway.

Episode 11. Chris has dissolved the teams for one purpose: catch Scary Girl before she tries to reenact the events of Scarlett Fever. To make a long freaking story short, they apprehend her…and Chris decides to go the Dakota route and give her a promotion…to tertiary third host…meaning she has the means to cause even more mayhem. And no, Chase, that doesn’t mean you get to submit challenge ideas.

Episode 12. It’s Scary’s first day on the new job, but Chris insists she “sTaRt SmAlL”. The girls’ alliance approaches Nick, partially to build their numbers but also because Felicity feels it’s only fair she at least tries to build a friendship with the other rookie player. He agrees, but only if he can bring Damien (his best friend on the island and his second favorite character). Bowie and Emma take their chance to get rid of two birds with one stone, since Priya and Julia now have nothing stopping them from maiming each other. And maim, maim, maim they do, since (as you could probably guess by how I highlighted their names), they both get sent packing! Did I deliberately hold off on voting them out solely so they’d reach the merge a third time? Yes. Did I do this because having them be proper enemies instead of rivals like in 23 was entertaining? Yes. Did I also do this to piss off the people complaining they (read: mostly Priya) had too much screen time? YES! Do I love making this fan base cry? You tell me.

Episode 13. Against his alliance’s better judgment, Nick tries to edge Bowie back into active villainy, realizing too late he’s prioritized competent gameplay over plot by getting rid of the main conflict. Unbeknownst to him, Millie has her sights on him, correctly viewing his alleged alliance as suspicious, not to mention him turning against MK a few episodes back. Damien suffers from a terrible disease called “having Scary Girl in your general vicinity”, and to add figurative insult to literal injury has to deal with Chase trying to befriend him at her request. Luckily for everyone, it’s a reward challenge for the final eight.

Episode 14. Nick may have awakened a monster. Trying to stir up drama again, he decides it’s a great idea to set Lauren on Emma, claiming A: that it’s the best way to get his attention, and B: that only she gets to cause him harm. Feeling genuine emotions of protection for the first time in her life, she does all she can to make Emma suffer (even though the latter genuinely doesn’t care what Chase does at this point and is willing to be polite if he doesn’t pull anything). Millie and Bowie put aside their differences to stake out Nick, but of course Bowie has other plans. The girls’ alliance continues to serve and oh would you look at that, Emma’s gone because she’s canonically rich anyway and Scary’s not gonna let up while she’s still on the island. I could’ve made her elimination not Chase related. But I didn’t. Emma deserves better, but this is Total Drama, where we don’t even remotely give a crap.

Episode 15. Bowie’s out of allies and Scary’s still after him, so now he really needs to keep Millie close, and what better way is there than to break up an alliance? Nick’s more than a little suspicious about Millie’s sudden investment about everything he does, prompting Bowie to claim she’s in love with him and can’t communicate it. Nick is doubtful, but the idea behind planted in his mind causes him to catch feelings. Damien, being Nick’s confidant and feeling guilty about how he indirectly screwed Priya and Caleb (and also Zee) last season concerning their romance arc, tries to steer him away from her. Axel and Scary bond a little when they trick out the Sling of Shame, and by that I of course mean they accidentally break it in half. Chris already sold the Drone of Despair, so let’s call this one a draw.

Episode 16. Bowie, now fully back in the groove of things, tries to drive a wedge between Nick and the rest of his alliance, while Nick has some delicious angst over what he should do about his budding feelings, knowing full well that Bowie’s lying to him but failing to realize Millie wants him gone. Felicity pops up for the first time in a while, which in Island would mean she’s going home next (let’s imagine she won immunity last episode) but here means the girls’ alliance goes through its first rough patch when Axel, who’s long since taken over as leader, tests Felicity’s resolve. Unfortunately for Axel, Millie, Bowie, Damien, and Nick view her signature brand of tough love out of context and drop her like Ripper’s parents dropped him.

Episode 17. Ten episodes left and a lucky number seven contestants remain. Chris tells the kids (or are they 18 by now?) upfront that today’s a reward challenge, the prize being a FaceTime with the eliminated contestants. Millie, still wanting answers, and Bowie, wanting to see Raj again, immediately dissolve their alliance. Everyone tries (except Chase, who had a phone the entire time and got to keep it three seasons in a row by not being as obvious as Julia was), but Millie comes out on top, ultimately learning about Nick’s alliance…and his crush. She has the decency to let Raj and Wayne say hi to Bowie. Chase learns something, too…

Episode 18. Nick decides Bowie’s more trouble than he’s worth, but rather than just telling everyone to vote him off (which he predictably finds overused), he decides to play a game of “show, but don’t tell”. So using that as the episode title. He immediately decides to play this on hard mode with the two remaining contestants who have the least amount of beef with him: the fangirl Felicity and the airheaded Chase. Surprisingly, this actually works and Bowie gets sent home, Nick realizing he doesn’t have to rely on others to make drama for him. Millie sees what he’s doing but is confused about his slightly convoluted methods, not helped by Nick’s complete and utter failure to explain himself, by this point completely smitten. Damien notices that Nick’s popularity is fading and decides to lie low for a bit rather than betray him or risk being associated with him.

Episode 19. Reward challenge time? With only Millie, Felicity, Nichelle, Chase, Damien, and himself left, Nick seriously considers playing the main villain. Chase is the odd man out, lacking any sort of alliance and still having sort of a target on his back, but he doesn’t seem too concerned. Millie struggles to approach Nick without breaking his heart, since while he isn’t really her ally, he hasn’t really done much to wrong her. After all, he’s a better partner than opponent.

Episode 20. Every villain has their nemesis, and Nick was not expecting it to be Chase of all people, but Chase outs him before Millie can. Damien sticks by Nick (in silence of course, because he’s still friends with Nichelle and to a lesser extent Felicity), but Millie’s conflicted. Nonetheless, Nichelle and Felicity start gunning for him, breaking up the alliance, and they would’ve gotten away with it too, if Chris didn’t remember sudden death challenges exist. Millie has the misfortune of finishing last and is sent home, but not before she decides to just ask him out, figuring she doesn’t have anything to lose at this point.

Episode 21. Notice a pattern? It’s another reward challenge! Scary Girl’s been in a rut lately, and the challenges have grown dull, so Chris has brought in many of TD’s most terrifying beasts, mutants included back on to spice things up a bit. Even the Dakotazoid returns, half the size she was before but now sporting wings for some reason. I guess mutations evolve. Chase chooses now to start caring about other people, but because it’s Chase it’s doomed to backfire horribly, given that it gives Lauren a wonderfully wicked idea…

Episode 22. …that involves locking people in closets. Specifically Chris and Chef. Scary Girl’s the host today and she’s back and more terrifying than ever. Nick, Nichelle, Felicity, and Chase put aside their differences (not that Felicity ever had issues with any of them) when the challenge becomes “Stop Lauren”. Aaaand now I realize Scarlett Fever was probably recycled from the scrapped episode where Dakota hosted the show after locking Chris and Chef in a closet herself. Anywho, Chase is fired on the spot for starting this whole mess…right before Scary kisses him, resigns, hops on the sling with him, declaring him her “boyfriend for eternity”. Chase has only half a second to process what the freshwater frick just happened before getting flung away.

Episode 23. Can you tell I’m getting tired? Only four remain, split between two alliances who used to be part of a greater one. Nick assures the others it’s nothing personal before things can start. Things happen, hijinks ensue, interns are mauled, but it’s ultimately Nichelle who crosses the finish line last. Better 4th than 12th or 14th. On that note, now we all know Felicity’s gonna be a finalist.

Episode 24. Nick and Damien part ways somewhat amicably, Nick knowing it was bound to happen eventually.

Episode 25. One final breather episode: this one’s just a big pre finale party! Really, the only thing the contestants need to worry about are Chase diving into the cake, Wayne and Raj freezing the pool, and Julia and MK doing their darnedest to bring the mood down.

Episode 26. A simple, no frills finale…is what I’d say if Chris hadn’t brought back every finalist the show has had (including Ezekiel, ostensibly because he got the TDWT prize money, but mostly to squeeze some mayhem in before Zeke’s first therapy meeting), in particular Priya, Bowie, Millie, Wayne, Julia, and Caleb. Damien vs Felicity vs Nick, battle of the nerds! Three go in…one comes out.

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bi-disaster-yn · 2 years

Text

Helpless

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Reader

Summary: Rhaenyra struggles with the loss of her mother and only Reader steps up to help her.

A/N: I am already down SO BAD for Rhaenyra and will be bending the knee for her.

You had never fought on the battlefield before but you were sure at this moment you would win a war to get back to Rhaenyra.

When the news had reached you about the untimely passing of her mother, you knew you had to abandon your travels and head back to King’s Landing to be there for her. It seemed like the urgency of your expedition had dissipated and this had become the only thing in the world that mattered.

You were partially comforted by the fact that she would have Alicent to look after her. Although, this wouldn’t be the same as you tending to her. Whilst Alicent was Rhaenyra’s dearest friend, you were her lover and closest confidant.

Tight knotting ravaged your stomach and chest as you got closer and closer to King’s Landing. Fear set in as you pondered how your poor Rhaenyra was faring without you. The carriage just simply wasn’t going fast enough. You had demanded returning by horseback, knowing you’d be able to outride the entire party and get there in half the time. However, your demands were harshly refused. Instead, you were to sit helplessly in a carriage, playing with your hands and torturing yourself with the endless possibilities of your love’s welfare.

Once safely in King’s Landing, you ignored a squire’s hand to help you out of the carriage and essentially launched yourself out of it.

“My Lady, we hadn’t expected you back for quite some time.” The squire commented but you brushed him off.

“The Princess needs me.” You responded, storming off to the kitchen to fetch a selection of some of Rhaenyra’s favourite cakes. Then, you completed your mission to her chambers.

You were right; Rhaenyra did need you. When you found her, she was curled up on her bed, lying on her stomach on a large pillow that was almost the size of a person. It was drenched with her tears but she clung onto it, sobbing relentlessly.

Never had you seen your dear Rhaenyra so helpless. Her full body was racked with painful and shuddering sobs. She seemed fragile and thin. Clearly, she had eaten very little since the event and the consequences had quickly manifested in her petite frame. The black dress that once fitted her perfectly now seemed to drown her.

She lay facing out of the window and didn’t register your entrance. It wasn’t until you set the cakes to the side and gently got on to the bed behind her that she realised there was someone else in the room. Startled, she jumped at the contact when you placed a loving hand on her shoulder until she recognised your kind face and she instantly felt safe.

Desperately, she grabbed at the collar of your dress, pulling you down on top of her and let out deep and heart-wrenching howls. It was the safety you provided that allowed her to let go so freely and truly vent her pained emotions. You responded to her by wrapping your arms round her tightly and burying your head in her neck, kissing her soft skin gently to reassure her.

“My sweet one, I am so sorry.” You mumbled against her skin. “I am here now. I am sorry I wasn’t before.”

“You came back for me.” She shakily spoke in between her ragged breathing.

“I will always come back for you, Princess.” You said, resting your elbow on the pillow and looking down at her. The poor thing had a red and raw complexion in stark contrast to her usually sun kissed one. You ran your fingers through her hair, casually twirling the strands between them in an attempt to soothe her.

Rhaenyra reached up to kiss you gently, placing both of her hands on your cheeks and holding you in place. Your eyes instantly closed and you reciprocated the kiss delicately. You brushed your thumb along her jaw in feather-like touches. Selfishly, you rejoiced at the opportunity of being able to kiss her again but held yourself back in respect for her mourning.

Once you’d pulled back, you rested your forehead against hers, still caressing her jawline. She looked up at you with a gorgeous combination of ardour and melancholy.

“You can tell Alicent to take some rest, I am here to tend to you now.” You whispered to her; your face close enough to hers that your lips brushed against her skin as you spoke.

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly at that and settled back against the pillow, avoiding your gaze. Her response confused you profusely and you brushed some hair away from her forehead in an attempt to get her to look at you.

“Alicent has not been here in days. I hear she tends to my father.” Rhaenyra admitted, almost guiltily and still tried to avoid eye contact with you. Nothing could stop the frown that your features contorted to make. To say the least, you were furious. In your Rhaenyra’s time of need, the person who you were sure would tend to her had abandoned her in favour of her father. The King no doubt would have had the support of the small council, countless whores and anyone else who enjoyed breathing. In your absence, Rhaenyra only had Alicent but had been left to fend for herself.

“What about Daemon?” You inquired. “Surely he has paid you a visit.”

Daemon wasn’t exactly your preferred substitute but apart from you or Alicent, you knew that he would be the only one who could provide your beloved with some comfort.

“No, I don’t know where he is.” She replied sheepishly. This angered you too, but not nearly as much as Alicent. If anything, Daemon’s absence was to be preferred. You had always been cynical of his intentions with Rhaenyra and she did not need his influence in this particularly vulnerable time. Still, she should never have been left alone.

Carefully, you sat back against the grand throw pillows on the bed and pulled Rhaenyra with you so that her head rested on your chest.

“Well, I am here now and I’m not going anywhere.” You reassured her, pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

“I am glad you’re back; I couldn’t possibly pretend that big pillow was you for much longer.” She replied, with a slight smirk in her tone. It was both heart-warming and gut-wrenching that she had craved your comfort so much she had resorted to imagining your presence.

“Well, hopefully I have more intelligent things to say than the pillow.” You offered, stroking her hair and allowing her to wrap her arms round your waist to hold you in an iron grip. She never truly appreciated the vastness of her own physical strength.

“Hmm, I am not so sure.” Rhaenyra joked, looking up at you with a faint smile. Despite her mourning and the pain, she would always be able to smile once in your arms. For that, you’d allow her to make her little jests so that she might find her playful demeanour again.

“Well, I’ll keep quiet then. I am sure you and the pillow have much to discuss.” You smirked.

“I think we have discussed all we can.” She sighed contentedly, settling into your arms. “Tell me about your travels. Give me a distraction from how heinous this feels.”

“I will, but first,” you began, reaching over to retrieve the cakes from the side. “Please eat some of these. I know you won’t have eaten much but I’m certain you can be tempted with cake.”

Rhaenyra’s stiff and exposed expression confirmed you were right about her not having eaten. She made a careful selection on a lavender cake and nibbled on it, looking up at you adoringly.

“You know how to make everything better.” She told you, settling her head in the crook of your neck. You kissed her forehead gently and rubbed her back soothingly.

“I’ll always try to make things better for you, my Princess.” You said and the did as your princess had commanded of you, regaling stories of your recent travels in an animated way which you knew she would like. Rhaenyra enjoyed your commentary, sometimes finding herself giggling and immediately began to feel more at ease. Her one true love had endeavoured to come back for her when she needed them most.

Existence without her mother was excruciating and the days that followed Queen Aemma’s passing had been a war that Rhaenyra was losing. She had tried desperately to keep her head above water, flailing helplessly with no assistance. With your return, it was like you had reached your hand out to stop her from drowning. Rhaenyra settled, feeling safe in your arms and that things had just gotten a little less terrible.

#rhaenyra targaryen #Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader #Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader #Rhaenyra Targaryen x female reader #Rhaenyra Targaryen fanfiction #Rhaenyra Targaryen one shot #Rhaenyra Targaryen imagine #Rhaenyra Targaryen drabble #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #Rhaenyra Targaryen x yn #Rhaenyra targa x you #reader insert #game of thrones fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon targaryen #milly alcock #milly Alcock x reader #lgbt reader

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breezy-cheezy · 1 year

Photo

Febuwhump Day 28: You’re safe now

A voice hushed him in his ear, and a large warm hand continued to gently rub his back in one of the only places that wasn’t covered in bleeding cuts.

“I promise Vash, I promise.”

He sobbed.

“Just rest for me Vash, okay? Okay? You’re going to be okay I promise.”

ART FOR @insertsomthinawesome‘s WONDERFUL fic that’s been giving me brainrot lately ;;v;; Hug time.

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virgoilluminati · 9 months

Text

World Class

Chapter 3

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A/N: So I basivally wrote this whole ass chapter and then tumblr went and deleted it..... bro was not happy. But hey I just rewrote it now for you all so your welcome. Hopefully it isn't completely awful. Enjoy :)

(Ps this is a walsh + bronze ship story too, so dont get offended cos i love them together :))

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst? Mentions of death

keirawalsh & lucybronze

Liked by lionesses, y/nmorrison and 93,000 others

keirawalsh early mornings on the greatest place on earth

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leahwilliamsonn this is where you two sneaked off too before breakfast!

y/nmorrison the fact most of us had to completely collapse after the session last night and you two decided to go for an early walk 🤦🏻‍♀️

lucybronze what can I say, gotta get them gains 💪💪

The breakfast table buzzed with conversations, laughter, and the clinking of cutlery as you, a member of the England women’s football team, contemplated the daunting task of choosing breakfast from the tempting buffet spread.

“Mary, I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on the mouthwatering options.

Mary Earps, the team’s talented goalkeeper, sympathized, sighing softly. “I know, we just have to choose.”

“But it’s so hard,” you lamented, your stomach growling in protest.

“I know. Do I go for a savory breakfast or something sweet? I’m supposed to be on a diet.”

“Let’s just get the fruit salad and then see how we feel,” Mary suggested, attempting to make a healthy choice.

With your breakfast choices in hand, you made your way over to the table where the rest of your teammates were seated. As you started to dig into your food, Leah, one of your fellow players, entered the room and frowned slightly, spotting the empty seats next to you.

“Where are Lucy and Keira?” Leah inquired.

“They’ve snuck out again,” Alex responded with a grin.

“Again!” Ella chimed in.

“Yeah, they’re making a habit of it,” Mary added.

Curious about the potential romance between Lucy and Keira, you leaned in closer to the conversation. “Do you think those two are…” You hesitated, not wanting to interrupt.

“Those two are what?” Ella asked, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“I don’t know, seeing each other,” you finally managed to say.

Laughter erupted around the table as your teammates realized your innocence. Ella, still chuckling, replied, “Oh, you, it’s so obvious. How have you only figured it out now?”

Blushing, you joined in the laughter, grateful for the camaraderie and warmth of your teammates. Breakfast discussions were more than just food; they were about friendship, support, and the occasional secret romance that managed to escape your keen observation.

As conversations divided into different groups, you found yourself immersed in discussions about potential Arsenal transfers with Leah. Then, Greenwood, known for her playful spirit, introduced a new topic.

“I know how about we play a game of Dead or Alive,” Greenwood proposed.

“That sounds… interesting,” you replied, intrigued but uncertain.

“No, it’s not like that,” Greenwood clarified with a grin. "Basically we go around the room and discuss what footballers we'd like to have breakfast with;dead or alive."

“I’ll start,” Ella declared confidently. “Cristiano Ronaldo.”

“Pft, please. Messi is the GOAT,” Alessia responded, sparking a friendly debate between the two.

As Ella passionately defended Ronaldo’s abilities, she couldn’t help but glance over at Alessia, who was adamantly championing Messi. “Alessia, seriously, you must see that Ronaldo’s athleticism and versatility make him stand out!”

Alessia grinned, ready with her counter-argument. “But Ella, Messi’s ball control and creative genius on the field are unmatched. He makes the impossible seem routine!”

Their heated discussion captivated the attention of the entire group, creating a playful rivalry that echoed the global footballing debate.

Meanwhile, Milly’s voice cut through the Messi vs. Ronaldo debate as she chimed in, “Maradona. Hands down.”

“I second that,” Mary declared from across the room, solidifying her agreement with Milly’s choice.

Amidst the lively banter, the conversation once again shifted towards Leah’s unique choice in the “Dead or Alive” game. Her unwavering commitment to selecting her teammates was met with a mixture of amusement and cringe-inducing reactions.

Leah, now the center of attention, defended her choice with a grin. “I’d be with this group of people!”

The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by a collective groan and laughter as her teammates playfully teased her. “Leah, that’s… different! Is there really no one else?” someone inquired with a smirk.

Leah, ever steadfast, reiterated her preference. “Nope. I’d want to be with you guys. We’re all history makers!”

Ella, never one to let an opportunity pass, prodded further, “Okay, then, out of all of us, who would you pick?”

Leah hesitated momentarily, but the teasing encouragement from her teammates eventually won her over. “You can’t make me do that."

Mary, with a mischievous grin, added to the pressure, “Yes, she can.”

Leah finally turned her head towards you, who was quietly enjoying your tea amidst the ongoing discussions. “I’d choose Y/N. She’s pretty cool, you know.”

The room erupted into laughter once again, the tension in the conversation dissolving into shared amusement and camaraderie. The breakfast table was a place not just for food but for the deep connections and lighthearted moments that made this group of footballers a true family on and off the pitch.

But before the conversation could move on, someone asked, “You’d choose Noah, no?”

Your heart skipped a beat as a wave of emotions washed over you. Noah,, was a sore subject. Guilt gnawed at you because you had made it to the Women’s World Cup while Noah’s dreams had been cut short. Uncertain how to react, you felt vulnerable.

In that moment, you decided to mask your emotions with a laugh, albeit a shaky one. “Oh yeah, probably him! Haha.”

Your teammates recognized your discomfort and quickly changed the subject, wanting to ease the weight off your shoulders. Williamson, always considerate, stepped in, directing a question to Alessia about her transfer to Arsenal.

Alessia, appreciating the diversion, animatedly explained her move, and you silently thanked your teammates for their understanding. Your thoughts briefly returned to Noah, a constant presence in your heart, and the complex mix of emotions you carried with you. Amidst the laughter and camaraderie, you found solace in the support of your teammates, knowing that they were not just a team on the field but a family that understood and cared for each other’s burdens and joys.

Lucy and Keira made their way to the breakfast table, casually sitting down with apologetic smiles on their faces. "Sorry we're late, guys. We kind of overslept," Lucy explained, and Keira nodded in agreement, adding, "Yeah, it was a long night." Their late arrival raised eyebrows from everyone else around them, but not wanting to question it any further, the group simply dug into their breakfasts and started discussing life with each other.

As Lucy dived into her breakfast, she couldn't help but notice you, who seemed more interested in playing with your food than actually eating it. Concern gnawed at her, but she decided not to intrude on your moment and instead waited patiently until the meal's end to approach you.

Once the plates were nearly empty, Lucy turned to you with a warm smile. "Hey, Y/N. Mind if I join you for a moment?"

You looked up from your plate, pushing around your food. A faint smile touched your lips as you replied, "Sure, Lucy. What's up?"

Lucy leaned in a bit closer, lowering her voice. "I've noticed you're not really eating, and you seem a bit distant. Is everything okay?"

Your smile faded slightly, and you hesitated for a moment. "I've just been feeling a bit off lately. It's nothing major, just some stress and worries."

Lucy nodded understandingly. "I get it. We all have our moments. Sometimes, a walk by the beach can help clear your mind. If you ever want to talk or just take a break like this, I'm here for you."

Your smile brightened again, appreciating the offer. "Thanks, Lucy. That sounds nice."

As breakfast came to an end, Lucy decided to put her words into action. "Well, it's still early, and I thought maybe we could take a walk down to the beach. Clear our heads, you know?"

You, though confused by the unexpected gesture, was intrigued. "A walk to the beach? Okay, sounds nice. Let's go."

You both left the breakfast table behind, heading towards the beach together, leaving behind uour concerns and worries for a while, lost in the serene beauty of the early morning waves.

Lucy and you sat on the edge of the football field, their legs dangling over the side as they caught their breath after a rigorous practice session running along the beach. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the field, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

You turned to Lucy, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What made you want to be a footballer, Lucy?"

Lucy leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows and staring up at the darkening sky. "Dunno. Always liked it. PE was about the only thing I was good at. And well, it was always fun to beat the boys. Why?"

You hesitated, her gaze shifting to the grass beneath her feet. "Dunno. It doesn't matter-"

Lucy sensed something was bothering You. She nudged you gently. "No, what is it?"

You sigh and finally admitted, "I just feel like sometimes I don't deserve to be here, you know. Like maybe someone else should have my place."

Lucy's eyes widened with empathy. She turned her head to look at you directly. "Hey! That's not true. You're brilliant! Yesterday is a prime example of it."

Your uncertainty lingered as she mumbled, "Hmm."

Lucy reached out and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Trust me, Sarina doesn't pick just anyone. She chose you for a reason. You need to accept that."

You nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced. "I know. I just feel like-"

Lucy interrupted, changing the subject, "Your family must be so proud."

You sighed, your expression growing somber. She picked at a blade of grass absentmindedly. "Hmm. No, that would be great, but uh... they kinda see football as the thing that killed my brother, so uh... we just avoid the topic."

Lucy's face softened, sympathy in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Y/N-"

You shook her head, managing a small smile. "Don't be. I have Jude and I have my dad, and now I have this group. I am truly blessed. I just can't speak about it at home, that's all."

Lucy nodded in understanding. "Just know, family isn't always blood. We look out for each other, alright? If you're ever in doubt of your place, which you shouldn't be, come speak to us, alright?"

Your smile grew, genuine gratitude in your eyes. "Thank you, Lucy. I needed to hear that." You both sat there, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the bonds of their friendship strengthening with each passing day.

From that moment onwards, Lucy took on a role in your life that went beyond just being a teammate. She became like an older sister to you, always there to lend a supportive ear and offer guidance. Her concern for your well-being extended beyond the football field.

Lucy made it her mission to ensure that you were okay, both physically and emotionally. She’d check in with you regularly, asking about your day, your struggles, and your dreams. You appreciated the genuine care Lucy showed her, and it helped ease her feelings of self-doubt.

But Lucy wasn’t just all sweetness and comfort. She also knew how to push you to be your best self. During practice sessions, Lucy would challenge you to give your all, to push past your limits, and to believe in your own abilities. She’d remind you of the talent and potential that Sarina saw in you.

Your bond strengthened with each passing day. Lucy’s presence became a source of strength for you, and you found yourself growing more confident on and off the field. Lucy’s tough love and unwavering support became the driving force behind your determination to prove yourself.

lionesses + england

Liked by ,chloekelly,alessiarusso and 120,000 others

lionesses How brilliant was y/n today! First world cup and senior women's debut

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germanywasrobbed Yeh, kept stumbling over everyone...

y/nisno.1 @germanywasrobbed your still bitter about the euros....

user124 she is actually so iconic

user890 legend 🔥

user3516 starting lineup soon? Morrison, James and Russo - a trio we'd love to see!

You spent most of the World Cup matches observing the action from the substitute bench, a place you'd grown far too familiar with. You knew you were not as seasoned or experienced as your teammates, many of whom had been part of the national team for years. As the tournament progressed, you often found yourself itching to be on the pitch, to contribute to the team's success.

However, your moment finally arrived during the crucial game against China in the group stages. It was the final few minutes of the match, and your coach decided it was time to give you a chance. You exchanged a few nervous glances with your fellow substitutes as you prepared to enter the game. Your heart pounded, and your mind was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

As you stood at the sideline, ready to make your entrance, Chloe Kelly, one of the team's stars, approached you with a reassuring smile.

Chloe Kelly: "Y/N, it's your moment now. You've worked hard for this. Go out there and give it your all. You've got this!"

You nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for Chloe's support. As Chloe walked back towards the bench, she leaned in and whispered, "Good luck, Y/N. Show them what you're made of!"

With those words of encouragement ringing in your ears, you stepped onto the pitch. The roar of the crowd enveloped you, and the electric energy of the World Cup filled the air. You knew that this was your opportunity to prove yourself, to demonstrate your dedication and determination to your teammates and fans alike.

As you sprinted towards the penalty box, the stadium buzzed with anticipation. The commentators, Martin Tyler and John Motson, added to the atmosphere.

Martin Tyler: "And here comes a surprise move! Y/N, the young talent, is making a run for it as she takes the ball from Walsh!"

John Motson chimed in, "That's right, folks! She's showing some incredible speed and determination."

But the defenders were closing in on Y/N faster than expected. Martin Tyler remarked, "Indeed, they are not giving her an inch. She's got to make a decision fast!"

Inside the penalty box, your heart raced. The electric energy of the football match was surging through her like a storm. You knew the game was already well in hand; your teammates had scored five impressive goals. Yet, you had an insatiable desire to make your mark.

In that moment, you felt a mix of emotions. You were a rookie, inexperienced, and you felt out of place among these skilled players. Scoring now would not only be a personal triumph but also secure your legacy as someone who could rise to the occasion when it mattered most.

As you prepared to take the shot, the world seemed to slow down. Two defenders closed in on you. Martin Tyler's voice filled the stadium once again, "Y/N now inside the penalty box, she's going for the shot!"

But just as you were about to unleash the shot that could define your career, the defenders pulled you down. John Motson exclaimed, "Oh, but she's taken down by two defenders! The referee blows the whistle!"

Martin Tyler continued, "That's a clear foul, and Y/N had a golden opportunity there. This could be a game-changing moment!"

On the ground, you felt a rush of disappointment and frustration. Yet, there was also a glimmer of hope. The free-kick in this dangerous position could still be a chance to make your mark.

With determination burning in your eyes, you stepped up to take the free-kick. The crowd held its breath, and your teammates waited with bated anticipation. But in a last-minute decision, you spotted James, unmarked and ready. In that critical moment, you felt a surge of confidence in your abilities but also recognized the opportunity to make a play that would secure the goal.

You didn't take the shot yourself. Instead, you expertly curved the ball towards James, who was positioned perfectly. As James leaped to meet the pass, you could see the realization dawning on the defenders too late. James connected with the ball, sending it crashing into the back of the net with precision.

The stadium erupted in cheers, celebrating the goal. Your heart swelled with happiness at having contributed to the team's success, but a hint of annoyance gnawed at you. You knew you had the skill to take that shot yourself, to potentially score and secure your legacy as a goal-scorer. Yet, in that crucial moment, you had chosen the path of teamwork over individual glory.

As your teammates celebrated around you, you couldn't help but smile, recognizing the power of unity in football. But deep down, the desire to prove yourself in a solo effort still burned brightly. You were determined that your next opportunity would be the one where you could shine individually and claim that goal for yourself.

As you made your way toward the changing room, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins after the thrilling game, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out to find a call from your boyfriend, Jude. The smile that had been playing on your lips since the goal widened as you answered the call.

"Hey, Jude," you greeted, your voice filled with excitement.

"Y/N, you were brilliant!" Jude's voice came through with unbridled enthusiasm, and you could hear the celebratory cheers of his teammates in the background when he mentioned your name. It warmed your heart.

"You think?" You replied, your own excitement mirrored in your voice.

"I know! That was such a good goal!"

"James did it, I just helped," you modestly downplayed your role

But Jude wasn't having it. "Nope, Mrs. My girl knows how to shoot. She may have done it, but I know you could've too."

You chuckled at Jude's unwavering support. "Thanks, Jude. It means a lot. I can't wait to celebrate with the team."

Jude's voice softened, filled with pride and affection. "I'm so proud of you, Y/N. Enjoy the moment, and I'll be right here cheering you on from home."

You listened intently as Jude continued, his words carrying the weight of his unwavering belief in you.

"Remember, don't be afraid to take those chances yourself. You've worked so hard for this moment, and you have the talent. Even if the whole world were against you because you missed, I'd still be proud of you because I know how hard you've worked."

Your eyes glistened with emotion as you absorbed his words. You knew that having someone who believed in you, who saw your potential even when you doubted yourself, was a precious gift. "I won't forget that, Jude. I promise I'll keep giving it my all, no matter what."

With renewed determination and the loving support of your boyfriend, you headed into the changing room, ready to celebrate the win with your teammates. You knew that your journey in football was filled with ups and downs, but with Jude by your side, you felt unstoppable.

As soon as you made your way to the changing room, the door swung open, and you were greeted with a thunderous round of applause from your teammates. The room was filled with cheers, hugs, and a palpable sense of pride and camaraderie.

Your captain, Leah, stepped forward and wrapped you in a warm embrace. "Y/N, that was incredible! You made a real difference out there!"

One by one, your teammates surrounded you, offering their congratulations and sharing in the joy of the hard-fought victory. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, and you felt an overwhelming sense of belonging and acceptance among this remarkable group of athletes.

Chloe Kelly, the teammate who had encouraged you before you stepped onto the pitch, gave you a high-five and a wide smile. "Told you, Y/N, you're a game-changer!"

The celebrations continued as the team relished the moment together, and you couldn't help but feel the warmth of their support and friendship. It was a scene of pure elation, a reminder of why you loved the game and cherished your place among these incredible women, led by Captain Leah.

Amidst the festivities, the last to come and give you a hug was Lucy Bronze, one of the team's seasoned stars. She embraced you tightly, and in that close moment, she leaned in and whispered in your ear, "You're the Morrison they'll talk about."

Her words sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. Lucy's acknowledgment of your performance, and the reference to Morrison, a legendary figure in the sport, filled you with a sense of honor and responsibility. It was a powerful reminder of the potential and promise you held as a rising talent in the world of football.

With a grateful smile, you nodded at Lucy, silently thanking her for her encouragement and for making you feel like an integral part of the team's success.

lucybronze

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lucybronze Now it gets tricky....

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keirawalsh Stage of 16 here we come. 🔥

user561 i'm your biggest fan

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user134 lucy, keira its literally 4am

y/nmorrison @lucybronze & @keriawalsh you two! go to sleep! 😂

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thisismeracing · 8 months

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Charles + gamer + mild angst /fluff

Gamer | CL16

⸺ the one where he's been gaming too much with his friends and neglects his girlfriend for a beat. ✓ mentions of food.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (closed) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

He wasn't a gamer. He was an F1 pilot. That's why it did not make any sense for Yn the amount of time Charles had been spending playing with his friends. And don't get her wrong, she did support him in everything and wanted Charles to bond with his friends, but the thing was he's been neglecting her in the process.

She tried talking with him, but he brushed it off not even taking his eyes off the screen, and that's how Yn found herself with Charles would call "an attitude", going around her day ignoring him. She went as far as cooking dinner without calling him to eat or saving him a plate.

She wanted him to feel the way she was.

"Amour, did you have dinner already?" Charles asked confused once his match was over, tonight he was playing some kind of fight game with Lando. Both streaming too.

Yn kept her eyes on the movie playing on the TV, not bothering to look his way, but Charles tried again, "Chérie, what happened?" he walked to the living room stopping right in front of her.

Yn sighed.

"Are you finally done with your game? I'm sorry but I can't talk right now, mon ange, I'm watching this movie...all by myself," she retorted hinting exactly at the problem.

The Leclerc cleared his throat a bit ashamed of himself finally realizing what he did to his girlfriend.

"Love, I'm sorry, I- I lost track of time, and I've been a terrible boyfriend. You deserve better and I'll start giving you better, I promise. Just, please, forgive me, and look at me," he apologized while pleading, now kneeling between her legs. He held her face between his hands, "I love you," he whispered when her eyes finally found his. "Can I get a kiss?"

"You don't deserve it," she answered, but the ghosting of a smile gave away that she was considering his apologies.

"Not even if I get you your favorite dessert? You didn't have dessert without me, did you?" he arches his brows.

"Well, you're starting to drive a hard bargain, Charlie."

"I'm the best of the grid, you know," he jokes.

"Now you're getting cocky," she laughs.

"If it makes you laugh I can be whatever you want, Yn," now his eyes were trained on her lips and he finally killed the space, tasting her lips and sealing a promise of doing better from now on.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you liked it *mwah* <3 make sure lmk your thoughts, guys!

#cl16 #charles leclerc #op: blurbs #one word a thousand stories blurb night #millie writes #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #f1 angst #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fandom #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #requests #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc blurb

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themotherofblood · 11 months

Text

Prologue . 3 | RIVER OF FIRE | Goodbye | D.T x reader x R.T

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2

warnings: angst! funeral,

synopsis: when Daemon and Rhaenyra find their own means of love and passion within a Martell princess, within them is the support for this union, the rest of the world will never agree. Not that Daemon cares.

~ did some force take you because I didn’t pray ~

“I am torn, so very torn. Alicent lied to us, to Rhaenyra. For months we thought she was coaxing us through our grief, helping heal Rhaenyra and Viserys’s relationship. She lied. This isn’t her, it was her father. We are ladies, it is our duty from birth to be married but this, I pray that she remains Alicent not just the Queen.”

“I know you’ve refused once before,” Rhaenyra mumbled, she clutched onto your hands with conviction. Please say yes. “Ride with me to Dragonstone.”

“On dragonback?” Your eyebrows furrow as you cease your mindless folding of handkerchiefs. That wasn’t an odd request, denying her however would prove to be impossible.

The court was to gather together this evening as a sail for Dragonstone to perform Aemma’s final rites. The stay would be for two days, though Rhaenyra insisted on remaining on Dragonstone for a week. It was good, Viserys agreed. She could use a change within her drill monotony of receiving condolences and stiff-lipped smiles to the congregation for she was a princess of the Realm, she had duties even when she must mourn her mother.

You placed down the last handkerchief by the mirror of your vanity as you turned to look at her. “You won’t let me fall?”

“Never, please duck.” The dropped lids of her eye, red and bruised from her spurts of cries. You nodded, walking over to engulf Rhaenyra once more, having predicted the soon wobble of her lips before the tears yet again came.

Rhaenyra couldn’t fathom the agony that persisted within her chest, weighing it down so heavily that if she were to lay in bed, she couldn’t breathe. Gasping and face red until her lady-in-waiting Enorah would pull her upright, she would then realise that she had been sobbing so hard there was no room to breathe. Those moments were so aching and yet fleeting as she would soon find herself whimpering and sniffling in Alicent’s or your arms.

Rhaenyra and Alicent together had mourned Aemma, you’d find Alicent often, wiping at her eyes. Memories of her own mother consuming her so heavily, she couldn’t find it in her to hold the onslaught so she may soothe Rhaenyra. You, nought is to be said about your mourning, even Daemon appeared to be tearful at breakfast the last morrow but you. Not a single drop of tear split to patter on your bath water or wet your pillow.

Sleep however had evaded you entirely, Rhaenyra had stopped consuming Nightshade after the third night, finding that her spurt of sobs lulled her to an exhaustive uncomfortable sleep. You however laid flat against your bed one moment, a book meant to read laying on your tummy untouched and nothing. The first night you turned to the window and realised the Hour of the Nightingale as you heard them chirping, this followed the second night. Rhaenyra curled asleep next to you and you, nothing.

Oberya had appeared concerned, nought had shifted in your demeanour and that precisely tickled her irked. Yesterday when the court convened to the Throne Room, you set eyes upon Viserys for the first time in three days. He announced for the court to set sail to Dragonstone to perform Aemma’s last writ of fire. Your head was so heavy, you profusely blinked your eyes to wash away the clouding in front of your eyes. The figure of Viserys’s white hair was merely spot within your vision as you stood in the gallery with the other young ladies.

When the court dispersed, you lingered in the galleries for a moment. Letting the fog cut from this sticky slack it had found itself into. You grew tired walking back to your chambers, legs heavy, fingers heavy, head heavy. You climbed the stairs only to stop four floors below yours and rest for a moment. One moment your head rested on the cool red rock of the walls, the next—nothing.

Oberya had found on her way up to your rooms, she called your name once and then twice more but you were beyond the line of consciousness. The impetuous change from the colour of your skin, she yelled for the attendants to call for the Maester. Lack of sleep was your diagnosis, from the night after Aemma’s death.

Once more, nightshade was prescribed for your condition, Rhaenyra beyond dejected, cursing at herself for not seeing your declining vigour. Though today as you told Oberya to help you be dressed in riding clothes, she was strictly against it. You mind still astray from the after effects of Nightshade. She urged Rhaenyra to not encourage your first joy ride above the clouds to be on such a strenuous day. Nyra gave her a stiff lipped nod before she left for the Dragonpit.

Your wheelhouse already held another companion, Alicent sat with a thick blanket draped over her legs. As you climbed on she lifted the free end to let you underneath. You hadn’t seen her much in the day, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said she was affected by Aemma’s loss. Her mother passed two summers before, the emotions and the grief of it would stain her skin like an old wound gaped open.

The Motherless Luncheon, that’s what your gathering should be called. First your mother, then hers and then Rhaenyra. All passing in similar ways.

“Will you be staying the week with us?” you questioned, you hoped she would. It would be a pleasant time away but mostly she could comfort Nyra in a way that it seems that you couldn’t.

“Father wants me to return.” She said disappointedly, she too looked forward to staying at Dragonstone. She could pry away from her father’s demands to visit with Viserys every night.

You reached to pat the hand over the blanket. “I’m sure we can try convincing him after the funeral,” you reassured “mayhaps the King could help.”

Alicent absentmindedly nodded, looking at the flora carved holes on the metal walls of the wheel house.

At the docks, boats remained tied in an organised line, awaiting to row the nobles of the procession to their designated ships. The King’s vessel was prepared for him, the Hand, Alicent and you along with other required essential staff, a separate cabin to lay the silk wrapped bodies of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon. Your Daima Oberya was to board another ship along with Queen Aemma’s former ladies in waiting.

Even the Blackwater seemed to have been weeping today, the grey skies outlining the black sails of the Targaryen sigil, you looked to the sky. Waiting to see Rhaenyra fly from King’s Landing. You rested your head against the iron railing of the ship for a moment— Oberya was right, your head still felt uneasy because of the drift wind. Then you heard it, with King’s Landing fading in the horizon. Loud melodic chirps and gruntled whines, a red and a gold dragon following behind flew from the dome roof of the Dragonpit. Daemon, pulling Caraxes higher in the air and Rhaenyra still flying lower towards Viserys’s ship, towards you.

You waved at the yellow figure right above you, Rhaenyra’s silver hair flying as she gave you a second glimpse before pulling on Syrax’s reins to catch up to her uncle and his mount.

The pyres were built as the court mingled and took lunch together, Rhaenyra pulled you along to the gardens to pick up stray twigs and fallen flowers onto the pyres before her brother and mother were placed on them. The dragon keepers had fed young Syrax a sheep, to keep her tempered, her demeanour matched the mewlish clinging of Rhaenyra.

The sunshine that she was covered by the ghastly shade of this moon’s untimely events, you could sing to her, help her pick a star in the sky like you did for your mother. Have her wrapped around you as she wept, or perhaps even the frequent visits from her dear uncle Daemon. He mostly gave her things, mumbled Valyrian poetry as held her sobbing frame. You could do nought but work away at your needle point, he would ask you the same thing over and over again. Surely having heard them from Oberya.

“Have you cried yet?”

Such stoicism in the short body of a girl of two and ten would have anyone gossiping about the possibility of madness or cruel disinterest. What Martell would weep at the loss of another of the Targaryen ilk.

The wind blew wild as the court gathered upon the Ashen Rock, Aemma’s silk wrapped body awaited with her son Viserys whispered his final partings. Rhaenyra couldn't look at her father as she stood next to you, her hand firmly holding your, preventing herself from falling over. Everyone lingered in the discomforting mourn of the royals, awkwardly looking at one another or away from the former Queen’s body. The other’s gawking at Syrax stood over the giant dragon glass scaled rock, swaying back and forth and sniffing the ground beneath her.

Daemon looked between his brother and his niece, havethe courage damn you, cutting his wife open for a son he now does not have. Yet, here a cruel decision, he should do it himself, the King should burn the consequence of his ill made choices himself. Instead, his red faced niece stood shuffling her weight, unable to speak the Valyrian command with only her companion to comfort her. Daemon stepped forward, making his footsteps louder to not startle the girls.

“They’re waiting for you.” he whispered, how was he to urge such puling babe to burn her own mother.

“Nyke pendagon lo isse se dorolvie jēda issa lēkia glaesagon, lo kepa istan biare.” Rhaenyra voiced her resentment, the sorrow unfailingly creeping its way into her voice. Wondering if her father truly found happiness in the few hours her brother lived.

Daemon tutted, a daughter losing faith in her father he recounted “Ziry jorrāelagon ao sir tolī gō mirre.” he hoped to sway her.

Without Daemon, Viserys would live. The court had long wedged seeds of distrust between them but without his daughter. Viserys would be no man, merely a sack of meat and bones. He needs you now more than ever.

Rhaenyra scoffed, sniffling before stepping forward. She looked back at her father, hoping he would look at her once, apologise for what he had done. Look at mother, look at her, she wanted to scream as she bore daggers onto Viserys periphery. She then turned to you, tilting her head, not wanting to do this. Someone else should do this, she couldn't, she cant.

You nodded at her, eyes filled with sorrow over her pain as she shook her head. You looked up at Daemon, unsure how to help her. He, too, nodded at her. Mentally coaxing her to say the word. Rhaenyra turned, her shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath of air, whispering the word under her breath. Never had it tasted so bitter in her mouth as she stammered before looking up at Syrax.

“Dracarys.” she ordered loud and clear before swiftly turning on her heel to look away as her mount waddles down the rock to blast her dragonfire upon the pyres.

The pyres burnt in a bright yellow hue as Viserys swayed onto the ball of his feets before promptly walking inside, the court taking their leave one by one as they bowed at Rhaenyra and Daemon before following behind their King. Oberya had been watching you still, you held Rhaenyra in your arms as her tears followed new, nothing– dry to a bone were your eyes and you walked with Rhaenyra back to Visenya’s Hold, Alicent hot behind your heels as you escorted her upstairs.

“I hate him! I hate him.” She wailed, shaking in your arms as you tried to calm her. Such words were blasphemous, even if they came from the mouth of the Princess Royal. He may be her father but he is foremost the King. Forever bound to the ideals of his Small Council and the Realm.

Oberya wandered the halls at night, an oil lamp clutched to her hands as she checked any open ante chambers to find you. Peaking through one door then another, cursing you for leaving your bed chambers so late at night. Two other handmaidens also aided her in her task to find you, two plaits and cream shift. Shouldn’t be hard to find in manse this grand and dark.

She stumbled onto another receiving chambers, only this time great with a frown struck prince sitting by the hearth and nursing on strong wines.

“Forgive my intrusion, my prince.” She apologised, she bowed her head.

“Bother not, I figured you’d be at a brothel my lady.” Daemon quirked his brow, having encountered the Martell bastard in Mysaria’s establishment, a fine specimen in the sea of pretender in tight corseted gown and pinned up hair. She was amusing, a fine jape at his brother’s court.

“I should be,” she stressed “but it seems my niece is wayward.”

“At this hour?” He frowned, the little viper, forever pussyfooting past your night guard.

Daemon downed the rest of his wine before standing up, “has there been a search party?”

“Two handmaidens, three house guards and I, I’m afraid.” Oberya shook her head, making way for Daemon as he walked past her.

The groups broke to two, part of them heading to the Great Hall and the other half to Aegon’s Gardens. Discreetly but thoroughly searching through ever room and corner, mindful to not wake any of the other nobles.

Daemon instead head upstairs, the top of Visenya’s Hold. The lush balconies carved off the volcano looked just over the water, the Ashen Rock and the east end of the city, and gold struck him as he found you leaning over the stone barricade.

“Princess?” He called out, approaching slowly.

You flinched and then turned, you eyes looked with tears and cheeks red. A tremble running in your fingertips, you forgot all of courtly manners— not a bow nor acknowledgement as you stared at Daemon wide eyed. You had been watching the simmering pyres, the truth engulfing you whole. She was truly gone, just blacked ash of bones and wood with her son. The mother you had known for the longest time.

“S- she’s truly gone…” you whimpered “She’s dead.”

The tears finally came, wetting your cheeks like the dried desert weeping for rain, the grief welcomed you with open arms as you fell to your knees.

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐭

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤!

He goes peacefully.

It's the middle of a sunny afternoon and your mother calls you into the bedroom with a calmness that makes your toes curl. You know as soon as you hear her voice. You know.

Your sister is crying. You're not.

He's still breathing when all of you crawl into bed with him, when all of you hold onto him. He hasn't been awake in a couple days and he isn't awake when you lay your head on his chest.

It's surreal; you feel like you're in a dream. Everything feels fuzzy, like your brain is lined in precious cotton. Your mother strokes his hair and you listen to the slow beats of his heart. Your sister is still crying. But you have never been able to cry in front of your father--you're not going to start now, even if his eyes are closed.

The sun warms the cashmere blankets he's covered in and makes your cheeks pink.

"We're here, Tom," your mom keeps saying tearfully.

"Don't go, daddy," your sister keeps weeping. Her breath reeks of pinot.

But in your heart, the one that has been modeled after your father's, you know that isn't what he needs to hear. You know he doesn't need to be begged to stay or reminded that his women are with him. You know that and your mom and sister don't.

So you raise your head, look at his face that is slacked with peace. And you raise your lips to his ear, which you somehow just know is still hearing, and rest your forehead against his temple. He's still warm; he smells like leather.

You whisper very softly to him, "It's okay, dad. I'm ready. Fuck it."

That's when he lets go.

It's a blur after that.

You are certain you're in some sort of fugue state, certain that this is all a bad dream. You keep thinking you're going to shoot up in bed and be seven-years-old again. You keep thinking that your dad is going to come into your dark room and squeeze himself in your little princess bed and hold you tight. You keep thinking that none of this is real and you'll be able to start over--just as soon as you wake up.

Somehow, the afternoon passes. You're not sure where you are or who's around you. Your family, extended and extended-extended, are all fluttering around to get things in place. Someone keeps putting a warm mug in your hands and someone else has shrugged a cardigan over your shoulders. But other than that, you're just sitting at the kitchen table, unblinking.

You're heartbroken, really. Of course you are. Your father was your world. He was the best person you ever met. He made you brave and he kept you strong and he never yelled. And now that he's gone, even if it's only been for a few hours, you can't remember what you were doing before. Not just before your mom called you in the bedroom (you had been reading a book on the porch), but before he was sick. What was life like when he was here and everything was good and you could pad into his bedroom anytime and tell him your qualms?

You can't remember.

And that is what breaks you.

That is what makes you reach for your phone and keys. Honestly, you shouldn't drive. You know that. You do. But everyone is so caught up in grief and funeral planning that they don't stop you. You don't even really remember driving over to Jake's, certainly don't remember walking up the concrete steps. You don't remember knocking or waiting.

But you come screaming back into your body when he answers the door.

He's standing there in his service khakis, his hair gelled nicely, his boots still laced on his feet. His green eyes are glimmering in the early-evening sun and his brows are blanched and his lips are frowning. He heard on base--he'd been calling you all afternoon and was just about ready to head over to your house if you didn't answer.

Here you are, standing on his porch. You're wearing a sundress and a cardigan and no shoes. Your hair is messy like you've been laying down and your eyes are rimmed with red. Your lips are bitten and swollen and pink has bloomed all across your chest and throat. It makes Jake ache all over to see you like this--to see you so utterly and completely broken.

You, the hardheaded pilot that does everything by the books and tried to get into a brawl with him on the tarmac a couple months ago.

You, the girl who ripped the shower curtain open and sized Jake up while soaking wet and butt naked--and who'd actually frightened him.

You, the girl that had taken to inviting Jake to everything he wasn't previously invited to before--bowling, barbecues, bonfires, movie nights, pizza joints, mini golf.

You, the girl who'd tenderly asked Jake to fuck her, who'd keened at his touch and come undone over and over again. You trust him so completely, so totally.

You, the girl that has ended up sleeping in his bed almost every single night. The one who presses her cold feet against his calves and hogs all the blankets. The one who wakes him up as soon as the sun is up because we're wasting the day away, Jakey!

And now you're looking up at him like a realization has dawned on you, like you've just stepped out of some alternate dimension and reality is settling in. Your lower lip is trembling and your eyes are filling with tears and you're beginning to whimper.

"Wisty," he whispers to you very softly, reaching out to wrap you in his arms. You collapse into his chest, knees nearly buckling under all this grief that's sitting on your chest. You hold onto him like he's the only thing keeping you on earth--and he kind of is. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

Jake has always been someone that is uncomfortable around crying people. He's had almost comical responses to upset in the past. His mom still talks about when his sister broke her arm and he asked her if she wanted to thumb wrestle in the car on the way to the hospital. He saw his father cry once and all he could do was ask his father if he wanted another scotch; Jake was only 12.

But there is something in his bones that knows what to do and say to you as you break down in his arms. There is not an ounce of discomfort in his being as he wraps you up, as you wet his shirt with tears and snots and residual makeup. He relishes in being able to hold you and feels deep down in his chest that this is a privilege. As upset as you are, as difficult as these next few months are going to be, he feels elated that you have put your trust into his hands. His.

And you're sobbing so hard that it's making your skull ache. You are getting snot and spit and tears all over his pressed khaki and you can't stop hiccuping, but you're not embarrassed. This is the most comfortable you've grieved since your father's death. It's the most held you've felt by anyone since the day your father held you and told you his life's philosophy: fuck it.

"Fuck this," you nearly yell into his chest, balling his uniform in your hands. "This fucking hurts, Jake."

Jake nods, lowering the both of you carefully until he's sitting on his concrete porch and you're heaped up in his arms. It matters not that anyone could see the two of you or that anyone could hear you. You don't care and neither does he. But he makes sure to hold the hem of your dress against your thighs to protect your decency.

"I know it does," he whispers to you, pressing his lips to your forehead as you mercilessly weep. "I wish I could make it stop."

It's something that anyone could say, really. But when he says it to you, you believe him totally and completely. He would make it stop if he could.

Him and his solid body and his steady breaths and his warmth are already doing their part in the matter, helping to ease you into an upset lull.

"Fuck this," you mutter again.

He strokes your hair gently, hoping the dying sun is enough to keep you warm as he holds you against his chest.

"Fuck this," he agrees.

Jake is somewhat of an unwavering force in the weeks that follow.

He comes to your family's house with flowers and muffins and makes everyone a fresh pot of coffee. He passes out kleenexes and subtly cuts your sister off after her third glass. He dons his black Navy dress and stands beside you at the funeral. He holds your hand and salutes your father. He buys your family dinner that night and insists that it's his treat.

He sleeps with you each night you ask him to. He lets you cry as much as you want and never makes you feel bad about it. He washes your hair when you're too tired to do it yourself and helps clip your fingernails.

He takes notes for you during trainings because even though you're on leave, he knows you don't want to be left out of the loop. He keeps his ringer on at all times when he isn't with you, even if it's just a grocery store trip.

Your mom comes to love him, as does your sister. He's there when the rest of your family eventually trickles off in the days after your father's death. He cooks and brings good wine and always suggests dessert. He takes your mom to church on her first Sunday without your father and helps your sister buy a plane ticket home, even drives her to the airport.

He makes love to you very gently. You kiss his shoulders while he languidly strokes your clit and whispers your name. He sinks into you carefully, holds you close. He lets you set the pace. He lets your nails dig into his back. He rests his head on your breasts and breathes you in as he's buried to the hilt in your precious body.

It's a month and a half later that you find yourself here at The Hard Deck, standing around the pool table with your squadron, holding a glass of ginger-ale in your hands.

It's been good tonight--better than you thought it would be. It's good to see everyone's faces again. They're busy people, but they've stopped in here and there to bring you a book or a bouquet of flowers or a coffee. But to see everyone in the golden glow of The Hard Deck, a frosty beer clutched in their hands, acting like the world has not stopped turning at all has been something of a relief for you.

You've been here for a few hours now. It's good to be out of the house and doing something normal, even if it makes your throat hurt every time you see a man in uniform wander into the bar.

Jake checks in on you every half hour, ducking to whisper in your ear, "Say the word and we'll blow this popsicle stand." And each time, you smile and tell him that you're okay. And you are--right now, you're okay.

After watching Jake destroy Coyote in another round of darts, you end up by the pool table, leaning against the pillar.

"Look, I know you've had a lot going on," Rooster starts, bumping you softly when you give him a weak smile. He points to Jake, who's sitting beside you with his arm slung across your shoulders. "But it's time you come clean about the whole timeline of this...relationship?"

"Relationship," Jake confirms, thumping Rooster on the shoulder. "Ass."

Rooster laughs--Jake knows he's only chiding. And Rooster also knows that he can reference what's been going on in your life because he's lived it; twice.

You take a sip of your drink, shrugging. For a moment, you watch as Phoenix sinks three balls in pool, which encourages a deep-rooted shame in Payback and Fanboy as they watch on.

"I guess it's been almost five months now," you tell Rooster with a small and tired smile. That's one side effect of grief that you weren't accounting for--you're tired all the damn time. "Well, five months since we..."

Rooster's eyes widen. He takes a swig of beer and smacks his lips.

"Right," he says. He leans in a bit closer now, taking a look behind him before he continues. His golden skin is gleaming beneath the lights and he's smiling that shit-eating smile at you. It makes you feel better in a strange way--just to see him acting so normal with you. "Please don't tell Payback that."

Jake sighs. He knows why, but he asks anyway.

"How much did you bet?"

Rooster tries to act offended by Jake asking but then drops the act when you start to laugh.

"More than I care to admit," Rooster answers. He looks at you again. "C'mon, Wisteria. You and I go way back! Keep a secret with an old pal, will you?"

You just nod, smiling again.

"Scout's honor," you tell him.

"And just so you know, I have about a million more questions about--" Rooster gestures to you and Jake with a tight smile on his lips, "this. But out of my deep respect for you and your grief, I will refrain from asking. For about the next seven to nine business days. Then I'll be asking all of them."

"Such a gentleman," Jake laughs dryly.

Rooster nods.

"Didn't know gentlemen made bets," you quip, eyebrow perched.

That is the exact moment that Bob falls in beside you, bumping you in a friendly way. He hands you a new glass of ginger ale and then crosses his arms with a small smile.

"Was Rooster telling you about his bet with Payback?" Bob asks nonchalantly.

"Bob--you know?" Rooster asks incredulously.

Bob just nods, eyebrows furrowed.

"I was there when you made it," Bob answers.

Rooster stiffens.

"Right. I remember that now," Rooster says. "Yeah, okay--it's all coming back to me now, Bob. You were there!"

Then everyone's laughing and Rooster is flustered and you can't help it--you're laughing, too. It feels like it's been a very, very long time since you've laughed. The sound is almost unfamiliar, but it feels good bubbling out of your throat and into the air around you.

Jake holds onto you, peering down at your face that is awash with glee suddenly. He knows he's been doing his best to make you happy, he knows that you've been relishing in his company, and he doesn't expect you to suddenly be okay with everything that happened. He doesn't expect for you to just wake up and feel fine one day. But to see that sweet face of yours, the one he's painfully and certainly in love with now, smiling and pink makes his heart hurt in the best way possible.

"Hey," Jake whispers to you, breaking you out of the banter that's begun in the squadron now. You look up at him, a smile still softly adorning your lips. It's tentative but it's there. "Wanna dance?"

You swallow hard. You look around the bar--it's crowded tonight, including every member of the squadron. You want to say no--really, you do. But when you see that pleading glimmer in his eyes and that lump in his throat and that smile tugging at his lips and you're saying it before you even realize.

"Of course."

You were expecting him to tug you over to the jukebox, expecting him to clear the floor so the two of you could dance. But he knows you better than that--he knows you don't want everyone in the bar to watch the two of you, especially not tonight. He knows you're still fragile, he knows that this is all still something you're easing back into.

So when he leads you to the parking lot, the one that is jam-packed with cars but entirely void of human life, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders.

Sand crunches under your shoes and the clinking glasses and voices inside are muted in the quiet out here--all you can hear is the crashing waves in the distance.

"Did you rent the place out just for us?" You tease.

He grins at you, his face aglow in the light of the white-rice moon.

"Of course I did," he tells you. "Just for you."

He wrangles a pair of wired headphones from his center console and meets you on the patio, where it is just as quiet and not as bright. And he plugs them into his phone, giving one bud to you and taking the other.

Flowers in December by Mazzy Star is playing. It's loud enough that you can't hear anything other than the waves and the song now--it's drowned everything else out.

Jake holds you close, your chest against his and his leg slotted between yours. He holds your hands in his, keeps you against him with a capable palm flat against your lower back.

You're giggling a little bit, especially when you two fumble as soon as you start to turn. He laughs, too, but kisses you gently. And then the two of you dance in the moonlight very near the beach with all your friends just inside.

There are places in your chest that still feel hollow without your father here. Sometimes you still feel like you're dreaming. Other times you wish that you were dreaming so you could wake up as a little girl and read the newspaper on your dad's lap once more, sticky with syrup and bright-eyed.

But when you rest your cheek on his chest, when you hear the steady beats of his heart and feel him humming along to the song, that hollowness lessens. It doesn't fill it all the way, no, but it's a start.

It's a start.

They say every man goes blind in his heart / And they say everybody steals somebody's heart away / And I've got nothing more to say about it

Jake feels like the luckiest fucking bastard in San Diego to be holding you right now. It's been so easy to fall in love with you, something that almost happened on accident. But he's here and it's happening and he feels like he's about to burst with all of this love and affection in his body.

"Jake," you whisper softly.

His eyes flutter shut. He loves the way his name rolls off your tongue.

"Hm, baby?" He whispers.

The two of you are still dancing, he's still holding you close, you're still resting your cheek against his chest.

"Are we in love?"

It's something you've been wanting to ask for a while now. The first time you wondered it was, of course, at your father's side. And then you wondered it again whenever Jake took you on an aimless drive through the hills just because you were feeling restless. You wondered again whenever he handed you a thick stack of handwritten notes he's been keeping for you. Then you wondered it again when you looked through the notes and found little personal notes in the margins; little I wish you were here's and Maverick is so little today and do you think Bob and Phoenix have ever kissed and what perfume do you use? Gonna start spraying it on your seat because I'm depraved. You're wondering it again right now, resting against his body, knowing with your entire heart that he brought you outside because he knows how little you want to dance in front of that crowded bar.

Jake presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his heart in his throat. He inhales your shampoo and lets his lips linger there. And then he nods because he doesn't trust his own voice. But you feel it--you know.

So you tilt your face towards him, eyes glazed in tears, and cup his stubbled cheek. He's looking at you with all the tenderness in his being, letting that love wash over him freely, letting himself get lost in the glass of your eyes.

"I love you," you choke.

And you thought this would be scary, looking someone in the face and giving them your entire heart. But you're not scared. You're not even a little scared.

"I love you so much," Jake tells you softly, fluttering kisses against your cheeks and your nose. He basks in the glow of your love, holding you tighter. "So, so much."

You two hold each other tight, pressing your lips against each other's. The kiss is sweet and long, something you have always wanted in a kiss. It's more than a promise, something that resembles an oath: everything's going to be okay.

When he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, he's grinning. He strokes your cheek, lets a teardrop wet his thumb before he kisses your nose again.

"Guess I've gotta take you on a real date now, huh?"

The two of you laugh--it echoes across the beach.

And because the two of you are in your own universe now, you don't notice that the squadron has gathered around the windows. They're all watching with their arms crossed, smirking or holding their hands to their hearts.

"He's done-for," Coyote says with a fond shake of his head.

"Oh, totally," Fanboy agrees.

"Hey, Payback?" Rooster calls, grinning when Payback raises his brows at Rooster. "When do you think they'll tell Mav?"

"Tell me what?" Maverick suddenly asks, appearing behind the squadron with a handful of beer bottles.

Bob nods at maverick, taking one of the beer bottles, relishing in the shocked expression on Rooster's face right now.

"Nothing," Rooster says quickly. "What are you talking about?"

Maverick furrows his brows.

"What? I heard you say--!"

Rooster laughs aloud, loud enough to cut Maverick off completely.

"Good one," Rooster says. Then he turns to Phoenix, who's biting her lip hard. "Rematch?" He nods to the pool table.

When Rooster leaves with Phoenix at his side, blushing and sighing in relief that he didn't give your relationship with Jake away, Maverick steps beside Bob with a sigh.

"What's he being so weird about?" Maverick asks.

Bob takes another drink of beer and smiles at Maverick.

"Wisteria and Hangman," Bob answers.

Maverick raises his brows. "What? That they're together? Hangman told me last month."

Bob shrugs.

"What Rooster doesn't know won't hurt your pockets," Bob answers.

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐟𝐟

RIP Ice but we all knew it was coming, right?? I promise I'm not evil!! I tried to give you as much fluff and humor at the end of it!! I promise I don't want you guys to suffer!!!

they will be going on a date next chapter and it will be SMUTTY!!! I promise!!! thank you guys so much AGAIN for all the support on his chapter. it's been an honor putting it out for you guys!!

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