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shroomi1e · 1 year

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❝ i object! ❞

kazuha + albedo

summary: you as a noble should naturally marry another noble, despite your love for another. your parents had managed to pry your lover off of you and get you wedded to a powerful nobleman- that is, until your past lover comes barging through the doors on your wedding day.

cw: gn!reader, arranged/forced marriage, teeny tiny bit of alcohol, angst to comfort

what i listened to while writing: wave - wave to earth

a/n: *slowly crawls out of my cave* hey guys. it's me again😭 i randomly got the motivation to write again, idk what demons possessed me to write this in the span of 5 hours but at least i have new content!!!! i was gonna do this with more characters but kazuha and albedo were the only ones i see pulling this cheesy-typa stuff tbh

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kazuha

“…what?”

your gaze fell down towards the wooden docks you were standing on. kazuha frowned, his grasp on your hand loosening. he was aboard the crux, and the crew was preparing to leave inazuma for another trip to liyue.

“i’m from one of the tri-commissions, kazuha,” you said defeatedly. “it’s over for us now. i’m going to be wedded as an alliance with another commission. i… i’m sorry…” but before kazuha could respond, the large ship began to sail away, his hands completely slipping away from yours.

kazuha leaned over the edge of the ship, watching your figure get smaller and smaller. though he hoped you would at least give him a wave goodbye, you simply turned around and left the docks of ritou, leaving him saddened and confused.

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kazuha spent the next month lost in his thoughts. ink blots were all that filled the pages of his journal now that he’s lost his muse.

“it’s over for us now.”

those words played in his mind like a broken record in hopes that maybe he could find a sense of doubt from those words, just a hint that it wasn’t truly over. he’s tried to understand, truly. but the thought of losing you ate kazuha up from the inside, especially knowing that he had no control over it. there weren’t any flaws in him or you that caused this, only circumstance. and that stung his heart more than anything.

despite kazuha’s wishes and prayers, the wedding would happen either way. news eventually reached his ears that two commissions from inazuma would be joined through a marriage between the two heirs, and that was when kazuha truly felt like he was losing control. you were being swept away so suddenly, carried away in the arms of another man. what was he to do?

you were being fitted into a kimono that very second, the maids tying the knots and wrapping the fabric around your body. your limbs felt heavy like lead, your head hanging low like rotten fruit on a tree. you tried to live in a fantasy just for at least a few moments, imagining that kazuha was the one you were being wed to, not a nobleman.

kazuha almost felt like a dream now that he was gone, as if he was only a fleeting imagination before you had to wake up to reality. the ephemeral touches, the honey-dipped sunsets, the smell of salt and the sea. that was all simply an illusion. you had to go back to the wooden floors, the inked papers and the melting candles. this was reality now, where everything was out of your control.

“this is all for the sake of our family, you know that?” your father’s voice broke your train of thought. “think of this as a way to pay us back for raising you. you’re much better off with a nobleman than that wandering fugitive anyways.”

you grit your teeth and tightened your fist, your knuckles whitening. “i know.”

the ceremony went through in a daze, the sacred sake tasting bitter on your tongue. a part of you felt like you should’ve just jumped on that ship along with kazuha. regret sat in your stomach like a sickly bag of bleach. but you knew it was for the better, both for you and your family.

after the vows, the priest then asked, “does anyone here object to the wedding?”

a heavy silence followed. the two of you were heirs to the biggest commissions in inazuma, it was obvious that nobody would dare to object this wedding. your gaze fell further down in defeat. it was really happening now.

“i object!”

your head snapped up from the ground and turned towards the voice. at the end of the crowd stood kazuha, the wind blowing softly through his hair, the golden light from the sunset outlining his silhouette.

emotions rushed through your chest: happiness, regret, sadness, doubt, and guilt. the cup you were holding dropped to the ground and shattered. the crowd began to murmur and gossip.

“kazuha,” you breathed out.

the crowd parted to make way for your lover, who confidently walked towards you and held his hand out. everything around you seemed to suddenly disappear the moment your fingertips met his. it was only the two of you now.

“kazuha… what on earth are you doing here?”

“i just need you to answer one question for me,” kazuha said softly. “do you trust me?”

by the way he eagerly interlocked his fingers with yours, his intentions were obvious. if you were to answer this question, it would mean throwing away everything you’ve known thus far: your family, your possessions, your wealth, your inheritance, your responsibilities. everything. but with the way kazuha was silently pleading you with his eyes… how could say no?

you let out a shaky breath. “i do.”

kazuha merely smiled in return, his eyes softening as if to tell you that everything was going to be alright. that he understood your choices, and that all you need to do was take this final leap of faith.

“hurry up kazuha!” beidou’s voice interrupted. a few meters away, the crux was anchored to the docks, the crew eagerly waiting to set sail. “the guards might come and take ya anytime soon!”

kazuha held your hand tightly and began running towards the docks, the two of you giggling as he helped you up on the ship. the nobleman, priest, and the crowd all watched in disbelief as you hopped onto the crux, sailing away with the samurai.

the crew cheered as you and kazuha shared a kiss of reunion, the anchor lifting from the seafloor and the two of you sailing away into the golden sun, just like you were meant to be.

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albedo

“i…see.” albedo’s eyes wander off to nowhere in particular after hearing your explanation. he blinks a few times as if to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming.

“it’s not your fault, albedo, and neither is it mine,” you added. “i hope you understand.”

for the first time since albedo was created, he feels numb. his fingertips lose grip as it all finally settles in. you’re leaving him for another man.

of course, he knows that’s not really the case. albedo understands your circumstance as well as the political powers at play, but at the end of the day, that’s what’s happening, right? you’re being wedded off to another man, which of course means you’ll have to leave him.

and when he sees you take off your ring- the ring he gave you- and put it on his desk, his heart shatters. you silently take your leave, disappearing into the dragonspine snow. albedo’s gaze is immediately pulled to the golden band on his desk, which seemed so much duller now that it wasn’t on your finger.

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projects seem more pointless than ever before, and piles of crumpled up drafts fill albedo’s trash bin. he’s taken down all the portraits of you in his home because it was too painful to bear, yet he can’t deny that he was still hopelessly in love with you. the thought of you standing at the altar with another man made albedo positively sick. and there was nothing he could do about it.

he even decided to abandon his projects to visit the city in hopes that he could catch a glimpse of you, but you never seemed to be there. he’d wander for what seemed like hours, only for it to be in vain. ‘of course,’ he tells himself, ‘they’d be busy preparing for the wedding.’

the ring in his pocket weighs heavier than before. he takes it out and twirls it in his hand, the afternoon sun reflecting off of it almost blindingly. the church bells ring in the distance, as well as the melody from the church organ.

wait… the organ is playing.

albedo clasps his hand around the ring tightly before frantically running up the stairs towards the cathedral. the scent of flowers fills his nostrils as he makes his way past the statue of barbatos and climbs the final flight of stairs until he’s met with the wooden doors of the cathedral.

he won’t lose you. he can’t lose you.

albedo’s hands feel heavy as his palm rests flat against the door. once the organs stop playing, the faint voice of a priest could be heard from outside. he can hear the nobleman say his vows, then you. his flat palm turns into a fist as he contemplates what to do next. he’s never liked crowds, nor has he ever liked being the center of attention. this could certainly ruin his reputation, and hell, the clan you’re getting married to might even get him fired but-

the thought of you being by his side again gives albedo more than enough courage to push against the doors.

“does anyone object to this wedding?”

with one strong push, the doors swing open. sunlight spills into the cathedral and forms a path of light leading to you. and dear lord barbatos, you look breathtaking.

albedo watches as you turn around in confusion. the ring you were holding in one hand clatters to the floor, echoing down the hall.

though albedo had planned on walking towards you, he couldn’t help but start running down the aisle. panting, he turns to the priest. “i object this wedding. i am their rightful lover, am i not?”

you step down from the altar, your hands reaching to caress his face and gently wipe the sweat from his forehead. “even after everything i told you… you still came. i tried so hard to hurt your feelings, so why are you here?”

despite the tears pooling in your eyes, you’re smiling. and that’s all albedo needed to see. “i must be going insane, y/n. i’m not one to act like this.”

he kneels down right then and there, holding up the ring with two of his fingers. “will you marry me?”

you take a moment to look down at albedo, who’s kneeling before you in a silent plead. the faint bags under his eyes are proof enough that he’s missed you. your family would hate you for this. doing this would mean to be shunned and disowned from your clan. the support you once had would dissipate in an instant. albedo might be put in danger as well. but you’d rather have nothing and albedo rather than everything but albedo.

“yes,” you said before sliding the ring on your ring finger, right where it belonged. you grab albedo’s arm and run out the cathedral, much to the protest of your family sitting at the pews.

you skip down the steps in a hurry before turning your head to see albedo smiling softly. you’re dolled up, and the afternoon glow of the sun hits your face just perfectly. and with his ring resting on your finger, albedo can’t help but simply adore you.

‘you are killing me softly,’ he thinks, ‘yet you seem to be the only thing keeping me alive.’

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 2 months

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title: you’re not you when you’re hungry

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: G

genre: Fluff, could be read as romantic or platonic

pairing: Alastor x Reader

summary: Alastor looks about ready to end Vaggie, and you piece together it’s because he hasn’t eaten. So, you make him some food!

You watched closely as Alastor’s eye twitched while Vaggie went through her list of to-do’s. You knew that angels didn’t have to eat, which made so much more sense after finding out that Vaggie was an angel. That was the difference for demons though. Demons, sinners, and any hell born had to eat.

You briefly wondered if Alastor had eaten today. You’d never say anything but you saw he forgot to eat as often as you did. It could have been something else than forgetting, but you chalked it up to forgetting.

‘That would be why he was cranky,’ you mused to yourself. You hopped off your stool and made your way to the kitchen. Quickly you pulled together your own famous Spiced Alfredo and used some of the venison you knew Alastor kept in the refrigerator. He was always stocked up… even though he constantly forgot to eat, which was humorous. You finished off the sauce and pasta, hearing loud yelling and the static that accompanied an upset Alastor.

You quickly finished the plate, placed it at the bar on the island in the kitchen and dashed out, the dashing helping your cause as you looked so disheveled as you just about crashed into the lobby. You panted and leaned against your arm, anchoring it on the wall.

“Al-Alastor.” You called, still out of breath. Whatever Alastor was about to respond to Vaggie, who looked enraged, was stopped as he turned to you. He glared at you, his eyes narrowing.

“What is it?” His voice tight with annoyance.

“I need your help. Seriously. I think only you can fix this.” He sighs, his teeth grinding in his smile.

“We’ll finish this when I come back.” He remarked to Vaggie and she glared at him as he left the lobby. You stood staring at him when he stood in front of you. His head tilted.

“Where to?” He asked, gesturing to the hall behind you.

“Oh! Yes!” You walked to the kitchen and heard a stomach growl as you got closer and the scent of the pasta got stronger. You hid your smile as you turned the corner and pointed to the seat. “Sit.” Alastor looked at you and did so.

“I’m not sure how this is helping anything-“ He cut off his sentence as you placed the large plate of food in front of him.

“Eat. You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You chuckle at the joke Alastor would not get, as you turn and toast some bread, finishing up the meal you were making. You heard him set his staff down and the clink of him picking up his fork. You look behind and see him moving the pasta around and sniffing the food suspiciously. “I didn’t poison it.” You say in disgust, rolling your eyes as you walk toward him spreading butter on the toast and placing three slices on his plate.

“Can’t ever be too sure.” He deadpans. “Is this?” He trails off looking at you.

“Venison, yes.” You say chuckling as you finish up a cup of coffee as well. “My famous Spiced Alfredo? Also, yes.” You set the coffee down in front of him, black, but brewed with a bit of salt to take out the bitterness. “Black coffee? Of course it is. You only drink coffee.” You roll your eyes and take off your apron, seeing Alastor take his first bite, his eyes widening. You turn to him and raise your eye brows, sipping your own coffee, but with sugar and cream.

“You like it?” You ask as Alastor takes another bite, just nodding. “Good. Eat and then you can do whatever you were doing. Otherwise you were going to kill someone because you were hangry.” You laugh and go to leave, to give Alastor some peace, when his hand lands on your arm, stopping you so gently. You look at him questioningly, and then he pulls out the seat next to you, a wordless invitation. “I’m not eating anything though.” You warn.

“That’s fine.” He says, taking another bite. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“Well, in my time, we had TV and there was a channel called Food Network. All these great chefs would have different TV shows and you could learn how to cook. I never had formal training but I learned how to cook by watching them.” You laugh.

“Fascinating. Tell me more.” Alastor prompted as he continued to eat, listening to you talk about your favorite show and even some of the gossip that was supposedly fact. Alastor never expected kindness like this and the last time someone did something like this for him, his mother was still alive. He was going to cherish this as long as he could.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor altruist #alastor/reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor

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mauvecherie-writes · 1 month

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poison: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black!girlfriend reader

tags: 18+, mdni, usage of drugs (weed), nudity, making out, explicit sexual language, no actual smut. no plot - just a scenario. NOT EDITED

summary: sometimes the best way to relax is to share a bath with your lady and smoke on some sativa.

notes: I’m not quite back yet - but this scenario was sitting so heavy in my mind. I also needed to give you guys something as I get my shit together. Please like, comment and reblog I love you 🩷

w.c: 1.9K

fic song:

reader’s list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @angelinaevans @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout

Baby 🩵: Hi Princess, my flight just landed. Hope you’re still at my place. I really need you right now.

You: Hi baby, of course. I can’t wait to see you 😘.

His assistant had already sent you the time that his flight was going to arrive at Heathrow so you were already awake, getting everything ready for him. Starting off, you make him a full brunch bowl of ackee with tomato, garlic mushrooms, cinnamon coated plantain with charred corn and toasted sourdough. Your passion had always been cooking but since your relationship with Lewis began, you spent more time working on vegan based food that the both of you can enjoy.

As his plate is in the warmer, you freshen up and get the bath salts and rose petals ready. Considering that it was only 3:43pm, you decide that it was a justifiable time to get your stash box out. Blue Dream was already in your grinder and after the weekend, Lewis had - this was something that he was going to need. You roll two joints and place them back on your rolling tray.

Once everything is prepared, you walk back to the living room and just as you sit down, you hear the chiming of the security system.

“Princess!” You hear Lewis call out for you. You hop up from the couch and run towards the foyer. Seeing your face causes a tired smile to spread across his lips and he opens his arms. You jump into them and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Hi my baby.” You whisper against his cheeks as you place kisses all over his face repeatedly causing him to chuckle as he tightens his arms around you.

“Hi.” He mumble back as you finally capture his mouth. “Mmm.” He hums as your lips move passionately against each other. You giggle into the kiss as his hands move to your ass and cup the flesh into his palms.

“I missed you.” Lewis sighs as he pulls away.

“I missed you too.” You reply as you get down from his waist and bring your hands to his face and you begin caressing his cheeks. He curls into your touch which causes your heart to melt. “Let’s get you settled in.” You tell him.

As he was eating, you wall back to the bathroom and prepare the tub and you turn on the jets to keep the water warm. Once everything is ready, you call for Lewis to come to the bathroom.

“Can you get naked for me?” You instruct. Lewis smiles at you as he begins to strip from his travelling clothes. Before the soak in, the both of you take a shower where you are washing him. This is the best part of your day. You love taking care of Lewis.

Getting to do this for him is one of your favourite ways to show Lewis how much you love him. With you, he just gets to let you take care of him.

Then you got into the bathtub, with a few candles lit and music playing in the background. You’re sitting on his lap with your thighs on each side as you bring the joint to your lips and spark it alight. You can feel his eyes on you and it warms your body far more than the water.

“You know I shouldn’t be smoking that.” Lewis muses as you take in your first inhale. You exhale the smoke over his face and you smile as he blinks through it.

“Your next race is in over a week. You’ll be fine.” You reply as you bring the joint to his lips. He takes a couple of puffs, inhaling the smoke and letting it settle in his chest before he exhales. You places the joint down and wraps your arms around his neck.

“Your presence is so calming.” Lewis compliments.

“Me or the sativa?” You ask with a quirked eyebrow.

“Both.” Lewis chuckles. He wasn’t much of smoker anymore so he is feeling the effects of the weed a lot faster than you are. You’re already halfway through the first joint thus seeing his reaction to it is a little hilarious.

As you speak, Lewis lays kisses on your chest and caresses the skin of your back.

“How have you been baby? Talk to me.” You say as your thumbs lightly brush the back of his neck.

“Since the announcement, I feel like there’s been this bad energy hanging above my head.” Lewis confesses which causes you to pout.

“Awe baby.”

“I’ve always been the one to pick everyone’s spirits up at the factory. But for the past couple of years, I feel like no-one is really having my back.”

“I know they’ve been with you for close to thirty years now but with them, you know that the only loyalty they’ll know is to the check that pays them.” You explain. “But at the end of the day, you made the best business decision for you. Don’t let anyone on that team make you feel bad about that when they chose what they think is the best for them.”

“You really think I made the best decision?” He asks you as he licks his lips, looking up at you.

“We’re not even halfway through the season, alongside me, there are millions of your fans who would agree with me that you indeed make a good business move.” You lean forward and place a soft kiss on his jawline. “2025 is going to come and you’re going to show them why they fumbled the baddest bitch to ever do it.” Your last statement causes Lewis to laugh.

“The baddest bitch huh.” He raises his eyebrow as watches you take a hit from the second joint. You shift your body so that you press your back against his chest and he takes the joint away from you and takes a puff.

“You’re right though. I can’t keep feeling guilty about the car’s poor performance and taking it onto my shoulders when they barely do that for me.”

You hum in agreement as you stroke his arm, drawing patterns nonchalantly over his tattooed skin. “You’re bigger than the sport. When you leave, they’re going to be nothing without you.”

“I love the way you gas me up.” He chuckled as he leans down and places kisses along the length of your shoulder.

“Not only are you the undisputed goat of the sport, you’re my man. It’s a part of my duty to make sure that you never forget that.”

Lewis continues to place kisses on your neck and shoulder with his arms wrapping around your front. You sit there in silence for a while as you share the joint, just holding each other and enjoying the music in the background.

“You got any projects coming up?” He asks you. That was the end of the previous conversation, which is fine with you. Recently, you’ve began to hate speaking about Formula One. It has become draining for the both of you - which is telling because, you’re Lewis’s girlfriend, witnessing everything from the sidelines. You couldn’t possibly imagine what it feels for Lewis to be living in it.

“I’ve been curating some pieces for some people to add onto my blog. I’m helping to style Megan in a few days so I’m really excited about that. Oh! And the readers really love when I upload the pieces I’ve done for you.”

“You should just be my full time stylist at this point.” He states as he passes you the joint.

“Hell no.” You immediately answer. “I love you and I love styling you but you take a lot of work - you’re a perfectionist and that’s annoying especially when I know what works for you and what the girls want but you argue with me.” Rolling your eyes at the end, a move that causes Lewis to laugh.

“I know what I like.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“And I know what you need. Fashion is more than putting a good two piece on.”

“Okay, okay.” He relents as his quiet laughs vibrate through you.

“Would you even pay me?”

“I would pay you and then some. Even give you some special favours.”

“Oh? What kind of special favours?” You enquire even though you know what type of favours they would be. Lewis turns you back to face him. You position your legs on each side of his waist. You could feel his soft cock against your inner thigh but you weren’t going to turn your attention to that. You’re more focused on how faded he looks, how faded the both of you are.

His eyes are sitting low, his beautiful lashes nearly touching his cheeks with a slow smile playing on his lips as his hands go under the water and settle on your ass.

“You’d get to be with me more.” He begins but you interject.

“I’m practically with you all the time as it stands.”

“Yeah.” Lewis mumbles before tucking his head into your neck and nibbling on your skin. “I’d get to touch you, you’d get to touch me. Whenever and wherever.”

You bite on your lip and then you begin to feel his fingers curling and gripping into the flesh of your ass to pull you closer.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” You take the joint from the rolling tray to take a big puff and then grab him by the jaw before exhaling the smoke into his mouth and put the joint back down. Lewis lets out a light grumble as your hand curls around the back of his neck and you pull him forward to meet his lips.

You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours as you continue making out. Lewis’s hand travels up the length of your back, putting pressure on you so that your chest is pressing against his. You nibble on his bottom lip, pulling it into your mouth as your manicured nails dig into his shoulders.

Lewis moves his head so that your lips don’t part any further and one of his hands grips one side of your head, keeping you in place as he makes love to your mouth. You sigh softly as rushes of pleasure shoot up and down your spine before settling in your abdomen.

You love the way he kisses you. It completely consumes you every time. The way his mouth moulded against yours, his tongue entangling with yours, his fingers exploring your body like it was the first time.

Itching to be closer to him, in an act of frenzy - you grind your hips forward. His dick begins to harden beneath your thighs but you’re too enthralled with the way he’s kissing you. It sends shivers down your spine. Lewis’s jerk upwards when you roll your hips again which causes you to giggle and finally pull away from the kiss.

“I think this bath has done what it needed to do. I need you in bed. Now.” His voice is low and full of arousal and your thighs clench at how deep his voice has gotten. He slaps the side of your breast which causes you to squeal.

You jump out of the water and reach for the drying towels.

“Drop those towels Princess. You’re not going to need it for what we’re about to do.”

ru’s letters 💌: let me know what you think. also would you like these type of one shots where it’s just a scenario? 💋

#mauvecherie writes #poison one shot #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lh #Spotify

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writingstoraes · 11 months

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secret trip 🛫

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this seemed like a really cute idea so! lmk what u guys think 🤍 requests for charles imagines are open btw! pls send some cause my own ideas r betraying me rn lolol

about: the entire grid seems to be going to italy together, fans can't seem to put the pieces together!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, ferrarifan, wagsf1, and 234,110 others

yourusername with love, italy

isahernaez Have fun, babes ❤️

yourusername wish you were here 😣

wagslove SOOO GORGEOUS

charles_leclerc My beautiful angel

yourusername love you, handsome :D

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen, and 1,334,982 others

charles_leclerc Loving the view a little too much, loving my muse the most.

f1films Charles and Y/N vacationing in Italy is something I never knew I needed

mercgirl I think they're with some of the drivers, check their stories

pierregasly Have the best time 😝

arthurleclerc No picture of me?

charles_leclerc Leave the hotel for once?

carlossainz55 and pierregasly recently added to their instagram stories!

danielricciardo and landonorris recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, pascale_leclerc, and 345,892 others

yourusername good food, good times, and the best people ❤️

pierregasly Someone pass the salt

carlossainz55 Why did you feel the need to ask that here pierregasly Why do you wanna know? 🙄

charles_leclerc No one told me Max gets wine drunk...

yourusername i say whoever ordered the wine takes care of him danielricciardo That champagne saving me right now 🤣

ferrarihorse I didn't know all of you were all so close omg this is adorable

charlesfearless italy with my loml and friends... now i want that

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

Trans: Nothing I'd love more than spending a lifetime with you.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, isahernaez, and 501,221 others

yourusername the answer to the million dollar question — why everyone seems to have flown to italy, well it's because today, i married the love of my life who also happens to be my best friend and my answered prayer.

i have had the best time conquering the world with you, my love. from the big romantic moments to the small mundane things, you make life more pleasurable. here's to forever 🥂

tagged: charles_leclerc

charlosfan aaaa an intimate wedding! truly one of the best option, congratulations to my favorite couple <3

yourusername thank you love! it really was nice being surrounded by close friends and family ❤️

scuderiaferrari Best wishes, Y/N and Charles! We still remember your first paddock appearance as a couple; time truly has flown!

charlieferrari I KNEW ITTTT MY FRIEND OWES ME 50 DOLLARS LOL

yourusername hahaha thank you for the faith then 🙏

lewishamilton Congratulations once again, you two! What an honor to be there as you celebrate a new milestone in your life together 🎉

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, lewishamilton, and 1,982,221 others

charles_leclerc Exactly five years ago, I could not resist asking for your first name just so I could see you again. Today, you took mine.

J'ai hâte de passer ma vie à t'aimer. I cannot wait to spend my life loving you.

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly Haha you weren't best man carlossainz55

carlossainz55 You weren't either?

maxverstappen Time to bring out the wine 🍷

charles_leclerc No landonorris No danielricciardo With love, no

carlossainz55 Overflowing best wishes, mate! You owe me for actually sending Y/N the text of you wanting to ask her out 😁

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12

notes: believe it or not this prompt has been gathering dust on my notes lol lmk what u guys think! also lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my permanent taglist :)

2K notes · View notes

yoonivy · 8 days

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 2.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 9k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

“Well look who finally decided to show up!”

Forrest leans on the wooden gate of the training yard, a smirk on his face as he watches the two approaching adolescents. Braeden and Jorah join him as well, curious as to what took you so long. You pout at their obvious stares, amused as they glance between you and the boy by your side.

“I had to ask Maester Garland if Aemond is well enough to walk around outside,” you let them know, now on the other side of the gate.

Braeden hums, turning to Aemond with a friendly smile. “Mornin’ Little Prince.”

Aemond politely greets all your brothers a good morning as well.

“I like the new look, Ae,” Forrest compliments, pointing at his own eye when Aemond turns to him.

“Whoa, it’s just like Butcher Pate’s!” Jorah exclaims excitedly. He put his thumb up out, adding with a resolute nod, “It looks great!”

You and your two other brothers snicker at Jorah’s usual strangeness, while Aemond shyly accepts the compliments.

You hear your name being said, and you glance in slight shock at the one who said it, “-- made it for me,” Aemond says, then throws a small smile your way. Though your heart warms, you feel like you are still dreaming. You still can not believe how fast things have changed. Aemond went from completely ignoring you for weeks , to now smiling genuinely at you and actually knowing and saying your name.

“Yeah, well, you know, it’s nothing. I mean, I just did the embroidery like I told you earlier, Dorothea is the one who did most of the leatherwork – all of it, actually – but I was kind of guiding her the whole time…” you babble, clearly so flustered that it’s you that your brothers are laughing at now.

You glare, about to snap at them, but someone beats you to the punch.

“Shall I just cancel today’s training? Cause you lot are just wasting my precious time,” a man with salt and pepper cropped hair says gruffly, appearing behind your brothers and towers over them. Aemond takes a hard swallow at the sight of him, his rough appearance could scare anyone and anything – who doesn’t know him better.

Forrest bellows out a laugh. “Your precious time you can be spending flirting with Darcy at the tavern?”

Ser Gregory starts blushing so red that even his full beard cannot hide it. “What did I say about spreading gossip, boy?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jorah muses. “That Ser Gregory found someone so lovely at his old age.”

Braeden smacks the back of his head, but Ser Gregory just chuckles knowing that the boy means no harm by it. “I– Thank you, Lord Jorah.”

“We’ll stop wasting your time,” Braeden says, opening the gate that Forrest had been leaning on earlier. “Come then, little cub, little prince.”

You and Aemond glance at each other, and he makes a small gesture, letting you walk in first. You bow slightly at him before you do.

As he walks in after you, Aemond feels the eyes of Ser Gregory staring him down. He glances up cautiously, meeting the older man’s astute gaze.

“So you are the Dragon Prince who fell from the sky, hmm?” Ser Gregory questions but does not give Aemond a chance to answer when he adds, “I heard many things about you.”

Forrest must have caught the petrified look on Aemond’s face because he laughs goodnaturedly and says, “Don’t worry, all good things.”

Ser Gregory grumbles. “Most good, some–”

Your face twists, silently begging him not to mention anything – that he had found you one night in a hidden corner of the keep, sobbing after another freeze out from the prince.

So he changes the subject, asking the prince instead, “Will you be joining us for training today?”

“The Maester said he shouldn’t,” you relay. “His ribs are not healed enough to do anything too physically demanding.”

Then Aemond lifts his arm, still in a sling. “And my arm… I cannot fight without both.”

“Ey? Is that right?” Ser Gregory’s usual deep tone says an octave higher, clearly tickled. He shrugs the cloak off his shoulders, revealing the long sleeve of his left arm folded and pinned up. Aemond’s mouth parts in a gasp then shuts it tight, trembling as he realizes he had just offended the armless man. “Shall I not fight anymore? Would the training I provide for you lot all be for naught?”

“Oh, Ser Greg, don’t be like that! You know he did not mean any harm by it,” Forrest says with a roll of his eyes, waving his hand after Aemond murmurs a very soft apology, the young boy unable to look the swordsman in the eye.

Ser Gregory grunts roughly, turning on his heels and begins to walk away, to where the others are training. It is his way of letting you all know to follow. Jorah stalks after him, then Forrest (who gives a shrug to Aemond), and then finally Braeden after he tells Aemond not to worry, that Ser Gregory is always unpleasant at the start but he’ll warm up to him soon.

Alone with Aemond once again, you turn to him. “Braeden’s right. Ser Gregory is just… very protective of us. But he is as sweet as he is tough! He is one the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, if not the best!”

Aemond almost blurts out that Ser Criston Cole holds that title, but he bites his tongue, not wanting to cause anymore trouble.

“You can watch from over there,” you tell him, pointing at the wooden benches at the far side of the training yard, closer to where the action is. The two of you start walking together, while you keep talking, “With Dorothea and her friend, Renee. She talks a lot but she’s fairly nice… She fancies Forrest but I don’t think Forrest likes her back like that. I don’t know why ‘cause she’s by far the prettiest girl on Bear Island… Well, after Dorothea of course...” Your mouth quirks down and you shrug, stopping when you are closer to where Ser Gregory and your brothers are. “I guess I’ll see you after training!”

“Okay,” Aemond hums. “See you soon…”

With that, the two of you part ways. You to your brothers, and Aemond goes to join Dorothea at the benches.

“Good morrow, Prince Aemond,” Dorothea chirps with a smile when she sees him approaching. She scoots over a bit, instructing her friend to do the same, giving Aemond room to sit beside her. “You look quite handsome with your new eye patch!”

Aemond blushes. “Thank you… For crafting it for me.”

She waves her hand. “It’s no trouble. You really have to thank my little sister. She pestered me until I could not say ‘no’ anymore.”

The pretty ginger girl beside Dorothea leans across her, pushing her way through the conversation, “So you must be the Targaryen Prince! It is so wonderful to meet you! I’m Renee, by the way, my father’s the tanner that made the leather of your eyepatch! It looks amazing on you! How is it like down south? Is it as beautiful as the tales I’ve heard? What of King’s Landing? Is it nice to grow up there? It must be, the North’s cold is so awfully dreadful —”

Dorothea chuckles to herself, giving Aemond an apologetic smile. Knowing he won’t get a word in until Renee wears herself out.

Eventually Aemond answers all her questions and while that happens, the training begins. The three of them watch you, your brothers, and Ser Gregory in rapt attention. Though Aemond finds himself keeping a closer eye on you than the others.

Although you are not as coordinated as your older brothers, you can still hold your own. He would even dare say you are as good as his younger brother Daeron and definitely better than his older brother Aegon. It makes him wish he was not injured, so he can pick up a sword and challenge you to a duel. Another time, perhaps.

Aemond’s daydreaming gets interrupted when the training also gets interrupted, by three soldiers approaching you and your brothers. “Lord Braeden!”

As they talk to your oldest brother, Aemond overhears a couple words being said.

Dragon. Back. Clearing.

Aemond stands up suddenly, just as Braeden looks over at him and shouts, “Little Prince! It seems your dragon has returned!”

---

The trek back to the clearing you had found Aemond and his dragon is a lot easier now than that first night. You, your brothers, and even Ser Gregory accompany the young prince to her, the dragon you had learned is named Vhagar.

Aemond had asked your family to keep an eye out for her. He was worried when she had been gone for so long, but now he guesses she was just flying around the North, perhaps hunting for food.

When you once again step foot in the clearing she had made herself, Vhagar huffs out. Though this time, she seems relieved, seeing her little dragon prince in one piece and standing tall.

You are in awe at the sight of her. That night you first saw truly did not do justice to how magnificent she really is.

“She is the largest and oldest dragon in all of Westeros,” Aemond says proudly, beaming at the look on your face.

“Whoa… Then you must be very special to be the one riding her, huh, Ae?” Forrest asks, in quiet disbelief that such a small boy has tamed such a mighty beast.

Ser Gregory grunts, but you can tell he is also awestruck.

There is a phantom pain that strikes Aemond’s right eye, a reminder at what it cost to get Vhagar. He flinches with a hiss, blinking back tears. Luckily everyone’s gaze was on the dragon, not noticing the tormented look on the young boy’s face. “Yes… I suppose so…”

Then he makes a move, walking towards his dragon.

Jorah is the first to try to follow, but Ser Gregory pulls him back from the collar of his shirt. “I will only allow the prince to see his dragon. The rest of you will stay here.”

You and your brothers all make noises of complaint, but ultimately, you listen to him. So with one final look back, Prince Aemond walks the rest of the way to his dragon, alone.

The familiar sight of Vhagar clenches at Aemond’s heart, realizing how much he misses his home. With a small coo, her head dips, allowing him to stroke her snout with his good hand.

“Have you been eating well?” He asks her. “I hope you have not been eating any of the bears on this island. That might anger the Mormonts, you know.”

Vhagar huffs, looking away in guilt, and that makes Aemond laugh. “It’s alright, I will not tell your secret. But no more!”

Vhagar’s head dips again, maybe in understanding, before she gestures it to the side, seemingly wanting for him to ride her. To fly back home.

Although he misses home, Aemond finds himself shaking his head.

He leans in and whispers to his dragon, “It’s okay, Vhagar. I…” He looks back, smiling to himself when he sees your family there, still waiting for him despite it being so cold, “I want to stay for a bit longer.”

As more days passed, the prince’s wish to stay a bit longer changed to a lot longer. And as the proposed date for him to travel home gets closer, the more he dreads it.

He loves his home, his family, don’t get him wrong. But these past month and half with the Mormonts has been one of the happiest times he has had in his life.

Aemond became fond of the rambunctious and joyous breakfast and dinners your family had every day. Likes that he can go to Braeden for anything, how Forrest can always make him laugh, that Jorah tells him all his silly fantasies, and that he is always one of the first people Dorothea goes to try out her new dessert recipes. He likes how your mother and father treat him like he is one of their own, how gentle Maester Garland is when treating him.

And like what you and your brother said, Ser Gregory eventually also warmed up to him. He learned a lot from the older swordsman, becoming much better at wielding just a sword without any shield. His footwork and dexterity also improved during the short time he had training with Ser Gregory.

But what he likes the most is, well… You .

He likes how you always seem to be the first person he sees in the morning, and last he sees at night. The way you would share all your favorite things with him, so excited all the time, that he starts to do the same. It makes him so happy how your eyes light up when he does so. You two become so attached to the hip that he wonders how he is going to go on without by his side when the time finally comes. How can he even smile ever again when your smiling face is not there for him to look upon?

All that – that has made him so happy, is also the reason he is so dejected on the morning he is to leave with your father and some of his men back home to King’s Landing. He has not even left yet, but he is already missing you and your family and the whole of Bear Island.

He does not realize it – too stuck in his own feelings – that he misses how silent the usually loud family breakfast is that morning. That he wasn’t the only one looking down at his plate, pushing the food around, appetite lost. You frown, trying to catch his eye, but he does not look up, also frowning down at his plate.

Aemond is so sulky, choosing to bolt to his chamber as soon as breakfast is finished that you do not even have the chance to talk to him at all today. He had even refused your visit to him in the early morning.

You take such a heavy sigh – one more appropriate for an elderly person who has had enough of the world instead of such a young girl like you – that Forrest can’t help but have a chuckle. You glare at him, but he soothes the frown on your face with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t worry, little cub. I’m sure Ae is just as sad as we are.”

But that sentiment makes you frown even deeper. You did not want him to be sad, you want him to always be happy.

Noon arrives and you find yourself standing with your family at the docks of Bear Island. Your father is already getting the ship ready, along with Ser Gregory and some other men – but the boy of the hour, Prince Aemond, is not even there yet.

Your brother, Forrest, volunteered to stay behind when the prince refused to come out of his room. He said to leave it up to him to get the prince out.

That was over an hour ago, and you are starting to get worried that Aemond will hole himself in that room and never come out. Though before you can really start, you hear your mother sigh with relief. “There they are.”

Turning, you follow her line of sight.

“Sorry for the wait!” Forrest calls out, the little prince running behind him, trying to keep up. There is a bag slung over your brother’s shoulder, and he addresses it a second later, “Just had to pack up all the little prince’s things.”

Aemond did not have many things when he fell on Bear Island – actually, he had nothing at all, even losing his eyepatch. All the clothes he wore during his time on Bear Island were Jorah’s and all of that were already returned yesterday. So that big bag he had packed… It must be all the gifts you had gifted him. Your heart swells at the thought. You even see the many paintings you had made for him in a roll, sticking out of the bag.

When they reach your family, that is when Aemond begins to bid farewell to everyone – one by one. It is sweet to watch just how close Aemond and each of your family members (and also those closest to your family) became. They laugh, they hug, they exchange words of promises to see each other someday soon — Septa Earla even cries, kissing both of Aemond’s cheeks.

Finally, it was your turn and when Aemond steps in front of you and faces you, you give him a wobbly smile and he gives you one just as unsure back. Stomach dropping, you can finally admit to yourself that you did want him to leave.

“You have to write to me,” you say, sniffing away the incoming tears. “I’m not asking. It’s a demand.”

Aemond chuckles, wetly. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says, then he licks his lips, also trying not to shed any tears. “I will write every day.”

This time, it’s your turn to laugh. “Every week will suffice. I don’t need to be spoiled.”

“But I want to,” he blurts out. Then shyly, he glances down and murmurs, “I will spoil you. I will send you as many gifts as you have given me.”

Your breath catches when he glances back up, looking determined now. “You have my word, Lady Mormont.”

“I hope you don’t think that giving gifts will make me go easy on you when we finally have our one-on-one duel,” you tease with a grin. “Because I know I can beat you with my eyes closed.”

It almost offends Aemond, almost. Then he realizes you were not being unkind or making fun of him like he is used to with his brothers and nephews. No, it was not like that at all. This is like a joke, shared between… friends.

That makes him laugh joyfully, smiling so big. “Alright, I do not wish for you to go easy on me. We will duel fairly when I visit again.”

“Soon?” You ask, hopeful.

He nods firmly. “Soon.”

And then you are hugging him. It takes him by surprise, staggering back slightly, but soon he is melting into it. The tightness in which you are hugging him hurts his still healing arm – already out of the sling – but he bites through the pain, wanting to hold you a bit longer.

Neither of you let go until you both hear Ser Gregory calling from the ship, letting everyone know that they are sailing soon.

It has Aemond squeezing you in his arms one last time, his heart heavy yet elated at the same time.

He truly is already missing you… His first real friend.

---

True to his word, you receive a raven from Aemond as soon as he is settled back home, a moon and a few weeks since his departure from Bear Island.

It is a short message – one can only fit so many words in the tiny raven scroll – but he writes that he already misses you and your family, that he made sure that his father sent a few of his best men to accompany your father back to the port that they had landed their ship at, and that you should be getting a proper, longer letter from him soon. It had confused you what he had meant, but a week after your father and Ser Gregory had returned, a man – who is definitely not dressed warmly enough for the weather of the North – arrives on Bear Island.

He comes bearing gifts and a long written letter from Aemond. Your father is in shock, it has been quite a long time since a courier had visited the island. The last time he can recall was when his mother, your grandmother, was still alive, and would have couriers coming to-and-fro from Highgarden, receiving letters from her friends and family back home. It is an expensive service, but the courier assured your family that the Queen had paid him handsomely for it, and that your House has no need to give anything else even though he will be waiting at the tavern inn to deliver back whatever you wanted to give the young Prince.

When Aemond said he’d spoiled you, he was not joking in the slightest. In the box that you had received from him were gifts of the finest qualities: oil paints in every shade of the rainbow, paint brushes of many shapes and sizes, and ink and varying quills for the letters you will write back to him, and a book that he writes is one of his favorites. There were gifts for your siblings as well, but you definitely got spoiled the most.

But your favorite thing that Aemond gave you is his letter. You find yourself going to the guest chamber he used to reside in, sitting on a stool beside the bed, pretending it is like the mornings when he was actually there, the conversations the two of you used to have before heading to break fast. As you read, you can hear his voice, as if he was there beside you.

Aemond writes about his first week back. Everyday, he was surprised with his favorite foods during meals. How his father actually spent some time with him in between his busy schedule. That even his older brother, Prince Aegon, was kind to him. He writes about how his sister loves the paintings you made – she even has one hanging in a golden frame in her bedchamber now. His mother wants to meet your family, and Ser Criston was impressed by what Aemond had learned from Ser Gregory. He wished you could have seen the friendly duel between the two warriors, how the cheers in the training yard during it could rival the cheers of an official tourney. In jest, Aemond says he will not reveal who the winner was. (Later, when you ask Ser Gregory, he tells you it was him, of course. You are not sure if you believe him.)

Aemond tells you other things, more mundane happenings in his day to day life, but you enjoy it all just the same. Then he ends the letter with how he is writing this under the heart tree within the Red Keep, pretending it is the one on Bear Island where he would accompany you when you wanted some peace and quiet away from your siblings.

It makes me happy being here , he writes, I often visit it now.

It makes me think of you.

I hope you are thinking of me too.

You go to the Godswood of your own home later, and sit by the Weirwood tree with the book Aemond gifted you. As you read, you smile to yourself, then look up at the sunlight that peeks through the limbs and branches of the tree. Beaming wider, you say to the sky, “I am.”

It goes like that for many moons.

Ravens and couriers going back and forth from King’s Landing to Bear Island. Letters after letters, gifts after gifts. You get embarrassed how homely the things you give Aemond are – all are just things you’ve made and not anything fancy at all like what he has given you – but he assures you that he loves it all. The letters, since there is an abundance, often came with no real substance or new story to tell but neither of you got bored, just content to receive anything from your friend.

But you have to admit, you are starting to get really lonely without your friend there with you. When you catch sight of your sister and Renee, Forrest and his training buddies, Braeden and his two best friends who he grew up with since he was a babe, and Jorah and the big group of friends he hangs out with… You feel so awfully alone.

You did not want to be greedy. Aemond is already doing so much. The letters, the gifts, the courier his family had hired… You were grateful for it all, but still, you could not help but write on the scroll you attached to the raven you send to him:

I wish you were here.

You don’t hear from him for weeks after that, which is odd. It has you scared you had creeped him out. Like you are a child throwing a tantrum for having your favorite toy taken away.

But then, just when you are about to lose hope, thinking you had lost your best friend… A dragon you instantly recognize, flies around overhead of the Mormont Keep before landing on the clearing that she now has claimed as her own.

Exhilarated, you and your brothers run to the clearing, meeting the prince just as Vhagar lands. You tackle him into the tightest hug, falling over in a heap on the ground when your brothers join in.

At his arrival, your mother has the housekeepers make up the guest chamber, though now it seems to be Aemond’s official bedchamber in your home. He brings with him a bag of clothes, and it has you asking if he is staying long which he nods and says yes. Your father and mother also question how long he is going to stay, and he tells them his mother says he can stay for a moon or two — without looking them in the eye. They found it odd, but who are they to go against the prince’s or the queen’s word?

It is all fun and games, you and Aemond are having the time of your lives — until the raven from the Queen comes just a week and half after he landed.

It seems Aemond had actually ran away – or more so, flew away — from home when his father and mother did not give him an answer fast enough for when he could go visit you. The queen writes that she wishes for him to come back home, and that when he returns, they will figure out a more proper visit.

Just like that, Prince Aemond being royalty is completely forgotten, and the mama bear in your mother comes out. She scolds him like how she scolds her own children, and you and Aemond are both crying at the end of it. He goes back home the next day, but before he does, your mother reassures him that she is still fond of him and he is always welcome back, but to never do that again, not without the permission of his parents. Understanding, he has his head dipped low as he hugs her goodbye, before turning to you to do the same.

Your parents and the Queen begin to correspond after that. They make a plan that the Queen will be the one to write the letter asking your parents if Aemond can visit for a couple days along with her official seal, and when your parents answer back with a confirmation, that is when she will allow Aemond to fly Vhagar to Bear Island.

Years pass like that. Letters coming in weekly, and Aemond visiting every three or so moons.

On the third year, you get word that Aemond will be visiting for a week to celebrate yours and his 16th name day together. It has been a yearly tradition since the two of you became friends, but this year… You think it might be a little bit different.

As you read the raven scroll he had written you – knowing that he is already on his way on his mighty dragon – a nervousness, like the wings of many butterflies, flutters in your stomach. You do not know how or even why it happened, but ever since his last visit two moons ago, you had begun to develop feelings for your best friend.

It is not like much has changed. He is still just Aemond. Perhaps a little bit taller, his voice breaking more often now and slightly deeper, and his hair longer – but that’s it.

Then again… Though he is still lean, he definitely looks a bit broader, the muscles in his arms more defined. You press your hand on your lower stomach when you remember the feel of his arms around you, a strange and unfamiliar heat there as you get dizzy at the thought.

That memory was not of a hug Aemond had given you. It was from his last visit, when you finally got the permission from your parents to be able to ride Vhagar with the prince. It was something you had been begging them to let you do for years, and they finally agreed, thinking you are old enough and that you had proven yourself responsible enough to do so. You remember Aemond’s hand clasped in yours, both running while laughing through the pathway of Vhagar’s clearing. Your two chaperons, Forrest and Ser Gregory, trailing far behind the two of you, there to make sure no one gets hurt. You recall the fond look on Aemond’s face when you stroke the scales on Vhagar’s face, the she-dragon purring at your touch.

“I think she likes you more than she likes me,” he had told you with his lopsided, winning smile. Then he lifted you up to help you climb up the netting onto the dragon’s mount, strong enough to do it on his own without your brother and Ser Gregory. He followed after you with practiced ease, sitting himself just behind you.

You were excitedly waving to Forrest and Ser Gregory when you felt Aemond lean in closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and his arms securely around you. That was when the nerves started to kick in and at the time, you thought it was because you were about to fly on a dragon for the first time. See the world from above for the first time. You had been sure that was the only reason why.

Aemond instructed you to hold onto the handles in front of you, while he grabbed onto the strap of the rope. Once you do and once Aemond made sure you are ready and good to go, both fastened to the saddle, he begun to command Vhagar to take off in High Valyrian.

And then the two of you are flying, high in the sky. It was so exhilarating. You had never felt anything like it before. You looked down on Bear Island, your home, and it looked like it was a part of the miniature, wooden villages that Maester Garland liked to craft in his spare time.

It made your heart soar. You felt so at peace, letting your eyes shut as the wind blew through your hair. You felt so safe in Aemond’s arms, not worrying at all that you were thousands of feet off the ground.

You remember looking back at Aemond, grinning, only to find him already looking at you. That same fond look he had given you earlier when you were petting Vhagar. It made you take an audible swallow. In that very moment, it seems like there was a shift between you and the dragon prince.

That was when he leaned in closer — so, so close, that you thought foolishly he was about to kiss you — but he turns his head and whispered in your ear instead, “I think I…” he stopped, licked his lips and tried again, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Ah… That’s it. That’s when it happened. You laugh to yourself now, thinking about sweet, naive, and younger by merely just a few moons you, thinking you are just going on an exciting dragon ride with your best friend, not knowing what will happen next. That those words that your best friend had said would replay in your mind over and over and over again; keeping you up at night, distracting everything you do, until you got butterflies in your stomach every time you thought of the small smile he gave you after he said those words.

And so here you are now, more nervous than excited for your best friend to arrive to celebrate your name days together, just because you had realized your stupid newfound feelings for him.

Before, you did not care for how you looked in front of anyone, let alone Aemond. But now, you’ve been pacing back and forth from the mirror standing beside your bed to your wooden closet, changing in and out of different dresses. Nothing looked right, nothing made you feel pretty enough. With a frustrated huff, you settled for a dark green dress — maybe in the back of your head, you wore it to pay tribute to Aemond’s mother side of the family, the Hightowers, and your own House.

Next, you decide to tackle your hair. Sitting down at the vanity, you take your hair brush in one hand and the other clenches in a determined fist. You always wore your hair down, unruly and wild. It is only when your mother or Septa Earla manages to catch you that you begrudgingly head back to your chambers to brush it and pin it back. Today, neither of them have to tell you anything, you want your hair to look nice and beautiful. But you are not at all practiced, and even the simplest braid you try to weave together looks wonky and weird. It is times like this that you wish you were more like Dorothea, all lady-like and proper and gorgeous, with a million suitors lining up to court her. Maybe then you wouldn’t even need to do all this for Aemond to return your feelings.

Sighing, you thread your fingers through your hair, letting the failure of a braid untangle and just letting your hair be loose yet neat. You look at yourself in the mirror, guessing that this would be the best you could do. You dare not ask Dorothea to help out because your sister is clever and she will certainly be asking questions about why you are trying so hard to look so… nice.

And you are not ready to have that talk with anyone yet. Or at all.

It must have been going on for at least a minute, but you are so in your head that you only hear the knocking on your door when it is accompanied by the voice that you had longed to hear — and now, the one that sets you up in a panic.

You shoot up from the chair — hitting your knee on the underside of the vanity in the process and thus knocking all the various little objects on your desk over as you curse out loud at the stabbing pain where you had hit yourself. A concerned call of your name can be heard from the other side of the closed door, and you answer back with ‘Just a second!’ as you scramble to straighten up all the things that fell over, before hurrying to the door.

When you open it, you are greeted with the handsome face of your best friend. The sight of him takes your breath away. Aemond has always been otherworldly looking – with his pale white hair and unique colored eye – but seeing him now, it really hits you how ethereal he really is. It has you staring dumbly at him, his own violet eye is set on you. He gives you a slow glance over; his pretty, pink lips quirking up in a smirk. Worriedly biting down on your own lip, you wonder how disheveled you look right now. Was all that fussing over your appearance and the million outfit changes all for nothing?

“So you did not welcome me when I arrived, and now I do not even get a ‘hello’?”

That has you snapping out of your thoughts, exhaling out a laugh as you jump forward to throw your arms around him. He catches you with ease, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground, spinning you around. It has the two of you laughing, you into his neck while you feel him smile against the crown of your head. It has your heartbeat racing dangerously fast, and so when your feet touch the ground, you quickly take a step back to create a bit of distance from the prince. Just in case you do something that you will probably regret, the feeling of his lips on you had you wishing you could feel it elsewhere – everywhere else.

“I did not even know you’ve arrived,” you tell him, confused. “I’m sure I would have heard Vhagar… Did you travel here in a different way?”

Aemond laughs, shaking his head. “No, I came how I’ve always did… Jorah told me they’ve been calling for you as soon as they saw Vhagar flying in, but you did not answer.”

“Oh…” You murmur, giving him a crooked and apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve been a little…”

Aemond’s eye brow quirks in a silent question, peeking into your room and then grinning at the mess he sees inside, at the heaps of different colored dresses thrown carelessly on the floor. “... Preoccupied?”

Playfully glaring at him, you put a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards while also closing your door behind you with the other.

“Let’s go,” you say haughtily, walking ahead of him in a huff that has him laughing behind you. “You must be famished from the travel.”

Though before you can take another stop, Aemond clasps his hand around your elbow, forcing you to stop abruptly to look back at him in question.

“You look beautiful, by the way…” Is what he tells you. You nearly die on the spot with how your heart seizes at the way he smiles at you, all soft and shy, reminding you of the boy he once was and not the confident young man he has grown to be. “I just thought you should know.”

Does he even know how disarming he is? How he has taken a hold of your foolish, girlish heart without so much as trying?

You are not sure if you can keep yourself from doing something stupid in the next week, and it terrifies you because… It will probably ruin your friendship with your Targaryen prince forever.

Thankfully, you manage to keep your head on straight throughout the next few days, even though you spent ninety percent of your days and nights with the one causing you to lose it. You were quite proud of yourself that no sudden outburst of your feelings for him has slipped through your mouth – and that is a hard feat, since you are one to always say what is on your mind.

Aemond is none the wiser. After your initial nervousness around him, you are quick to get back to how you two normally are – thanks to his help. It’s nice to know that despite your changing feelings for him, you can always be yourself around Aemond.

On the morning of his name day, you head to training with your prince and brothers, all laughing and joking around. Forrest is mostly the butt of joke, since he is groaning and whining after eating too many pancakes at Aemond’s birthday breakfast.

Like every year since the tradition started of celebrating your name days together, on Aemond’s day, breakfast is grand to celebrate the prince’s life. But the real party is always celebrated two days after – during supper – when it is your name day. You are not at all mad to share the spotlight with the prince. In fact, it makes you even happier.

But this time, you are anxious about the upcoming celebration. Not about the party itself, but about the present you are planning on gifting Aemond. You have been going back and forth on it, and now it is already too late to really give him anything else. Besides, you can’t give him another set of knitted gloves, one that he could only use when he visits Bear Island because it’s too warm for it down south. So perhaps, you can whip up another painting of the prince on Vhagar’s back in two days…

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond asks, bumping his elbow on your side to grab your attention. “You’ve gone all quiet and… strange, again.”

“Strange…?” You question, nervously laughing. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… Just…” He sighs, shaking his head dolefully. “Nevermind.”

You really thought you had been acting normally, but maybe you had not been. You don’t know whether you should try to explain it to him or not. But before you can even make up your mind, you arrive at the training grounds, and Forrest is putting his arm around the prince’s shoulder, pulling him to where the new equipment and training dummies are set up.

Training begins and you still have not had the chance to talk to Aemond. You could hope you don’t look as miserable as you feel.

At least you weren’t alone in your misery.

Jorah is antsy beside you, mopey as well. Clearly not wanting to be there for various reasons. He had confided in you a few moons back that he just doesn’t enjoy sword fighting anymore, that he would rather spend his time at his apprenticeship with the tanner. He thought it was unfair that Dorothea had been given permission to opt out of training, but just because he is a boy, he had to keep it up.

Another reason for Jorah’s ire from training is that it’s the one place where he has to watch the girl of his dream clearly so smitten with someone who is not him. That someone being your older brother, Forrest.

Braeden joins you and Jorah – off to the side, away from everyone else – and laughs at the heated glare on Jorah’s face directed towards Forrest who is entertaining a group of pretty girls by the benches. You are frowning too, seeing Aemond by his side, also getting those kinds of looks from the girls.

“Chin up, little brother,” Braeden says, tapping his knuckles lightly under Jorah’s chin. Then he turns to you and does the same, “And, you too, little cub.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jorah huffs, eyes rolling off to the side, having had enough of all the flirting he had just witnessed. “Can I just go? I have more important things to do…”

It is Braeden’s turn to frown. “Look, I know you hate it but… You have to know how to fight. What if your future lady gets into trouble and you don’t know how? What if that ends up costing her life? And besides…” Braeden sighs, gesturing his head over to where the loud group of giggling girls are to prove his point, “Girls love a good warrior.”

Jorah rolls his eyes again, but can’t help but longingly look in that direction anyway – at the beautiful redheaded girl who is the reason he even started his apprenticeship at the tannery in the first place.

“You’re right,” Jorah says, patting Braeden’s chest before he starts walking towards the group with purpose.

You exchange a look with your oldest brother, muttering out, “Oh no…”

And then the two of you are after him, Braeden calling out, “Wait, that’s not what I meant–”

“Forrest!”

The noisy group immediately quieted down, all turning to see the man marching towards them with the most determined look on his face. Dorothea, who is sitting by herself just a few benches away from Forrest, Aemond, and her best friend, heaves a heavy sigh; face palming and whispers low to herself, “Oh boy… Here we go…”

Forrest grins, turning his body and giving his full attention to his youngest brother. “What is it, little br–”

“I challenge you–” Jorah points his wooden training sword towards Forrest, “– to a duel!”

There is a hushed murmuring throughout the training yard. Forrest looks a bit taken aback, but he is quick to recover, smiling wide with a cool shrug. “Sure, that sounds fun!”

Jorah scoffs at how easygoing his brother is, avoiding the questioning look from the girl who has his heart.

Ser Gregory breaks away from where he is training some of the younger kids, clapping his hand on his chest jovially at what he had heard. “Ey, finally! Something exciting!”

As your two brothers get ready for their match, you join the others that have gathered to watch, creating an impromptu circle around them.

“May I?” It is Aemond, asking if he could take the empty spot beside you.

“Of course,” you say like it is stupid for him to even ask.

He chuckles at your pout and way your brows drawn together, says under his breath as he stands beside you and looks ahead, “Bellus.”

You know it is Valyrian without even asking, but at this point in your friendship, you know better than to ask. Aemond usually only lets you privy to the translation of the words if he wants you to know, which is most of the time. But sometimes, there are words he likes to keep secret – you do not know why. You just hope it all means good things.

A loud cheering erupts as the match is set to begin. You and Aemond join in, though more subdued.

“Who do you think will win?” Aemond asks, slowly ceasing his clapping when your two brothers start clashing swords.

“I do not want to say it out loud,” you answer him. “But I think we both know.”

Aemond hums in agreement.

And just like that, as soon as the fight started, it was over in no time.

Forrest’s boisterous laughter fills the air and tells the young man glaring at the ground, “You’ll need to get better if you want to best me, my dear brother.”

He tries to give a hand to help up the defeated Jorah, but it gets swatted away.

“Well, that was…” Ser Gregory begins, eyeing Jorah as he hobbles away from the circle with Forrest catching up after him. “Interesting, yes… Anyone else? We are all here, anyway!”

The crowd murmurs, everyone looking around. That is when you feel movement beside you, and your eyes widen as you realize it was Aemond, stepping up to break out of the circle.

Ser Gregory bellows out a joyful laugh, “My prince, atta boy! And who will you be challenging?”

“I would like to challenge…” trailing off, Aemond smirks, clasping his hands behind his back, looking so regal and self-assured that you swear you could hear every girl in the crowd swooning. It has you making a face, trying so hard not to feel possessive jealousy but you could not help it.

“Lady Mormont.”

You do not know which was more unattractive; the grimace on your face or the way you gasped when Aemond turned to look back at you.

“Me?!” You gape at Aemond, looking at him like he had grown three heads.

He nods, the grin on his face saying ‘yes, you’.

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? How one day we shall face-off to see which one of us is the better fighter?”

Yes, when we were children, you wanted to tell him. When I did not care if you would ever see me as something more.

Aemond’s head tilts, “Why not today?”

At this point you could not possibly refuse and back down. Everyone around you is already cheering you on. If Ser Gregory did not have appearances to keep up, you were sure he would be jumping up and down as he begs you pretty, pretty please to accept the prince’s challenge.

So that is what you do.

Looking Aemond straight in his violet eye, you say evenly and with a curtsy, “Then I accept your challenge, my Prince.”

It has him catching his breath, closely watching you as you walk past him to retrieve a wooden sword for the duel. It is not often that you call him by his title, but when you do…

Aemond’s hand flexes at his side, chuckling to himself, before he follows after you.

Getting yourself ready for the fight, you take a deep inhale, holding it in for a couple long seconds, and then exhaling out. It is an attempt to calm your nerves, but it did not really do the job. Instead what does is when you find your sister’s gaze in the crowd, her calling out that she’s rooting for you, and then Braeden’s right after, telling you to kick Aemond’s ass — ‘Respectfully,’ he adds, towards the prince.

That has you exchanging a laugh with Aemond, and he wets his lips before asking, “Are you ready?”

You take your place in front of him, both of you standing in the middle of the circle. “As I’ll ever be.”

When Ser Gregory gives the command to put your blades up and engage, neither you or Aemond make a direct move to go at each other. Instead, you both found yourselves circling the other, as if in a dance. There is a smug smirk on his face as he kept his eye on you, you did not know if you wanted to hit it off or kiss it off. Probably, both.

You know he will not be the one to make the first move, so instead of putting off the inevitable, you take the first strike. He dodges it with such grace that you cannot help but to be in awe, allowing him to counter with his own attack. Luckily, you were quick to block it, wooden swords clashing together with a loud clank . But he has the upperhand now, forcing you to retreat backwards with every parry of his sword against yours.

Getting closer and closer to the crowd, you knew you had to move away before you bump into any of them. So the next time Aemond swipes his sword, you duck under it, fleeing to move yourself back closer to the middle of the circle. He turns his heel so he can face you again, but that gives you a chance to be on the offense again. You slash, and slash, and slash, but each one is deflected. You knew you had to change your strategy, think quickly on your feet…

So you lunge forward, aiming at Aemond’s left shoulder. Just like you thought, he blocks it without much effort. But that left him open, and you kick your foot out, causing him to trip when your boot collides with his ankle.

He falls on his back, and you press the tip of your wooden sword on his chest. His eye slowly opens, staring into yours.

The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but neither you or Aemond seem to hear, so focused on each other. As if you two were the only ones on that training field.

That is when it dawns on you what you had just done, the anxiety mixing in with the shortness of your breathing from the fight.

You so desperately wanted Aemond to see you as a lady. Someone pretty and delicate. Someone he can see a future with.

But here you are, knocking him off his feet, making him fall hard on his back with a groan – on his name day, as well!

What were you thinking?!

A million apologies fall out your lips as you crash on your knees beside him, mixed in with the bunch of times you asked if he was okay.

Though also exhausted and out of breath, Aemond laughs at your worrying. He takes your hand in his and softly says your name – that has you shutting up good.

“I assure you, I am fine,” he tells you as he holds your hand tighter, pressing it against his chest. You swear you can feel the rapid beating of his heart. “More than fine.”

“I…” you say, trailing off when Aemond reaches his free hand up, and tenderly tucks away a flyaway strand of hair that fell from your ponytail. “Okay.”

“And I was wrong,” he says.

Your head tilts in confusion.

Aemond grazes his thumb against your knuckles, smiling at you so prettily that it can rival all the stars in the night sky.

“A lady could fight.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling too.

Though the dinner party inside was wonderful and grand, you find yourself stepping away outside towards the end of it, to have a moment to yourself. It is a beautiful night out here in the Godswood, the stars above so bright, as if welcoming you into this new era of your life.

You can not believe you are sixteen now. More a woman now than a girl, as your mother had said earlier the evening. You suppose she is right. Only a woman would suddenly have such confusing feelings over someone who she had thought of for so long as just her best friend.

You laugh at yourself out loud.

“May I get in on the joke?”

You turn around to see Aemond leaning on one of the other trees that surround the big Weirwood tree. He had been watching you, though you had no clue for how long.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him, still giggling to yourself but you try to shake yourself out of it. “I… I think I’ve had too much wine.”

He pushes himself off against the tree, striding his way to you. “You’ve only had a cup. I did not think you to be such a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you pout, pushing him lightly when he gets close enough.

“It’s good though… Do not be a drunkard like my older brother.”

From all the stories you have heard about Prince Aegon from Aemond, you shiver at the thought. “Don’t worry. I will not.”

Aemond chuckles at how utterly disturbed you seem to be at the notion, then joins you in looking up at the stars. A comfortable silence falling between you.

“Did you like my present?” Aemond asks after a while.

“Of course I did! How could I not?” You say, perplexed that he is even asking. As if you could ever dislike anything he has given you. And this present was probably the most extravagant of them all. It is a gorgeous gown, one of a kind and made by the Queen’s and Princess Helaena’s personal dressmaker. The Queen herself assisted Aemond in picking out the colors and design – a creamy white chiffon over a floral patterned silk under to mute the already paled colors of the silk – the billowy sleeves of the dress off-the-shoulder. Scandalous in your part of Westeros, but perhaps not in the southern cities. You loved it as soon as you set your eyes on it.

“It’s beautiful. I thank you again. I wish I had some special, fancy occasion to wear it to though.”

“I’ll find one,” Aemond declares, sounding so sure of it. “But then again, there is no one to stop you from just wearing it. Who would dare question you when you bested a Targaryen Prince in a duel?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I will not disrespect your mother – the Queen, by the way – by wearing the beautiful dress she helped make for me out at the training grounds.”

Aemond holds his hands up defensively, grinning at your feistiness. “Alright, alright, it was merely just a suggestion.”

Then you sigh, crossing your arms together. “I suppose it’s my turn to give you your gift then?”

“I…” Aemond wets his lips, “I hope you do not think that I brought up your present just to remind you of mine.”

Your head shakes at him, amused now. “I did not… But now that you mentioned it…” At your teasing, Aemond opens his mouth then shuts it, only to do it again, looking like a dumb fish. It has you laughing, “I’m joking, Aemond!”

Then you take a deep breath, grabbing the small pouch that you had tucked into the pocket of your dress. It is now or never.

You tell him to hold out his hand, and when he does, you drop the bag gently onto his palm. “Happy name day, Prince Aemond.”

He looks at you expectantly, and when you give him the go ahead, he unties the drawstrings, opening the pouch and letting the content of it drop into his hand.

He lets out a tiny exhale of air, staring in absolute wonder at the sparkling ball of blue. “Is this…” He glances up and into your eyes, his gaze warm and soft, “Sapphire?”

Humming, you nod. “It was given to me by my grandmother. Well, actually, I picked it out. During her final days, she allowed all the women in our family to pick out whichever jewelry they wanted. Her jewels were the only things she had brought here from Highgarden. So while my mother, my sister, my aunts, and cousins were picking out all the pretty earrings, rings, necklaces, and brooches… Guess what my stupid six year old self wanted…”

“This… ball of sapphire?” Aemond answers, picking it up between his fingers, laughing with you when you nod.

“You should have seen the look on all their faces… It was hilarious, looking back now. And then… My grandmother, she just… She laughed and she picked me up and held me close. The joy on her face, the bells of her laughter, it was…” You smile sadly, eyes watering. “She had been so weak and tired for so long before that moment, so seeing that… knowing I was the cause of that– that moment. One of the last happy moments in her life… This ball of sapphire, not only is it the most valuable thing I own, it is also my favorite…” You clasp your hand over his, making him close it around the sapphire ball, staring into his eye as you say, “So please, take care of it.”

Aemond sighs, covering his other hand over yours and pulls your joined hands towards him, causing you to press up against him, gasping. He bends his head down, his forehead touching yours as he murmurs to you, low and sure, “I will treasure it forever.”

If you had known that was the last time you would see Aemond for a long while, you would have… You would have just done it. Done the stupid thing you made yourself hold back throughout his visit. Told him how you felt about him. Kissed him until neither of you could breathe. Anything.

But you do not have any hindsight, and you did not know in the upcoming years, Aemond would be too busy to visit. As he grows older, his royal duties also become more important. No longer a boy, Aemond now has jobs to do, important people to network with, and his training with Ser Criston now more intense and longer.

Though you are sad about the changes, you are not at all angry. Aemond still found time to write to you every week, keeping up with your life as he kept you up with his.

Three years passed like this. Just letters and no visits. Vhagar’s pit has been empty for so long that wild flowers started to grow in it. Your nineteenth name day comes and goes, another sad and lonely year you do not spend with your best friend.

Days, weeks, and moons cycle around. But just when you think another year would go by without seeing Aemond, an invitation arrives:

The House of Mormont are cordially invited to Aegon Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen’s wedding.

---

author's note:

so next chapter... rating is going to go up to explicit if you know what i mean... heh heh. i hope you are all enjoying it thus far, let me know what you think :')

*also, bellus=cute. none of the high valyrian translators have cute in it so i just used the latin word for it :)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd

106 notes · View notes

writeshite · 1 year

Note

would you write more of the smart cookie fic? im just very very into it and would love a part 2 🫶🏻

Love You To The Moon & Back

Summary:

“Good morning to you, too,” you kiss his forehead, and he mumbles something else, snuggling deeper into your arms. “What happened to the early bird catches the worm, hmm?” “....not a bird…no worms please….” he mumbles. “Hmm,” you respond, rubbing circles along his back, “How about pancakes? I think I might have some blueberries or chocolate chips,” you muse; Spencer peeks up at you. “Ah, I see I’ve piqued your interest.”

Pairings:

Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Tags:

Words: 4690

Author's Note:

Yes, you may 😌. I've been thinking of doing some more stuff for the AUs I make, cause it's fun, and I think male & gender-neutral readers need more AUs. Sorry for making this long 💀.

I found the experience of falling in love or being in love was a death: a death of everything. You kind of watch yourself die in a wonderful way, and you experience for the briefest moment - if you see yourself for a moment through their eyes - everything you believed about yourself gone. In a death-and-rebirth sense.

- Hozier

Around Spencer, the kitchen felt like a world away as he took in the feeling he was experiencing; with light, frivolous laughter, he hid his face in your chest to stop himself from falling into giddy hysterics. You were equally as giddy, chuckling when Spencer met your eye, “So…what now?” he asked.

“Well, we’ve got a few more hours of work,” you respond, chuckling when his face scrunched up in mock irritation, “but after, we could go on a date,” you suggest.

“Date?”

“Hmm, you know,” you respond, “that thing people do when they want to pursue a romantic relationship.” He smiles; admittedly, he hadn’t thought past the kiss, now surprised to find you wanted to cultivate something along the lines of an actual romantic relationship with him.

“Yeah, I know,” he responds, “what do you have in mind?”

“Well, the museum has a new Classics exhibit,” you reply, and Spencer is amazed that you’d genuinely been paying attention when he’d dumped his knowledge of 15th Century literature on you. “What do you say?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. The hours left at work breeze through fast, and Spencer spends most of it with dancing hands, a wide smile on his face - your date is set to 9:30 AM, Saturday morning. He goes home with a prep in his step, and when the weekend comes around, his enthusiasm soars; Saturday morning sees few clouds in the sky and the promise of sun. Spencer kept to his usual attire of casualness; the streets were averagely busy, and he twists the strap of his satchel on his way there, quelling any anxieties that manage to break past the excitement. Said anxieties are set aside when he notes how well your leather jacket hugs your arms.

“Hey, cookie,” you greet, hand reaching out to hold his.

“Hey,” he threads his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing circles on your skin as you make your way through the museum. The Classics exhibit displayed several kraters from c. 520-500 BCE, Etruscan figurines, Greek and Roman sculptures, and various other artifacts. Classics isn’t as interesting a topic it seems, as the crowd is relatively small, but Spencer is thankful for that - the overcrowded dinosaur exhibit you’d passed came to mind, and he shuddered at the thought of being caught up in that.

“Etruscan tomb painting….” You read off one of the displays before turning to him with a knowing smile.

“Oh, the Etruscans were a civilization that flourished in Central Italy between the 8th and 3rd Century BCE, renowned in antiquity for their rich mineral resources and as a major Mediterranean trading power,” he speaks easily, basking in the fondness you directed towards his rambling. “Much of their history and culture was either destroyed or assimilated into the conquering Roman Empire. Tomb painting is considered one of the Etruscans' greatest legacies, with beautifully painted tombs in Tarquinia, Cerveteri, Chiusi, and Vulci.”

The exhibit didn’t have the actual paintings, instead displaying photographic copies with annotations and interactive maps; the sculptures are set up to mimic the inside of a temple, leading to the back where the kraters are set. The other sculptures are scattered about the room, and Spencer beams when you turn to him for information, having spoken more today than he has in a long time. He coughs in the middle of his tangent about pediments; he rubs the back of his neck and apologizes for the scratchy throat.

You chuckle, “Come on, let’s get something for that cough, eh?” The museum’s cafe is surprisingly empty, with a few people milling about here and there and the majority off at the shops. You both get iced teas and take a table away near one of the window walls. Spencer keeps hold of your hand and drums his fingers mindlessly. He is saddened when the date comes to an end. “C —can we do this again?”

You nod enthusiastically in response, and still riding on the coattails of joy, he asks, “Can I kiss you again?”

“As many times as you like, love.”

He beams, leaning into your space to do just that, his thumb rubs across your skin, and even after you part for the day, Spencer is ecstatic - the joy persisting into tomorrow as he skips with every step. “Well, well, well, someone’s happy,” Derek remarks. “I hope this means you finally said something to loverboy.”

“Yup,” Spencer responds, “we, uh, had a date yesterday.”

Derek pats Spencer’s back with a proud smile, “You know what this means? I, Derek Morgan, was right.” Spencer shakes his head; any attempts to clarify to Derek that this wasn’t exactly an I told you so moment fell on deaf ears as the man smugly waltzed from the elevator with a cheer. Spencer follows after; when you arrive some moments later, it’s with two coffees as usual, and the day begins as the first of many days chasing an unsub through the Appalachian Mountains.

“It’s almost like some twisted sightseeing event,” Derek mumbles. “The unsub’s earliest activities can be traced in Alabama; they kidnap two people, and from what the surviving witnesses have said, make both victims fight to the death, the winner gets to live.”

“Ties get both killed, and refusal to fight does the same,” you add. “They’re patient, willing to wait for months if need be to strike again. The murders between Kentucky and West Virginia had two years between them; if they are following the mountains, then there’s a chance they’ll cross over into Canada and most likely out of our hands.”

“Alright, then, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen,” Gideon says, “What else do we know?”

“They’re also meticulous, the locations, the methods, the choosing of victims. It’s all so careful, like some form of entertainment,” Spencer responds.

The facts are as follows:

The unsub has little regard for other people, seeing them as pawns for their own amusement.

The victims appear randomly selected, but on closer inspection, all seem to play into their disturbing amusement. Features vary, but all work in the retail industry - the unsub walks through retail stores for hours before picking. They’d do the same company for two states before switching to another, then another, and another.

Victims had a week; after that, survivors were left tied, with a sack over their heads at their place of work, and corpses were left in the same place as well.

The unsub didn’t care for publicity and seemed to want to keep it as something private.

Pennsylvania is the next destination; the first victim is already chosen by the time of landing, which leaves one of hundreds if not thousands of other potential candidates. Spencer and Gideon stay with the local police department, you split off with Ellle, and Hotch goes off with Derek. Spencer bounces off theories and facts with Gideon; the profile becomes clearer but comes with a few more holes. The unsub seems well-red, familiar with police procedures, not intimately, more so like someone who’s read and heard extensively enough to understand.

“The space between murders suggests they must have traveling involved in their day-to-day life to be able to do so with such ease. Said life must offer them some satisfaction if they’re able to handle their urges so well.“ Gideon pointed to the mapped-out route of the unsub, “They could be in the tourism field, a flight attendant or a business consultant, something that lets them go from state to state easily enough.”

“Business consultants are sought after for their professional advice and services; they locate challenges in businesses and strategize plans to find solutions; they essentially come in and take over control, in the same way the unsub takes power over one’s life from their victims.” Spencer rambles, “but why target retails workers?”

Gideon sighs, “The higher up the chain you go, the less regard you have for your fellow man,” he states, “83% of retail workers report harassment from customers, the higher the social class, the worse the abuse can be. Our unsub’s disregard for human life may also be intrinsically linked to their social class as well as their occupation.”

“So everyone below a certain point is no better than cattle to them?” Gideon nods in response to Spencer’s question.

“Can I help you folks out?”

The Goodwill of the first victim’s kidnapping was small, residential houses all around; the community around it wasn’t small per se, but close enough to take note when outsiders came about. The manager, Naomi Hughes, is a kind middle-aged woman of relative height, hair in a neat row of braids along her head.

You and Elle introduce yourselves and draw out your badges, “We’re here about Hayden Mullins.”

She nods, “Oh yes…uh…come with me.” She leads you to the back and into her office, “Hayden was working the closing shift when he was abducted, I told him not to work it alone, but he was determined. Home isn’t the happiest place for him,” she explains, “I’d let him sleep here when his dad was making a ruckus, get some food in him. He’s a good kid; I don’t know why anyone would go after him.”

“Did he have any hostile interactions with customers in the days before he was taken?” you ask.

“Who doesn’t? Folks get real snappy when you can’t get them what they want.” She rubs her temple, “I had a customer scream at me 'cause we didn’t carry non-salted water,” she exclaims with quotation marks, “what the hell is non-salted water?”

Elle huffs and shakes her head, “What about friendly customers? Did you notice anyone who didn’t act the way you’d expect? Anyone who stood out for a different reason?”

Naomi purses her lips, “Now that you mention it,” she opens her desk and pulls out a file, “There was this one woman; she was nice, like really nice. She said she’d just come off a four-hour road trip, so we was ready for all sorts of tantrums, but….”

“But what?” Elle asks.

“She was sweet. Smiled at me and said it was alright when we couldn’t get her what she needed,” Naomi’s face scrunched up a little, “I was a little spooked if I’m being honest; I mean, I’ve had nice customers, but she was something else.” She shuddered, passing over the file to you, “I was gonna forget all about her, but….when she looked at Hayden,” she shook her head, “I got a bad feeling.”

Inside the file was a woman’s side profile - hair clipped back into a bun, light makeup from what you can note in the black and white frame, a neatly kept suit - for all intents and purposes, a regular businesswoman.

“Hayden was stocking the shelves, I think, and she got mad when he couldn’t man a checkout. Had to have her escorted from the premises, but she came back again —oh my god, do you think she—”

“We don’t know that yet, ma’am,” you interject, “this is still an ongoing investigation; we’re just looking into all the facts as of now.”

“Don’t blame yourself for anything that happened,” Elle tells her.

Naomi nods, “Promise me something, if…if anything happens, you’ll tell me before you tell the news, understand?” You both nod to her request and leave with the security footage and any receipts linked back to the woman.

“If this, April Walsh is our unsub,” Elle points to the picture, “it sounds like she doesn’t like to lose control, the ties, the refusal to fight, it was in the hands of the victims, it was anarchy….”

“....she can’t let it thrive,” you finish. “The store is already out of her comfort zone and control; what if she assigns roles to the people around her, say Naomi? Managers are notorious for allowing bad behavior, but when Naomi didn’t….” You get behind the wheel and drive while throwing around more theories.

“....she got angry. April told Naomi she came off a four-hour drive; how far is the last crime scene?” She pulls out her phone, and minutes later, she cheers, “Four hours, and eighteen minutes, it’s not much, but….”

“It’s something; let’s get back to Spencer and Gideon with the info.”

“Speaking of Spencer,” Elle chuckles, “a little birdy told me the two of you went out on a date.”

You groan and roll your eyes, “Seriously?”

“Come on, I mean, Derek’s been bragging that he got Mr. Lovebird and the Resident Genius together,” she quips, “plus, you two make a cute couple.”

You smile, “Thanks. At the very least, I know there’s another date somewhere in the future, so good things to come, I hope.”

“Oh, they’re definitely coming,” Elle remarks. You lightly smack her arm and laugh as you pull up to the local precinct. She raises her eyebrows when Spencer greets you laughing when you stick your tongue out at her.

“Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” he responds, grinning at you, “did you bring me anything?” he quips.

“How does a potential name for our unsub sound?” You give him the file, “and also, a few more details to add to the profile?”

“I’d say it sounds good,” Gideon responds with a small smile. You and Spencer huff, amused and bashful - Elle relays the theories you’d bounced off each other in the car as Spencer pins April’s image on the board, while Gideon does the same to catch you up on what he and Spencer discussed while you were away. “We can brief the officers when Hotch and Derek get back.”

“It’s about two things,” Gideon begins, facing the “control and entertainment. The unsub does not care for anyone but herself; at best, anyone outside of that is a form of entertainment and, at worst, an annoyance.” He points to April’s security image, “April Kennedy Walsh is a business consultant, highly sought after from what we’ve gathered, and meticulous with just about everything, from her schedule to her wardrobe.”

“Her method of murder calls back to the gladiatorial fights in the Colosseum; the emperor and the people of Rome would watch as gladiators fought with each other or animals,” Spencer adds, “she feels no remorse for her victims and rewards winners with their life. Refusing to fight for her amusement might insult her in some way, as though she were an actual Roman emperor.”

“She fits in easily with the crowd from a distance, but up close, her disregard peeks through during moments of loss of control. She’s not shown any violent behaviors during those times, but it can’t be ruled out,” Derek passes copies of April’s photos, “and judging by how she took little time to disguise herself in any way, she’s not afraid of being caught. In fact, this whole chase could be another form of entertainment for her, the same way you or I sit back and watch TV.”

“The potential want to be caught doesn’t mean she isn’t using an alias and could be a way to challenge us, so be on the lookout,” Gideon finished.

The officers split off after the debrief, and you gather back as a group, “There’s a few other Goodwills from the first and a bunch more in Pennsylvania; we can’t search them all,” Elle points out, “and even if we did, she’s patient, she could just as easily wait until the smoke blows over before coming back.”

“We don’t have much of a choice; handing out her photo to the media could cause her to abandon the hunt too, and then we’d have no easy way of finding Hayden,” you say, “there has to be some kind of pattern between the stores she chooses.”

“She chooses the same two stores for each pair of victims, always employees, never managers; after two pairs, she changes stores,” JJ reiterates, “what if she’s following the road? Picking whatever store she sees on her way?” She looks at the map, hand trailing over the red pins set on the previous stores, “The first incident was in Huntsville, Alabama, from there, and according to her schedule, she had been on a back-to-back business expose.”

You pick up blue pins and place them outside the border of the Appalachian Mountains, “In that two-year break period, she was in Lancaster, Ohio.” You put a pin there, “then Richmond, Virginia. Maybe, the two-year gap wasn’t by choice or lack of available victims.”

“Personal tragedy? But we couldn’t find anything like that,” JJ sighed, “then again, we could barely find anything about her personal life. Her parents are divorced, and when I called and asked about April, they hung up on me really quick.”

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

“Well, what if this disregard for people started early? Her mother was a judge, her father a surgeon; I’d say that’s enough money to cover up any accidents,” JJ theorizes, “both high-pressure jobs might have caused the divorce. But why not speak about their daughter?”

“One or both parents could have felt guilty, argued with the other about covering it up, then,” you shrug, “divorce?”

You dial Garcia’s number and wait as the tone rings, “Mistress of all knowledge, how may I enlighten you today?”

“Hey, gorgeous,” you greet, she scoffs on the other end, and you can imagine she’s rolling her eyes.

“Ah, my favorite work of art,” she greets back.

“We need to know if April has any juvenile records, sealed records, anything like that, and if her mother was involved in having them buried.”

“Okie dokie.” She types fast a few clicks later and, “Wow. I’ve found a couple of things, most of them cited as isolated incidents and common behavior among children, but one sticks out, November 23rd, 1999, the same year Judge Walsh resigned from her post.”

“She give any reason why?” You inquire.

“Nope.”

“Alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Anytime.”

You relay the information, “The divorce happened the next year,” JJ mumbles, “let’s see if we can get those records open.”

November 23rd, 1999. April K. Walsh attended a camping trip near Lake Michigan; during a scavenger hunt, one of April’s buddies - Sam Goodwin - was found face down in the waters; the leading theory was Sam had gotten distracted and veered off the trail, with little experience swimming, Sam may have slipped into the water, panicked then subsequently drowned. The children had been paired into groups of three; the third child, Emma Chavez, had insisted that April had done it, and one detective had shot in the dark - months of investigation, and it looked like April would be facing time in a juvenile detention facility.

“What juvenile detention facility did she get sent to?” Gideon asks.

“None; close to the trial, the whole case fell apart; the next year, Judge Walsh resigned from her post and got a divorce.”

“Phone calls won’t cut it,” Hotch states, “we need her parents down here now.”

Joshua Walsh - now a retired surgeon- stayed close to Lake Michigan after the divorce and never remarried. Sofia Phillips - previously Sofia Walsh, post-divorce, she moved to Vermont, remarried, and had two more children before returning to work as a judge in a more minor position. Both refused to look each other in the eye; Joshua appeared more saddened, while Sofia was irritated.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for dragging me all the way here,” Sofia grumbled.

You knew very little of Sofia Phillips, but from what you could gauge, she held herself higher than others and regarded the investigation with about as much regard as buying the wrong flavor of juice.

“Yes, ma’am, we wanted to ask about your daughter, April,” Hotch replied.

“April? Please, I don’t have a daughter called April anymore.”

Joshua scoffed, “Yes, you do, April Kennedy Walsh,” he turned to her, pulling out his wallet with shaky hands; he riffled through it before holding a picture in her face. “She had your eyes, remember?”

“Yes, I also remember her being dead to me, Joshua,” Sofia responds, glancing away. “She was always troubled. I tried to be a good mother, but sometimes you just can’t beat that attitude out of them.” She crosses one leg over the other, “I thank god I was blessed with two wonderful children after her, kind, obedient, nothing like April.”

“Hypocrite much? Where do you think she got it from, huh?”

Sofia rolls her eyes and glances at Hotch, “Are we finished now? My son has a recital in a few hours.” Hotch nods, and she leaves without a second glance; Joshua stays seated, shaking his head with a sigh.

“April…she’s not a bad kid…just lost. Sofia and I didn’t expect to have kids that early…I mean, we coped, but our jobs….” He looks at the photo again, “I tried as best as I could to be there, but Sofia…I wish I did better."

Joshua reluctantly recounts the event of November 23rd, 1999, alongside his divorce and any other moments before and after that point. The Appalachian Mountains had been Joshua’s dream destination, Sofia, to no surprise, had constantly been vocal about instilling the appropriate life goals in April - high grades, top careers, appropriate connections. The stores chosen all had qualities Sofia had cited as detestable, with Pennsylvania’s first Goodwill reminding her too much of her least favorite architecture - brutalist architecture. So going off that, the next Goodwill would have to be similar in style as well. This new detail leads to a few counties over.

April Walsh doesn’t fight when caught; appearing exhausted, the only other emotion she shows is a mix of relief and joy when she sees Mr. Walsh again, but it’s brief. She sits without prompting, crosses a leg over the other, and makes her only demand, “I’d like to speak to my father—”

“Give us Hayden,” Hotch counters.

“Who? Oh, the retail worker,” she scoffs, “he’s perfectly safe, tied and unconscious in room 345, Liberty Hotel. Now, can I please talk to my father?” Hotch nods, leaving for Hayden with everyone but Gideon and Reid. Hayden is unharmed, drowsy, and confused when he awakes.

You slump into your seat on the airplane, Spencer sits by you, and you lean your head against his shoulder. “No one wake me up for anything,” Derek mumbles across from you, lying across two seats to nap.

“You look bored, cookie.” Spencer glances over at you; the others on the plane have either gone to sleep or relaxed in their seats.

“Maybe, but I’m not sure there’s much to do in an airplane.”

“We could play a game —not that kind,” you remark; he’d raised his eyebrows, and a light blush had dusted his cheeks, “we can do that at a later date, Dr. Reid. Right now, I was thinking of something like the ABC game.”

“ABC game?”

You sit up, “On long car rides, my grandma loved to play it; we choose a topic or theme and go through the alphabet. Say the theme was food, I’d say apricot; then you’d say bread; we can narrow down themes like food to fruits or vegetables.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting; ok, what’s the theme?” he asks, turning towards you.

“We can stick with food; it’s pretty easy and fun for a first-timer,” you reply, “We’ve got apricot and bread down, so, C, carrot cake.”

“Ok, donut.”

“Éclair.”

“French onion soup.”

You breeze through the first round, and Spencer picks the next theme - countries - which you manage through a quarter of before landing; you carry on while on the tarmac and finish just before leaving for home. It’s late afternoon in Quantico; Spencer bumps his hand against yours as you walk, smiling when you hold his hand in response. Paperwork is easy enough, and once done, you collectively sigh in relief when no other case comes up. It’s not night yet, and hearing everyone else make plans or detail what they have in mind when they leave has Spencer debating on whether to have that second date now.

“Thinking hard?” You ask, laughing when he comes out of his thoughts to find you standing close to him.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, “do you…uh…can we have that second date now? I know this great Indian restaurant, it’s a bit out of the way, but it has very good chicken tandoori.”

“Sure, lead the way.”

The restaurant is nice, getting there just half an hour after it opens at 5:00 PM; there’s plenty of space to choose from; Spencer leads you to his favorite seat by the fish tank. It’s a nice date; Spencer finds his legs close to yours after you split the bill, leaving just after seven. “Did you like it?”

“Loved it,” you respond. “You sure know how to treat a man, sweetheart.”

Spencer tugs at your arm, smiling into the kiss you give him. “Goodnight, love.”

Spencer is soft.

It’s what you repeatedly note - when he smiles, leans into your space for a kiss, or drums your fingers along your hands. When he snuffles in his sleep, a moment before waking up, “Morning….” he’d mumble before dozing off for a few odd minutes.

“Good morning to you, too,” you kiss his forehead, and he mumbles something else, snuggling deeper into your arms. “What happened to the early bird catches the worm, hmm?”

“....not a bird…no worms please….” he mumbles.

“Hmm,” you respond, rubbing circles along his back, “How about pancakes? I think I might have some blueberries or chocolate chips,” you muse; Spencer peeks up at you. “Ah, I see I’ve piqued your interest.” You laugh as Spencer ponders between the comfort of the bed and the prospect of pancakes. You leave him to his decision-making; by the time you’ve made the batter, Spencer shuffles from the bedroom - donning one of your hoodies and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Spencer hugs you from the back and pecks the space between your shoulder blades, “Süss,” he says.

You purse your lips and glance over your shoulder at him, “Süss? Come on; I thought you liked a challenge?” You switch off the stove and turn to face him, “German. Sweet.”

“I wasn’t looking for a challenge today,” he clarifies, “I was stating a fact.” He points at you as he repeats the word. “Mein süss.”

You grin, “I’d say you’re the sweet one, cookie.” He scrunches his nose, “Mein süßer Keks.” You wink when he stares at you, “You’re not the only one with a knack for languages.” He sticks out his tongue, leaving the kitchen with the pancakes; you join him at the dining table - he sits with his back to the window, soaking in the sun like a cat.

“Fun fact, chocolate chips melt best at temperatures between 104 °F and 113 °F; the melting process starts at 90 °F when the chips’ cocoa butter starts to heat. For milk and white chocolate chips, the temperature shouldn’t exceed 115 °F; for dark chocolate, it’s 120 °F; otherwise, the chocolate will burn.”

You nod, “Which flavor’s your favorite?”

“The classic chips, made from small chunks of sweetened chocolate, I like to eat them in winter when there’s less chance for them to melt in the bag,” he answers. “What about you?”

“I don’t mind, but I suppose I prefer the classic ones too.” The pancakes were long gone by now, and coffees almost finished; Spencer had come previously to visit but never slept over before, “How’d you sleep?” You ask, placing your arm around his shoulders.

“Good,” he yawns, “you’re really comfortable.” You chuckle as Spencer snuggles closer, “Can we go back to bed?” He asks with another yawn.

“Hmm,” you stand, “you head on in; I’ll take care of the dishes.” He nods, shuffling back to the bedroom; you gather the dishes, rinse off the food, place them in the dishwasher, and leave them to clean. You find Spencer nestled comfortably under the blankets; when you slide in alongside him, he latches onto you, not fully asleep and not fully lucid. You comb your fingers through his hair, and when his breath evens out, you close your own eyes and doze off.

End Note:

This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, and also, not that I think it needs mentioning, but this and the previous fic takes place somewhere in season one. Stay Hydrated.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #smart cookie universe :)#shiterequests #this is my reward for finishing my assignment :) i say as i ignore the other assignments. i couldn't find cookie love quotes or titles :(

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makeitmingi · 10 months

Text

Cause Baby You’re My Muse [Chapter 9]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.1K

“Wooyoung, come on, we need to go cook. Before Seonghwa scolds us. And I don’t want to be a part of the washing up crew.” You patted his arm. He whined, tightening his hold on you. You continued to squirm to try and annoy him into letting you go.

“Fine.” Wooyoung surprised you by kissing the side of your face, the small spot of skin that the mask didn’t cover on the side. You blinked in shock, holding the spot where he had kissed.

“Y-Yah, Wooyoung. You can’t do that!” Yunho, who witnessed the whole thing, yelled. Wooyoung shrugged and held your hand to bring you to the kitchen.

“We’re here.” Wooyoung said to Seonghwa and Mingi, who were taking ingredients out.

“Let me help season the meat before we grill it.” You shocked them by suddenly removing your hoodie. Mingi and Wooyoung looked away while Seonghwa naturally came over to hold your inner shirt down for you.

“Thanks.” You laughed, going to put your hoodie aside, leaving you in a plain shirt and jeans. After that, you washed your hands thoroughly.

“What?” You asked Mingi, who was staring at you.

“N-Nothing.” He blushed and cleared his throat. From what you watched on Ateez shows, the boys didn’t really seem like good cooks, except Wooyoung, who had an interest in cooking. Luckily the people you were with were the most decent cooks out of the bunch. You seasoned the steaks and chicken with salt, pepper and olive oil.

“What else should we make? We bought a lot of food from the store and the managers stocked some staples in the cupboard.” Seonghwa asked you.

“Since we’re having grilled meats and sausages, I can made some sort of pasta, roast vegetables in the oven and prawn cocktail.” You said as you looked over the ingredients.

“Alright. You’re the head chef. Just tell us what to do.” He laughed. You requested for him to grill the meats since you were not confident in grilling. Wooyoung tagged along with the oldest, leaving you with Mingi.

“I guess it’s just us, Mings.” You laughed.

“Mings?”

“Sorry, I meant Mingi.” You shook your head as you corrected yourself.

“No, it’s okay. I like it.” Mingi smiled. You met his smile before the two of you burst out laughing. Even if Mingi wasn’t a good cook, he followed your instructions well.

“I’ll do it. Just pour.” He rolled his sleeves up. You drizzled more olive oil, salt, pepper and some herbs into the bowl with the cut up vegetables.

“I toss it now?” He asked. You nodded and he got his hands in there, tossing the vegetables and making sure they were all coated well. You started baking the potatoes and pumpkin first.

“They take longer to cook so we’ll start them off. After 15 minutes, we’ll add the carrots and onions, then wait another 10 minutes before we add the remaining vegetables like the asparagus.” You explained to him. Mingi’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as he understood your logic.

“What pasta do you guys like?” You asked as you sliced the mushrooms.

“Honestly, we eat anything. The common favourite food of ours is meat. The thing we’re most picky on is vegetables but I think you know that.” Mingi laughed sheepishly.

“I do.” You giggled. He took over slicing the mushrooms for you while you sliced the garlic for the pasta.

“How much pasta do you think we will need?” You held up the packs.

“Two, at least... No, two and a half.” Mingi said. You put the three packs of pasta on the counter, ready for when the water came to a boil. A nice silence fell over the two of you, only soft hip hop music playing in the background.

“How have you been? We haven’t got a chance to go out again after that night.” Mingi broke the silence first.

“Busy. A lot of companies are outsourcing their producing for their groups’ comebacks now. I guess because it is more competitive with so many new groups emerging.” You shrugged.

“I hope you aren’t overworking...” Mingi said softly.

“Don’t worry, Mings. I’m not.” You giggled. You sliced the cherry tomatoes in half to put in the pasta. While you handled the cooking of the pasta, Mingi boiled the prawns for the prawn cocktail. He sat on the counter to peel the prawns once they were cooked and cooled. You tossed garlic and oil in the pan before throwing in the mushrooms and halved tomatoes.

“Something smells so good~” Hongjoong and Yeosang came out. You stirred the ingredients before lifting a strand of pasta up from the boiling water to test the doneness.

“Indigo, want to come live with us? You can cook for us.” Hongjoong asked.

“No thanks. I’ll stick to producing.” You scoffed. Once the pasta was cooked enough, you put it in the frying pan and tossed everything together.

There was actually so much pasta to cook, you had to cook two pans just to be able to fit everything into the pan.

“Help me put some salt and pepper. Just sprinkle it around.” You said. Yeosang did a few pinches of salt and cracked the pepper grinder around. After a final taste, you turned the flame off.

“What else is there to do?” Jongho asked.

“I’m gonna try and make cocktail sauce or some sort of sauce with what we have. To eat with the prawns.” You looked through the cupboards.

“Hmm, let’s see.” The boys all gathered around you as they watched you make the sauce. You mixed ketchup, gochujang, rice vinegar and chopped garlic together. Yunho helped you mix the bowl.

“It needs something...” You said after tasting. You squeezed some lemon inside and added some plum syrup for sweetness. After that, you nodded in approval. Yunho copied you, dipping his finger into the sauce for a taste. Then all the boys did the same.

“Mmmm!” They all nodded happily at the taste. Dinner was done. Mingi pulled the tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven. Wooyoung and Seonghwa brought the meats in. They were in awe of the food that was prepared.

“Everyone grab a plate.” Hongjoong said. The boys insisted you sit at the head of the table while they sat on either side of you. You wore your cap low so you could eat.

“Thank you for the food!” They chimed.

“It looks so good. Indigo, you’re amazing.” San said.

“I had great help.” You waved him off. They all dug in. Although you couldn’t see them with your head lowered, the sighs of happiness and slurps were an indication that they liked the food.

“Never thought vegetables could taste so good. They’re nice and sweet.” Wooyoung commented, making you laugh.

“I like the pasta. It’s so good.” Seonghwa complimented.

“I learnt a lot of small useful tips from Indigo when cooking with her.” Mingi said. You felt your cheeks heat up, you weren’t used to all these compliments from so many people.

“Honestly, Mingi is the trooper. He sacrificed his fingers and peeled all those prawns on his own.” You said. When the dinner was over and all the food was demolished, the cooking team relaxed on the couch while the others cleaned up. Although, from the sound of it, it seemed like there was some sort of deal going on between the remaining members.

“Alright, San hyung and I are on breakfast duty so the rest are cleaning.” Jongho declared as the two sat down with the rest of you.

You sat down to let the food digest for a bit before going to shower. You were starting to get uncomfortable with the smell of cooking fumes on you. Thankfully you had your own shower.

“Hyung! I’m supposed to go first!”

“Why can’t we just shower together?!”

“You know I hate that!” You laughed as you heard Jongho and Wooyoung bickering for one of the bathrooms outside. Picking up a clean mask, you wore it and emerged from your room.

“Whoever needs to can use my bathroom. I’ve finished showering and am fine with it.” You said to no one in particular.

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asked.

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have offered.” You raised an eyebrow. The oldest two took turns to use your bathroom since the queue for two shared bathrooms were way too long. You sat on your bed, hair in a messy bun.

“Ugh, peace and quiet here.” Hongjoong fell onto the bed the moment he came out. It was quiet unbelieveable how polite, shy and cautious he was around you when he first met you. Now, he was boldly laying on your bed, not that you minded anyway. You snorted, ignoring him as you continued looking at some stuff on your laptop.

“Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s out of the bathroom.” You informed, poking your head out. Seonghwa came in with his shower stuff a few minutes later. He hit Hongjoong’s butt.

“Yah, don’t sleep on her bed.” Seonghwa scolded. Hongjoong mumbled something incoherent, which neither you nor Seonghwa could make out.

“What?” Seonghwa laughed.

“I’m not gonna sleep here. I just want some peace and quiet away from the chaos.” Hongjoong repeated. Seonghwa scoffed and rolled his eyes before going to the bathroom to have his shower.

“Are you working on things already?” Hongjoon asked you, hauling his body closer so he could lean over to see your screen.

“Just thinking about what I can work on with all of you.” You replied.

“Ah, work tomorrow. It’s only a few more hours until you have the whole day.” Hongjoong patted your knee.

“This isn’t work. Don’t nag at me all the time.” You tapped the top of his head, making him look up at you with a glare. You giggled playfully while he rested his head on top of your knee, facing away from you, deciding to scroll on his phone. Distracted by the device, he didn’t bother you anymore.

Hongjoong couldn’t see your face but you were deep in thought, thinking about how Haneul would love all the boys. She would think that they’re so cool and funny. You can just imagine her face.

“Move.” Seonghwa shoved Hongjoong’s legs aside dove onto the remaining space at the foot of the bed. Luckily you had a queen sized bed.

“I thought you told me not to sleep here.” Hongjoong scoffed.

“Yes but I need some peace and quiet too.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. You felt like a kid sitting with her parents in bed while they bantered. After that, they just laid there in silence, which was what they wanted.

“Kick us out when you’re tired and want to sleep. We’ll leave.” Hongjoong said to you, reaching to the back to pat your leg with his hand.

“Please, if you say that, that means we’ll be here until sunrise. She doesn’t sleep.” Seonghwa replied.

“Hey! I do sleep!” You protested. The two actually lifted their heads to give you looks.

“Just not at the same time as you.” You added, sticking your tongue out at them. After a while, with Hongjoong starting to fall asleep, Seonghwa guided him out o the room.

“Goodnight.” You wished each other before closing your room door. Checking the time, you knew you should go to sleep if you were going to wake up in the morning. But as you laid on the bed, you found it hard to fall asleep. Maybe because you were not in a familiar place and this wasn’t your bed. You sighed in frustration as you sat up.

“I need a drink.” You got up and went downstairs. It was dark so you used the flashlight from your phone to navigate to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in the fridge but you did find San’s chocolate milk.

“Sorry, San. I’ll pay you back.” You opened the carton and drank the beverage. You leaned against the counter, scrolling on your phone.

“Ah!” Someone shouted and you jumped, immediately lifting the collar of your shirt to try and cover your face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there.” You reached for the light switch and turned on the see Mingi standing there with his hands over his eyes, like a child playing peekaboo.

“Oh, it’s just you.” You sighed.

“I-I’ll go.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to blindly reach for a wall to guide himself back to where he came from.

“It’s fine.” You didn’t care. Or rather, you were dealing with the frustration of being unable to sleep that Mingi seeing your face was the least of your problems. Especially since he has seen your face before.

“Y-You sure?”

“Yeah. What are you doing up? Can’t sleep?” You asked, taking your previous position on the counter, leaning on your elbows. Mingi chuckled when he saw you drinking San’s chocolate milk. He nodded in reply to your question, sliding onto the bar stool across you. You turned to the fridge to get him a drink. He took one of Wooyoung’s strawberry juices.

“What about you? Can’t sleep too?” Mingi asked back. He was trying his best to keep this conversation normal and not as if you were openly revealing your face to him.

“Mhmm, I think it’s an unfamiliar surrounding... Or maybe I just have a lot on my mind.” You shrugged.

“Want to move to the terrace to sit? Just like our late night coffee runs.” Mingi suggested. You liked the sound of that, so you agreed.

“Careful.” Mingi brushed the seat before you sat down. It was dark so your face was more hidden but Mingi thought it would make you more comfortable around him, knowing that he couldn’t really see you.

“Is it the work that’s bothering you?” Mingi asked. You hummed in contemplation for a while.

“No. I think work is the only thing that’s keeping me going now. And being with you guys just makes work that much more enjoyable.” You replied.

“What about family?” You really paused at Mingi’s mention of family. How much were you willing to tell him now? Things that no one else has ever known before. Even the ‘friends’ you had, didn’t know about your family.

“I’ve not spoken to my parents in years. I don’t know where they are now, how they’re doing. And to be honest, I don’t even know if they’re alive.” You replied. Mingi thought for a while on how to proceed, mentally scolding himself for touching such a sensitive subject.

“Sorry, that was cruel of me to say.” You corrected.

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have just asked so casually.” Mingi shook his head. You looked at him, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Why not? It’s normal to, right? My parents were just never around. I started working underground and producing very young, would sneak out to work and earn money. Once I was old enough, packed up and left.” You explained.

“Is that why you keep your identity a secret?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the reason. I wasn’t supposed to be working so everything had to be a secret.” You said.

“Must have been hard...” Mingi couldn’t imagine, a younger you, being alone and having to work in such a harsh, critical industry.

“But it made me the person I am today, which I am grateful for. I gained a lot of independence and my love for music hasn’t died. It only grows stronger.” You smiled with a giggle.

“My parents let me join a dance academy because I loved to dance. That’s where I met Yunho. But sometimes I wonder if they regret letting me join it since I decided to become an idol.” Mingi confessed.

“Why?”

“Besides my members, my parents are the ones who saw all the hardships I’ve gone through and am still currently going through as an idol. My mum was saying the other day that maybe I wouldn’t suffer so much if I hadn’t become an idol. But I guess the reality is that every career, every life has it’s own share of harships.” Mingi shrugged.

“I agree, there’s no life without hardships. But parents feel the... need? The purpose... To protect their children from as much hardship as possible.” You tried to reason.

“What about Dean sunbaenim?” Mingi asked.

“Oh, he’s just a friend. Honestly, Hongjoong and Seonghwa are more of my parents than my real parents, or older brothers. Hyuk and I are friends but he doesn’t know much about me, personally.” You explained.

“I don’t mean anything insulting when I ask this or rather, I don’t know how to ask this but... doesn’t it get lonely?”

“After so long, I think I’ve internalised it. I throw myself into work.” You said.

“But not having someone to talk to or share your bad days with... It takes a toll on someone... I can’t imagine having to just always keep it in...” Mingi frowned. You turned to him, eyes widening.

“Why are you crying?” You asked softly, reaching out to cup his cheeks and wipe his tears.

“Ah, I don’t know! Sorry.” He pulled back in embarrassment. He turned away and wiped his face with the sleeves of his sweater.

“It’s okay. I think Ateez has helped me be more open with my emotions. I’m learning to depend on people, thanks to you guys. So I don’t have to keep everything in anymore when I have all of you.” You smiled crookedly. Mingi laughed through his crying.

“Mings, don’t cry! Really, my life isn’t that tragic.” You slapped his arm. Reaching over, you hugged him tightly. Mingi slowly put his arms around your waist to hug you back, his actions full of hesitation.

Mingi felt you bunch the material of his sweater in your fists to keep yourself stable. You were trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

“We should go to bed before Hongjoong kills us for being late.” You giggled. Mingi nodded but waited for you to break the hug first. You kept your smile but your eyes were glassy.

“Please don’t tell anyone I cried.” Mingi chuckled, trying to make the atmosphere more lighthearted.

“Whatever we share here is always a secret, right?” You nudged him. He nodded, knowing you were referring to you revealing your face to him.

“Let’s go.” You grabbed your empty milk container and threw it away.

“Goodnight, Mings.”

“Goodnight, Indigo.” He smiled softly, watching you disappear into your room before going to his. As he quietly slipped into his shared bed with Yunho, Mingi felt a warmth in his chest. For some reason, he found it a lot easier to fall asleep than at the start of the night. His mind was at ease and his heart wasn’t racing, he felt relaxed.

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thewritetofreespeech · 5 months

Note

Hi! Idk if you write for him, but if you do can you please write something fluffy with Apollo comforting and reassuring his S/O that they are beautiful? 💖

Thanks!

It was hard sometimes, being Apollo’s lover.

Though you loved the man dearly, and knew there was more to him than just the flash he portrayed, it was hard to be standing next to someone who was shining all of the time. Particularly now.

“Oh Apollo! How wonderful to see you! Are you enjoying the festival??”

“Oh yes Hebe! Any opportunity for everyone to get together and look their best is a treat I always enjoy.” He replied with a bright smile.

To which Hebe (and any other goddess within an eye line of sight) gushed and cooed. “Oh wonderful! It’s a shame you have to be here alone though.”

“I’m not alone. You all are here! And, [Y/N] is with me.”

“Hello Hebe.”

The goddess’s face instantly fell into a look of sour grapes as she seemed to remember you were there. “Oh, yes, hello [Y/N]. I hope you are enjoying the party as well.” He voice couldn’t have been flatter if she were crushed by a stone. “Apollo! Would you mind playing something for us later? As the God of music & song, it would be an honor to hear you perform.”

“It would be my pleasure!”

The girls all gush again and squeal at the thought of a private concert from their favorite, beautiful God. And you had had enough. “I’m going to go home.”

You sat your wine down and make way for the exit. Not making it far before Apollo caught up to you in the corridor. “What’s wrong [Y/N]? Are you feeling ill?”

“Not ill. Sick.” You told him. “Sick of always being overlooked and ignored by your fans. Sick of always being forgotten because you are always so blinding.”

“Oh. Yes, my beauty does have that affect on people.” He agreed with a nod. Not helping his cause at all. “But, so does yours my love. Your beauty is blinding to me. Those others, my ‘fans’ as you call them, they are just faceless pillars of marble to me when you are around. I barely notice them as I am so taken by your beauty.”

“Really?” You ask cautiously. You know you should perhaps take his words with a grain of salt. He was the God of Poetry as well after all, and maybe he just didn’t want to get in trouble.

But looking at his beautiful, smiling face, you know that Apollo had no guile on this. You know he would never lie about someone’s beauty. “Really. Now, please stay. I won’t be able to perform without my muse. You may not like my fans, but it would be cruel to deny them the beauty of my song.”

“Well….alright. We can stay a little longer.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. Grabbing your hand and dragging you back to the party.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok scenarios #record of ragnarok imagine #ror imagine #ror scenarios #scenarios #imagine #record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #apollo #ror apollo #record of ragnarok apollo

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prettyeyesnof4ce · 2 years

Text

Browsing The Stacks

College!Matt Murdock x f!reader

Summary: Matt helps you focus on your studies at the library.

WC: 3.2k

Warnings/Tags: soft!dom!matt, public display of affection, thigh riding, porn w/o plot pretty much! (MDNI)

A/N: I wrote this during a college matt frenzy with @briefcasejuice it was just the perfect concept! I really like how this came out and I hope y’all enjoy it too.

Read on AO3 Masterlist

The purpose of the study nooks in the college library were exactly what they intended. For studying of course, yet the size of the library and amount of these spaces provided meant that there’d be room for extreme privacy. Lucky for you, you’d been let in on the most isolated corner desk, in which you were sitting right now. Despite being the furthest from any potential noise or people, it still didn’t satiate the rate at which your heart pattered in your chest.

Maybe the upside of being so far away from any prying eyes was that you could cry. And it didn’t take any effort to resort to that considering how stressed you were because of this damn—

“y/n?” A voice rang from down the way.

You were yanked from the sentence your blurred eyes were stuck on when his stern voice called your name. If you weren’t so lost in the never-ending passages of the textbook, you’d have heard his cane tapping along the floor and rearing around this particular aisle to find you.

Turning while still seated, the sight of him just feet away and ambling closer to you inherently warmed your heart. You wouldn’t know it though, but he knew.

“Oh–” you gasped slightly. It was none other than Matt, now approaching more confidently because he recognized your voice as it finally spoke.

The smile encroaching on his face grew wider due to, unbeknownst to you, hearing your heartbeat slow down. The warmth reciprocated to Matt, an exchange he was ever willing to accept silently.

“I knew you were here” Matt lingered on an elated scoff, the grin unwavering while he made his arrival to the back of your chair, stationing his cane to his front. Your head dipped back and your eyes shut involuntarily, almost grazing his hand placement on your shoulder. A silent but telling “Hi, Matt” would suffice as a greeting, cut short by the smile of relief you couldn’t hold back from being in his presence again. It was always a delight seeing him, with this semester’s schedule change, it was more difficult to bump into him at any given time. He was a sight for sore eyes as well, his brown ginger-ish locks and bright smile never faltered being a comfort.

The manner in which your throat hitched on the greeting told Matt everything he needed. That the number of books sprawled out, taking up pretty much all of the surface of the table, and the half-drunk coffee long abandoned to the side were signs of stress. Stress that you obviously weren’t taking care of. You were his afternoon mission, no doubt.

“Why the long face?” He spoke. You mused his words, letting them permeate in your ears due to his obviously soothing baritone, before instigating.

“What long face?” you squeaked.

“Uh—just, you only come here when you really wanna be—alone, so I’m guessing you’re studying really hard which leads to—“ he paused, catching himself before the speed of his voice gave an inkling of suspicion.

Matt needed to choose his words more carefully, lest he wanted you to seriously question how he just knew things. But at this moment, in your mind's eye, Matt was nothing more than a considerate and observant partner. And observant he was, cause the tears welling up earlier were nothing short of opaque now, the salt now disappearing and being replaced with something else. It was brewing and becoming more apparent to him the longer he spoke with that silky baritone.

“Stress, yeah, is it that obvious?” You spoke while turning your body so your legs were on the outside of the chair. The way your own voice let the ‘S’ roll off before pronouncing the word entirely already painted itself to a wall in his mind, having piqued his interest. He wanted to banish the entire feeling for you.

Matt could tell by the way you squeezed your legs shut that your mind was already wandering during this seemingly mundane conversation.

“No, no, it’s just—“ He started.

“I’m kidding, it is obvious” you breathed a sigh that was partially intentional. Somehow you started to feel embarrassed that he called out your inability to give yourself a break, that if he hadn’t found you when he did you’d be a sobbing mess right now. Your hero.

“Not that that’s necessarily terrible, it shows you care about your work” Matt rubbed the still laid hand on your shoulder in a way to soothe you. You breathed a smile, finally building the strength to bring your right hand up to it and placing it on the back of his hand to show you were grateful for it.

“Maybe I don’t care enough, can’t focus today” You admitted defeatedly, turning to gawk at your workspace.

Matt’s smirk somehow intensified, you didn’t know it but your words were amalgamating a plan to get you focused again, a plan that he knew you couldn’t refuse. He bit back a chuckle before coming to the surface with his interrogation.

“Oh, you do care, I’m sure, you just need to take a load off for a second.” He mumbled, his hand switching from your shoulder to your chin in one movement, tilting your head upward. The mannerism was simple but it threatened to double the warmth growing in your center. Matt cleared his throat slightly.

You gulped hard, studying the way his smile faded, letting him take the mic again. Suddenly this interaction was becoming less casual and more intentional, you thought.

“I wanna help you, in any way that I can” It was soft and quiet, but it hit harder than if he asked the classic ‘are you ok?’. Somehow it was easier to melt into that statement, and that you definitely did. The burning returned to your eyes for a moment while you stood suddenly from the chair, and his arms were extended ready to catch you in them. Now in Matt’s embrace, you felt like you could breathe a little, the pressure of his hands digging into your back giving you some reprieve. Your body decompressing against him was telling, it told him you trusted him, allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him despite the setting.

How could he have this much of an effect on you, that you were still mindful of how you were really feeling, and how it coupled with the lewd feelings being around him brought out in you. It was a weird mixture of emotional intelligence yet with hints of arousal. It was a strange effect but you always welcomed it. Being with him just felt safe and intimate.

His scent burrowed effortlessly in your nostrils, irresistible and you felt you could stay like this forever.

“Thank you, Matt” you pulled away, breaking the silence after what seemed like a minute, your face close to his and your arms now resting atop his forearms. The grip Matt patented on your waist was unrelenting, your bodies still flush together. He contemplated just leaving it at this, but the heat signature you were giving off was not going away. In fact, it tripled, seeing as your hands stroked over the muscles under his sweatshirt and the way you studied his expression meant your mind was definitely elsewhere.

“We’re not finished” He spoke suddenly, almost abruptly and out of turn with his thoughts. Matt didn’t want to be careful, he was trying to figure out the fastest way to give you the release you desperately needed. That he knew you needed and didn’t give to yourself in those private moments.

You whispered an ‘oh’ letting him know he had your full undivided attention. The silence hung in the air for a moment before he poked the bubble.

“Let's sit, let me hold you” He spoke, turning your body to the right slightly so he could take the seat.

‘Oh god’ you thought, there was no way this was happening. Your arousal was catching up to you, for this predicament was laying the trap you knew he was plotting the second you noticed he was smirking in that specific way he did. His voice was stern and confident, which only made matters worse and made your mind blur deeper with filthy undertones. Who were you to not accept his thoughtful care, and most definitely the chance to admire below while he held you in his strong arms.

With one motion, you were sitting respectfully on his legs, his hands still remaining glued to your waist and your hands interlocked behind his head. Once comfortable, Matt began rubbing circles on your back, slowly and just enough to let you revel in the sensation. He was so close yet so far, his breath was faint on your neck but it felt strangling. You were going crazy, it was confining but somehow not enough to where it was satisfying.

Matt could tell you were struggling to keep your distance, your shallow breaths and beating core being a total indicator of your restraint. He was amused by your behavior, adorable that you weren’t 100% sure he was on the same page, but he definitely was, you were just too shy to admit you wanted him. Wanted him in any self-respecting way you could have him in such a public space. Yes, you were isolated and it wasn’t busy when you first came in here, but you weren’t careless enough to be okay with the risk.

His head tilted to the right and his eyebrows furrowed, almost disappearing under his black frames, stopping his hand motions for a second.

“You’re tense again.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, so?” It came out more defensive than you’d liked. Fuck, it was futile to try and escape his prying. Especially when he looked the way he did effortlessly, his demeanor soft but dominating. Again, you often wondered how he just knew exactly what was going on.

“Tell me what you need–it’s ok.” He coaxed, making a note to flash a smile to encourage your words to flow easier. And it did, intensifying your exhilaration and excitement. It gave you half-confidence that his thoughts were aligning with yours.

”Matt–I can’t–you don’t have to–” Stuttering a bit, you answered. Your anxieties were very much in control, not to mention acting so intimate in a place like this, this was already too much. It felt shameful to use him for what you thought were selfish purposes, but Matt saw it as an opportunity to help when you so very needed it.

Your cheeks felt heated as his hand came up to your jaw again, his remaining grip now stroking at your thigh.

“I want to help…in any way that I can–please?” Matt whispered, reinstating what he’d said earlier more sternly, bringing your face impossibly closer, his breath tickling your lips.There was an earnest need in his tone, the way he uttered that ‘please’ stroked the already raging fire in your belly. If his soft salmon colored lips weren’t enough to do it.

You huffed a sigh, worry scribbled on your face.

“here though? It’s–mmh” Matt captured your lips once his hand met the back of your head, angling his face to shut you up with a kiss. It was open mouthed but neat, you shut your eyes at once, the grip around his shoulders becoming more stable as you shifted on his lap a little, making him grunt into the kiss. You gave Matt absolutely no choice, if you didn’t want to admit you needed a break, he had to do it for you.

With his feet firmly planted on the floor, he skidded the chair backward to signal you the chance to straddle him, and you seized it with little to no grace. During the unbroken kiss, it took a second to switch your footing and open your legs to properly sit on him, grunting while you attempted to steady yourself.

Once he realized you were about to sit on his crotch, he grabbed either of your hips with force, removing himself from your lips.

“Ah-ah, this is only about you” He huffed, and you scanned his face.

You were taken aback by his quick-wit, almost perplexed that he’d refuse the contact. It made you second guess your ability to read the writing on the wall. Or maybe you were just too selfless, wanting him to experience the ordeal with you.

You held back a whine, annoyed that he still wanted to single you out, and he was annoyed you weren’t letting him make you feel special. Matt wanted to make sure you knew this was just about you.

“Just–” *kiss* “--trust me, okay?” *kiss*

He left open mouthed pecks to your neck, whimpers of impatience leaving your lips in the process, your forearms staying firm around his shoulders. You sighed before giving any semblance of a response.

“Ok” you took the slight rejection and reshaped it into submission.

Matt flashed a wicked smile against your skin. “Good girl, now sit.”

He patted at his right knee, and you didn’t need to look back at it, for the sound of him welcoming you to it rang like the dinner bell. And you were absolutely famished.

You swept your right leg over, it now between his legs, as your aching crotch finally found purchase on the upper part of his knee. It was a satisfying feat, Matt hearing your muscles relax while you found the rightful place he’d wanted to get you in minutes back when he arrived. Your forehead was pressed to his, almost looking for permission to begin. Matt was eager to see you spread your wings.

“Go ahead, use me” He breathed, hands grasping your hips, one thumb stroking reassuringly on your thigh. Your angling was perfect and pressure was already present on your clit despite not moving yet.

Bracing yourself with a peck that quickly turned into a full kiss, you started grinding back and forth reluctantly, knees buckling at the blunt pleasure. Shockwaves ran through your legs that threatened your balance once you got to a steady pace, but Matt thought it wasn’t steady enough. Afterall, he knew just how desperate you were, he still had to step in to let you know it was okay to take what you wanted and fast.

He forcibly pulled away from the deep kisses that you were obviously using as a distraction to encourage you further.

“Harder–it’s ok, sweetheart” He spoke clearly but softly, applying some force to his grasp now, pulling and pushing with your shy thrusts. You bit back a whimper at the now faster grind, grip on his shoulders now tighter. His names for you created a blaze in your chest, a feeling of pride that you were his pet, you were his image of affection.

Your chest heaved quickly, walls starting to flutter and you moaned quietly, earning a smile from Matt. “Yes, like that” Matt’s praise coupled with the friction the fabric between you provided was pulling your orgasm closer and closer. It was delicious and fuck maybe it had been a while since you’ve came considering how easy it all was. But he could tell you were duly reminded that you were in a public space again once your pattern of noises took shape. He didn’t want to let that stop you.

“Kiss me” He craned his neck forward, mouth slack a little to welcome you back to his mouth, and you gladly got lost in his persuasion yet again. The rhythm was unfaltering due to Matt’s help, making sure every pass on his knee hit your swollen clit with precise angling. The cave of his mouth helped silence your growing whimpers, his tongue accompanying yours perfectly. The patch of wetness inevitably passed the threshold of your underwear, Matt bit his lip as he felt the warmth sliding across his leg, cock twitching as he studied your blissful state.

He took a second to take note of your chemistry, mouth parted in open mouthed kisses again as he discreetly tasted your essence filling the air. It permeated in his sinuses, something he’d smelt before of course, but this time it was sweeter and much more impervious.Your thrusts on the rough surface of his jeans were getting needier, huffing and whining into his mouth, and he felt it was time to escort you down the sinful valley of his words.

“You gonna cum f’me, angel?” He began, letting go of your hips and holding your back once again.

You were in flight all on your own, pelvis rutting wildly and back arching ever so often. Getting lost in the pleasure, it was hard to control your grunts, trying your best with the way your knees ached as your climax approached. You’d be damned if your anxieties stopped you from letting Matt give you what you needed. His sweet beckoning voice and rock solid body wouldn’t allow it.

“C’mon, I know you can, that’s it” His voice was low but sure of its power, feeling you flutter more aggressively, guiding you closer and closer.

“...so perfect and needy all f’me, yeah?” Matt held you close, preparing for your final cry.

Somehow him taunting you for your neediness was what did it for you. It was not embarrassing anymore, you were happy to admit you needed this, cause the pressure at your core and pleasure searing through your belly was a gorgeous trophy to take for being submissive to him. Matt was gonna be there for you, no matter the time or place.

You fell quickly, your cunt pathetically pulsing around nothing yet everything, your legs twitching as you held tight onto Matt’s embrace. He shushed you by pushing your head into his neck, gasping into his ear at first before it turned into grunts of bliss, even a whimper of his name.

Somewhere inside you during it all, you prayed the study nook was far enough away and that the crevice of Matt’s neck was enough to muffle it all. Your hips continued to squirm on the hard surface and it quickly turned to overstimulation, but you didn’t care cause you wanted this moment to last. It was an example of how Matt was able to make you feel like you were the only two people alive.

Eventually your head stopped spinning, body stagnant, and Matt was at your neck again, sucking softly at the heated skin. He was so proud, proud of your admittance and willingness to accept his help.

“See? You did so good” He chuckled silently, he felt very exhilarated to have rode this out with you, he was impossibly stiff but he could take care of it later, right now his job was to be prideful.

“Oh god, Matthew–” reality set in and you were half-chuckling in disbelief because of what just fucking happened. Your face felt hot and your clothes felt sticky. He quickly shushed you, kissing you again.

“It's okay–focus on what’s important, that you feel better, right?” Matt grinned, hand rubbing your back in the same motion as before. It took a second before you felt you could revel in the success of this risky endeavor.

“I guess so” A shy smile would suffice and you crooned into his neck again, breath steadying. His job here was done, and the way your heart synced with his as he held you in his lap was enough to satisfy the ache he felt of his own. You were glad to have allowed his help, and thank god for his persistence, otherwise this afternoon would’ve gone very differently.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! feedback, likes and rbs are optional yet appreciated.

taglist and who might be interested: @briefcasejuice @saintmurd0ck @murdocksluvrr @missbeewrites @mindidjarin @stress--relief @netflixmatt

(I do not give permission for this or any of my work to be posted elsewhere without my consent)

#scythe.publishings #scythe.nsfw #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil smut #daredevil x you

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deancasbigbang · 8 months

Text

Title: Salt and Rosemary

Author: tiamatv

Artist: galakitty

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Castiel

Length: 25000

Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent; Curses; Dark Fairy Tale Elements; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Dark Humor; Pre-Series; SPN Season 1

Posting Date: October 24, 2023

Summary: Sure, Dean’s cursed to die—cursed to have his breath stolen from him—on his twenty-fourth birthday. Uh-huh, thanks for that, Mom. Some real Rapunzel bullshit, there. But here’s the thing: Dean’s a hunter. He’s got iron around his neck, jade on his wrists, and Latin on his tongue. Ain’t no fucking curse gonna take him and then move on to Sammy after. He doesn’t expect that his curse has a name. But what kind of name is 'Castiel,' anyway?

Excerpt: When the curse writes KILL on the motel wall in big, spiky letters, the brown of it with the drip at the bottom really suspiciously like dried blood, though. Well, that incident gives Dean pause. Not for the reasons anyone else might, though. First of all, Dean’s—for once—glad that Dad’s off on his own again, chasing down some kind of lead while Dean’s here on a salt and burn. ‘Cause if he saw that nonsense, he would lose his shit and probably drag Dean off to Pastor Jim. Or shut him in Bobby’s basement. “Wonder where that blood comes from? Huh,” Dean muses. After all, the curse is tied to him, and it’s sure as hell not his blood. But something’s ticking at the back of his mind, something… He can’t see the curse right now, with all the lights on—his shadow just looks like a shadow—but… that makes Dean think. And ‘cause Dean’s just not that smart, it’s not until he’s working off the words with a scrubby and the kind of industrial soap used by crime scene cleaners (he's pretty sure he knows what it says about their lives that they keep this stuff in the trunk of the Impala) that what’s been bothering him really comes clear. He stops, his hand poised over the first L in KILL. “Hey!” Dean exclaims, and grins, slopping the sponge onto the wall again. “Waittasec. You can write! Y’know, I knew I heard you talk that first time. You got a name? I mean, I could call you ‘hey, you, cursey!’ but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” There’s no answer. He doesn’t expect there to be, ‘cause, really, Dean’s just being an asshole. He’s more surprised than he should be when the next morning, in the exact same spot, is written another word in the same red-brown. This one’s smaller, though, and the curves of it are round and full: neat, not the drippy, spiky mess of yesterday. Castiel, it says. With lowercase letters included, this time. Heh. How polite. (But maybe Castiel is kind of an asshole, too, ‘cause now Dean has to scrub off even more bloody letters.)

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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princessmisery666 · 1 year

Text

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

Summary: Being stood up isn’t always a bad thing.

Warnings/Genre etc.: Fluff, lousy singing.

W/C: 2k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, Mentions/Small Parts: Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia, Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Harvard.

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: I saw this post on Instagram, and it immediately made me think of Rooster. Songs: Is This Love by White Snake, Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli.

A/N: the wonderful and brilliant @writercole helped with ideas, summary, and title and helped make the muses comply.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Master Lists: Top Gun: Maverick // All The Fandoms

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

It’s been a week. It’s not even worth listing all the things that went wrong. The icing on the cake (presumably made with salt and not sugar - cause it's that kind of week) was your date canceled on you as you took a seat at a booth in the diner.

You sigh as the waitress comes to take your order, accepting that you’ve been stood up and decide you may as well eat since you’re already there.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger, side salad, no tomato, extra dressing, please.”

The elderly waitress smiles. It’s comforting and sweet. Her name tag says Pattie, and you imagine her grandkids get overly excited whenever Granny Pat visits. “You want the fries with that?”

You ponder for half a second before declining, “No thanks.”

“You sure, hun? They’re included in the price.”

You had dirty Cajun fries from the food cart outside the office at lunch. You know the diner’s fries won’t taste as good, besides you want to leave room for dessert, so you politely decline again.

“I’ll take them, Pattie!”

You twist in the booth to look over your shoulder and find the source. A handsome guy sitting at the bar, wearing a light yellow floral print shirt, smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You’d clocked him when you’d entered. You’d caught his eye too, and he’d given you a broad smile. His mustache was a flashback to a decade or two ago, but he wore it well. He carried it with a sense of pride and confidence. It looked good on him. Anyone else, you’d have thought it was creepy.

“Hush now, boy,” Pattie scolds, but she’s smiling when she turns back to face you.

You chuckle, nodding toward him, “He’ll take the fries.”

Pattie takes your menu and disappears to the kitchen. You look at Mr. Mustache, who tips his beer bottle to you before bringing it to his lips.

You grab your phone and message the “No Scrubs” group.

You: Stood up again. Where you guys at?

Cole: At that navy bar I was telling you about. Come meet us.

You: I’ve just ordered dinner. Will see how I feel after.

You scroll social media while you wait. Pattie comes by a few times, brings cutlery and sauces, and refreshes your drink.

You hear the bell ring to signal an order’s ready, and your mouth waters when you see Pattie heading toward you. The burger looks delicious. The brioche bun glistens under the lights as the cheese melts over the edge onto the plate. It's so tall there’s a wooden skewer through the top to keep it in place, and the fries are fat and look perfectly crispy.

Pattie sets the plate down, “Enjoy, sweetheart,” and you swallow before drool slips out.

Just as you pull the skewer out of the burger, you hear, “Those are mine, remember.”

You laugh, twisting to look at him again. He’s got a cheerful smirk, but his brow is raised as if challenging you. “Why don’t you join me?” you offer.

He grabs his beer and twists off his stool. The smile remains while he saunters over, and you can’t take your eyes off him, admiring the sway of his hips. He’s confident in an almost bashful way. The open floral shirt shows a white shirt beneath it, and the contrast against his tanned skin looks as edible as your burger.

“Tell me,” he says, grabbing a fry and biting off the end. “What kind of psychopath doesn’t have fries with their burger?”

You shrug, “The same kind that offers to take a stranger's fries.”

“Touché,” he chuckles.

You laugh, explaining, “I had fries at lunch and want dessert.”

He nods as if now understanding your logic. “Ah, she’s got a sweet tooth.”

“I’ve heard that the chocolate malt here is the best in the state. I can’t pass that up,” you grin.

“Well, that is true,” he shrugs, popping another fry into his mouth. “Make or break question here, whipped cream on top of the shake?”

“I fear this will affect our budding friendship,” you tease, “but ab-so-lutely whipped cream on top of the shake. Among other places,” you wink.

His boldness flounders for half a second, recognizing he’s met his match, but he recovers quickly. Wetting his lips and giving a cheeky smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“I don’t see a ring, and you’re here alone. Are you single?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I’m definitely flirting with you.”

His smile widens and remains while the conversation flows and the two of you eat. Flirtations and laughter pass back and forth effortlessly.

Your phone chimes with another message, and you see the ‘No Scrubs’ group chat has two unread messages. You don’t want to be rude and pick it up to reply, but you know if you don’t, they’ll likely call to make sure you’re okay.

“Somewhere else you need to be?” he asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice that he attempts to hide behind a sip of beer.

“No, just some friends trying to get me to go meet them at some Navy bar.” You roll your eyes and type a quick ‘maybe’ before locking your phone, setting it face down on the table.

“Navy bar? The Hard Deck?” he questions, tilting his head to the side.

“I think that’s what Cole said. Do you know it?”

“That’s actually where I’m headed after. I could give you a ride. If you need one, that is.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Bradley, but my friends call me Rooster.”

“Rooster?” you laugh. “Please tell me there’s a good story there.”

“There might be. I guess that depends on if you want to hear it.”

“How about you tell me on the way to the bar?”

The open window lifts your hair slightly, and every time Rooster gets a hit of your perfume, he inhales deeply, savoring it.

He sticks to the speed limit, if not a little below it. He’s not quite ready to say goodbye to you. He’s never had such an instant, effortless connection with someone, and he wants to make it last as long as possible.

You’d laughed at the story about his name. You’d have never guessed that it was a nickname his uncle gave him when he was a kid. The radio is playing at a low volume, but as soon as the opening bars of Is This Love by White Snake start, you lean over and crank the volume as loud as it will go, singing along as if he isn’t there.

“Is this love that I'm feeling?” you sing, holding a pretend microphone. “Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love. 'Cause, it's really got a hold on me. A hold on me.”

You can’t hold a tune, and your voice cracks a few times, but still, you belt it out with vigor, and Rooster thinks he may be falling in love. Did Pattie put something in those fries?

“Sorry,” you say, settling back into your seat, “that’s one of my favorites.”

It’s one of my favorites now too. But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he laughs, “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Are you not a car karaoke kinda guy?” you ask. “You seem like you like to sing along.”

“I’ve been known to hold a few car concerts,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to interrupt your flow.”

“Can you sing as good as me?”

He looks at you and sees the jesting expression. You know you can’t sing, and you don’t care one little bit.

“I’d love to serenade you,” he says, “but unfortunately, we’re here.”

“Some other time?” you ask, and he swears you sound hopeful.

Rooster opens the Hard Deck door, and as soon as he hears the hustle and bustle from inside, he wishes he’d suggested you stay at the diner. Holding the door open, he gestures for you to enter first, and you smile a thanks as you pass by.

You stop a few feet inside, scanning the room as he stands beside you. This is the one time he hopes Hangman is being himself and has, by some miracle, coaxed your friends over to the group so Rooster has an excuse to keep talking to you.

“Those are my friends over there,” you say, dashing all his hopes as you point to the pool tables on the opposite side of the room.

“I’m over there,” Rooster says, pointing to where the Dagger squad is assembled.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the fries.”

“Anytime.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too.”

There’s a pause, neither of you knowing what to do. You rise to the tips of your toes, and he dips to let you place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

His cheeks quickly flush, hearing the jeers, shouts, and wolf whistles, but you drop back down with a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “They’re a bunch of idiots.”

He scolds himself for being an idiot as you walk away. He should invite you over or ask for your number, but he’s suddenly tongue-tied. He stares at you, frozen to the spot, long enough to see your friends turn to look at him as you settle into your seat.

Throughout the night, flirtatious glances are passed back and forth, and smiles exchanged when they linger. Of course, it’s Hangman who notices the consequence of Rooster’s error.

“Looks like you lose again, Rooster,” the blond pilot remarks, a way too smug grin showing off his perfectly white teeth. “Too snug on that perch, and Harvard is gonna take your lady right out from under your beak.”

Rooster doesn’t care if it proves Hangman’s point. He looks directly at you. Harvard is whispering in your ear. You're smiling, but Rooster thinks it's more of a polite, courteous smile than genuine interest.

But it’s the kick he needs to take action. He looks to Phoenix, Bob, and Mickey, almost pleading, “I need your help.”

Phoenix nods once, Bob smiles, and Mickey asks, “What?”

“He wants to do the Goose move,” Phoenix explains without Bradley needing to tell her any more.

“What’s the Goose move?”

“It’s the move his Dad did to get his Mom,” Bob says.

“I don’t know what that is,” Mickey shrugs.

“Technically, we've been doing it for years,” Rooster says, “it’s just that this time, it involves my future wife.”

“So, no pressure,” Bob gulps.

“Relax. I’ve got a plan,” Phoenix winks, gesturing for the three guys to come closer.

Harvard doesn’t seem all that smart, and you wonder if it's an ironic nickname or callsign, as Rooster had explained. Harvard certainly doesn’t understand body language. You’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to put some distance between you three times. The third time he slides his arm around your shoulders.

Before you can shrug, his arm slips off, and suddenly, a pretty brunette woman is in his place. “Hi,” she says brightly, her back to a flustered-looking Harvard. “I’m Phoenix, and this is Fanboy. We’re friends with Rooster.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach. Before she can say anymore or you have a chance to wonder why he’s sent his friends to rescue you, the jukebox cuts off, and a collective groan echoes around the room.

“That was supposed to happen,” Phoenix smiles. Fanboy is speaking quietly to Harvard, and he doesn’t seem happy about whatever is being said, but you're grateful for the interruption.

There’s a soft twinkling from a piano somewhere in the room, and after a few more notes, you find the source. Phoenix continues, “That’s Bob, and you’ve met Rooster.”

Your eyes drift up from the piano player and land on Bradley, fingers tapping the wooden top, while Bob continues to find the right melody.

Rooster’s eyes are locked on you, a shy smirk lifting the corner of his mustache.

“Thanks for the save,” you say to Phoenix but keep your eyes on Rooster.

“Well, it wasn’t the actual intention, but Harvard can be a bit…” she trails off.

“Thick?”

“That’s a good word for him,” she laughs.

The bright random notes turn into a clear, rich melody that flows through the room moments before the smooth baritone of Rooster’s voice fills the air. “You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Damn, he can sing!

Taking the lyrics literally, he doesn’t avert his eyes while he serenades you. You feel Phoenix’s hand at your elbow, but you can’t look away from the gorgeous man belting out a song just for you. Only when he draws closer do you realize she’s guiding you to him.

The bar is packed, and the crowd gathers around the piano, but somehow Rooster is always in your line of sight, and then Fanboy is in front of you, splitting the crowd to let you through.

It feels surreal but magical when somehow there’s a clear path straight to Rooster. It looks like an aisle leading to an altar, and the man that awaits you has been sent from the heavens because he’s gorgeous, kind, funny, and clearly has a talent for commanding a room. You wonder what else you could uncover, given some time.

“At long last, love has arrived,” Rooster sings as you reach his side. Phoenix slips away as you reach for Bradley’s outstretched hand.

Definitely an altar, and you’ll happily worship here for eternity. Interlocking your fingers with his, he pulls you against him. “Now that I found you, stay,” it’s more than a song, it's a question, and you nod.

Slowly, he inches closer, and the crowd takes over, singing the chorus, when his lips connect with yours and the world melts away.

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