#the world passes by but for me there is only you

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 11)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

Your heart could very well have stopped beating and you’d be none the wiser.

By now, you’ve experienced fear in all its varietals. The stomach churning and the latent, the languid; the swift moving silverfish slipping out of your grasp. The monstrous rising beast of it the day you turned around to find the master of the house turning the lock on the door and trapping you in with him. Then the delayed panic in the aftermath of bringing the bust down over his head and hearing his skull crack under its weight, the blood pooling around his body, almost aureole-like. Pondering the miraculous like, well, isn’t that just the devil of it. A halo for a man intent on your ruin.

 The fear washing over you now is entirely new though. Like a rapid exhalation. Of course you were right all along . Right to expect the devil showing up on your doorstep. The weeks of silence had imbued you with a sense of confidence. An arrogant, undeserved confidence that whispered in your ear to let your guard down. 

But you know now that the world is not large enough to hide in. It is a wasteland of false prophets and false directions. There are no second chances.

The only consolation is the silence from the man behind the counter as he studies the warrant. You imagine him standing there giving it a good once over, his face maybe scrunching up as it calls to mind the woman that just walked through his door. You wonder if they thought to add a sketch of your likeness, whether there’ll be a woman on the warrant that looks an awful lot like you. 

You stay put behind the shelf though, not risking so much as a peep. 

“Any information you might have would be much obliged,” Graves says, trying to coax an answer out.

After a few more seconds, the shop attendant answers with a rueful, “Can’t say I have, sir. You want me to leave this with the sheriff?”

Graves breathes out through his nose in frustration. “Now, are you positive about that? Take a closer look—I don’t mind waitin’ a bit longer for you to sift through your memories. I’m sure a town as big as this must get passersby from time to time.”

“No. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m certain. Never seen a woman fitting this description or name. Couldn’t even tell you the last time we had a stranger come through town and stay longer than a day.”

“I see.” It’s hard to tell whether Graves takes him at his word or not. The aura of menace that the man exudes suggests that anything said to him might rouse his suspicions. That they’ve already been roused, in fact. It makes even you second guess the man behind the counter, wondering if perhaps he knows and simply stays his tongue. 

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Still want me to pass this along to the sheriff?”

The floorboards creak under his feet when Graves takes a step back. “If you don’t mind. Been having the darndest time tryin’ to track down the man and, frankly, I’ve got other obligations. I do appreciate your time though.”

You stay hidden behind the shelf, listening to the sound of the spurs on his boots rattling as he leaves. The chime on the door jingles when it slams shut. You flinch at the sound. For a minute after his departure, you wonder if the door will burst back open and he’ll come crashing in, heading straight for the back to haul you out by your hair.  

A minute passes and nothing happens. The floor beneath you still feels like it might give out at any moment.

When you take your first step, the nausea comes rushing up. 

“Mrs. Price,” the shop attendant says, perking up at the sight of you coming out from behind the shelf. “I forgot you were still here.”

You feel like an automaton or a ball-jointed doll, your movements stiff as you approach him. Morbidly curious as to what you’ll see on the warrant spread out on the counter separating the two of you. When you look down, your breath comes shuddering out. 

The sketch on the paper does bear a passing resemblance to you, but only if you squint. Nothing that anyone could point to and claim with certainty that it depicts you. Underneath the sketch, you balk when you see your real name. It’s jarring to even look at. Though you’ve gone most of your life answering to it, the past few weeks have disabused you of any connection to it. Now, you feel permeable, malleable—a substance that has been reshaped into something new. That girl on the warrant is gone now. Done and dusted. So detached from memory that even the sketch of her depicts someone else, proves false. 

Still, you’re shaken by how close he’d gotten. Supposing Graves had come in while you’d been within sight. Supposing he’d looked you in the eye and asked you directly, and you’d stuttered under his sharklike gaze and drawn further scrutiny. You almost can’t believe how close it’d grazed you. The sharp edge of fate like a blade now sheathed again. 

“Would you mind taking this to the sheriff?” he asks, not realizing the gift he’s given you. “I’m a bit tied up minding the shop.”

You nod wordlessly and take the folded up warrant from him.

It burns red hot in your hands when you step outside. You glance around nervously, unsure as to whether Graves had stuck around to question more people. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were still within earshot. 

You waver in the street with the folded piece of paper tucked in your hands. A horse pulling along a cart laden with firewood creaks as it passes, rousing you from the trance you’d fallen into. You flinch, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. It’s blinding suddenly. A clear sky, the clouds long since taken away by the wind. 

John could be anywhere at this time of day. Despite the fear curdling in your belly, you can’t help the knee jerk reaction to go to him. That’s precisely what you don’t want to do though. You don’t want to be around the county sheriff on the day a bounty hunter came into town looking for you. 

A crow sitting on the roof of a building across the street caws and flaps its wings, taking off into the sky. 

You want to be anywhere but in town waiting anxiously for John to come find you. You don’t want to lay eyes on him and see that he’s found you out. The thought of John finding out about the man you killed back east is beyond contemplation. It nearly has you keeling over in the middle of the street. You can hardly bear the thought. How could you bear to live a moment beyond that, withering under his disapproval? His contempt? 

You don’t think you can.

Every shadow fills you with dread. A barmaid comes out to toss a bucket of dirty water in the alley and you flinch like you’ve been caught. You keep your head down as you walk, eyes straight on the ground. Someone calls out your fake name and you ignore them. 

Your instinct, as usual, is to run. Abscond from the scene of the crime. Even if the thought hurts. Even though you’d let yourself begin to hope that the times of trouble had passed you by. That perhaps you could’ve made a home out here in the middle of nowhere. You should have known that those dreams were just that. You should have known better than to want. These days, it is dangerous to long for anything.

It’s better if you fade from memory like a bad dream, you think when you spot Buttercup fixed to the post outside the sheriff’s office. Better if they think of you with a bad taste in their mouth and nothing more. A girl that came and stole their sheriff’s heart and his horse and then vanished into the night. 

When one of her black eyes fixes on you, you still in your advance. A horse can’t possibly read your intentions, but you feel like she does somehow. Like she knows you intend to take her and flee. She shifts, hooves coming up and back down, and you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth suddenly, nerves taking on. You won’t let yourself be ruled by them though. There are bigger things to fear.  

“Come on, Buttercup,” you whisper, hesitating before smoothing your hand down her nose. You flinch when she nickers. “I just—I need you to help me, okay?”

It’s an outrageously bad idea. Even to you that’s obvious. You don’t have nearly enough experience riding solo or even with John trailing behind you on another horse to help offer correction if you falter on your own. You’re blinded by fear though, practically shaking as you undo Buttercup’s lead from the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

You’re clumsy trying to hoist yourself up onto her without John to boost you up and hold you steady. It takes a couple of tries before you manage to swing your leg over, and you curse under your breath when your dress bunches up around your waist, exposing the bare flesh of your legs. There aren’t many people roaming the street, fortunately for you.

Buttercup resists at first when you tug lightly on the reins to guide her away. She stomps her foot when you try again, giving a light whinny. Panic seizes you, a coil in your belly. You’ve only ever ridden her before with John at your side; you wonder if she’ll even listen to you in his absence or if even she can tell you’re about to do something foolish and wants nothing to do with it. 

“Please, girl,” you beg. “I promise—I’ll figure out some way to get you back.”

On the third attempt, she finally listens. The way she abruptly breaks into a fast trot nearly sends you toppling over. You catch yourself by clutching the horn, tight enough that your knuckles ache. Your forehead breaks out in a nervous sweat. Buttercup covers ground fast, and without John sitting behind you like a silent sentinel, you feel control slip out of your slippery hands, clammy with sweat too. 

“Whoa, girl,” you breathe, trying to calm her by stroking a hand down her neck. 

It does precious little to calm her down. You remember something John once said about animals smelling fear. They know it like your name. 

You lose control of her fast. Almost in the blink of an eye, you go from steering Buttercup towards John’s house to holding on for dear life. Your body rocks with hers and you’re forced to tighten your thighs around her midsection when she breaks into a gallop, your hands still clinging tight to the reins. Her hooves kick up dust and dirt in her haste, sending it flying behind you. 

“Slow down!” you shout, but the words are swept away by the wind, already behind you. 

Not once have you ever ridden a horse at this speed. Your direction seems like more of a suggestion to Buttercup, and not one she’s inclined to take. The town rapidly vanishes behind you, the vegetation sparse for the first few hundred yards, arid scrubland scorched by the sun and fed off of by the horses and mules coming in and out of town. The sun beats down hot on your head, no hat to shield you from the heat.

You can’t imagine you would’ve been able to hold it down though, you think wildly, mind still in a flurry of panic. It would’ve flown right off ages before. 

Your breath comes out in hitched pants as you clutch with all your might to the horn of the saddle, your hands soon transferring to her mane for better purchase. Buttercup moves like a rogue wave beneath you, like something sailors only speak about in hushed whispers. She takes a wide arc around John’s property, heading towards the mountains instead, and no amount of trying to steer her with your legs seems to work. 

Your head whips back to watch the house pass, the dark shape of it sailing past you, and it nearly causes you to lose your balance. Looking back in front of you only makes it worse. Panic courses through you when you stare ahead only for the world in front of you to spin. Bile creeps up your throat. You swallow it back, but only just.

The half-formulated plan you’d had in mind is long gone. All you can focus on now is remaining astride the horse beating dirt under you. Any thought of bringing her to a halt dissipates. Even the thought of escape evaporates into thin air. 

Only when you feel Buttercup slow to a trot do you peel open your eyes. The breath you let out as you look around is short, panic still churning in your guts.

Over the weeks since John married you and took you home, he’s taken you through the mountains a fair few times, familiarizing you with the land to the best of his abilities in such a short amount of time. But the wilderness stretches far and the terrain beyond John’s homestead is rough, treacherous. 

When you look around, you realize that you don’t recognize this part of the mountainside. 

The trail Buttercup takes you down is cut haphazard into the landscape—a crude, handmade path, not one seared into the ground from frequent travel. It feels distinctly wilder than where you’ve been before. Your head swivels around as you try to look for something that might jog your memory. The striated mountainside tells you nothing. The trees out this deep into the mountains are thicker and older, gnarled root systems bursting up from the earth and coiling around the nearby rocks like snakes winding around their prey. 

You sit up a bit straighter, still shaking when you rub your hand down Buttercup’s neck. “You know where we are, girl?”

She puffs out a breath.

That tells you nothing, but she keeps going down the same path deeper into the woods. No amount of squeezing your thighs or patting her neck gets her to stop. You should be thankful that she’s at least no longer sprinting, that you can actually sit up and catch your breath now, but the fear from earlier is but a paltry shadow compared to that which is brewing in you now. 

Every crick and snapping twig makes your head spin round. You stare intensely past the treeline, searching for the barest hint of motion. You don’t know much about these parts, but you know that this is no place for a woman by her lonesome. Even a man on his own out here might feel jumpy. This far out of the way, only cougars and bears take refuge, and the odd band of outlaws making camp for the night and taking advantage of the relative isolation this far out west. 

“Come on, girl, we can’t be out here,” you whisper, leaning closer to Buttercup to hopefully muffle your voice. Even as low as you speak, it still seems to echo.

You don’t know where you’re meant to go though. In the flurry of panic that had come over you at Graves’ arrival, you’d bolted without thought. Without a compass or map, you’re as good as lost in the unsettled land deep in the mountains. 

As that reality dawns on you, you realize that you haven’t had a drink of water in quite some time. 

An hour must pass with Buttercup stubbornly refusing to listen to your commands to turn back. Maybe longer. She resists even when you pull on the reins. In truth, you don’t blame her. Your commands come feeble, no strength behind them. The fear of being bucked off her back makes you soft. John would be gruff, unyielding—you can’t imagine him giving into fear.

That somehow upsets you even more. You can’t help but wish more than anything that he were here with you. 

The temperature drops as the sun begins to set. Without the sun beating down on you, you shiver in the cold air. There’s nothing to keep you warm other than the clothes on your back. Your lips smack when you part them, parched after hours without water. You haven’t stumbled across a river or stream in the hours since starting down this path.

Then, from behind you, you hear it. 

The name that isn’t yours. You don’t catch it at first until it comes again, louder this time. When you look over your shoulder and down the path behind you, John’s furious face stares back at you, his lips worked into a flat line. 

The way you gasp must spook Buttercup, because she abruptly breaks into a gallop, forcing you to hunker down and hold on. You want desperately to look back, torn between relief and distress, but you stare ahead instead. 

The black horse he rides gains on you fast, legs pumping beneath its massive body. It’s not a horse you’ve seen before. Maybe borrowed in his haste to chase after you. You don’t let yourself digest that thought though, too concerned with remaining astride. 

Despite its size, it collapses the distance between you two quickly, nearly on you now. Instinct has you leaning into Buttercup, trying to get as low as possible and let the air glide around you. Her gallop quickens into a sprint. You’re just holding on now, facing straight ahead, no chance of being more than a passenger on this trip. 

John shouts at you from your rear to bring Buttercup to a stop. You squeeze your lips together instead of shouting back that you can’t. If you open your mouth, you think your stomach will come straight out. 

Your body jostles around on top of your horse, on the verge of slipping off with every passing second. When she takes a turn too quickly down a trail leading up into the mountains and you slide a bit to one side on the saddle, only your foot in the stirrup catching you, your heart stops. Fear is ice inverted; poured over you. It drenches you in another layer of sweat that dries rapidly in the air whipping around you. 

Hot and cold. The ground seems to come towards you every time Buttercup’s legs kick up. Always on the verge of falling and breaking every bone in your body. You suck your tongue to the roof of your mouth so it doesn’t get caught between your clacking teeth and bitten right off. 

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the cacophony of stomping hooves. 

A glance to your right finds him close enough to graze with your fingertips. Your heart jumps in your chest.

“Pull up!” he shouts again, but all you can do is stare uncomprehendingly. 

You don’t know if he can see the terror in your eyes. It must be splayed clean across your face. He has to see the way his words mean nothing to you. Your panic effaces any meaning; all you hear is noise and anger pouring from his mouth, and trampled dirt and labored breath. 

When his horse pulls up alongside yours, he gets close enough to lean over and snatch the reins out of your hands. He pulls firm, tugging Buttercup’s head back until she almost rears up and you scream, hands fisting in her mane. 

Your body lurches forward when she comes back down, slumped over the saddle horn. It digs hard into your stomach. There’ll be a bruise there come morning, but nothing like the bruises that’ll bloom between your thighs. Even now the ache radiates down your body. You look up at the sound of John’s breath panting out like a bull, and he glares down at you with undisguised fury, the angriest you’ve ever seen him. 

“What in the blazes were you thinkin’?” he booms. Even the horse he sits astride shakes its head at the sound. “There’s nothing out here but outlaws and predators!”

The hand fisted in Buttercup’s reins pulls her closer, and he guides both horses into a slow trot and then to a stop. You can feel the way Buttercup’s ribs expand and contract under your legs. 

“Stop it— don’t touch me!” you snap when he reaches for you, smacking his hand away.

“Darlin’, if you get off that damned horse—” John warns, but you’re already swinging your leg over the saddle as the words come out of his mouth. 

You almost trip over the stirrup when you slide off Buttercup’s back and take off on foot. You fist the skirt of your dress in both hands to lift it as you run, letting it swish around you with the force of your strides. A curse and grunt come from back behind you. The sound of John’s boots hitting the dirt is loud, and when he chases after you, his boots pound into the earth.  

It’s a desperate last move, but all you can think is that you’d rather be anywhere else but in his arms. You’d rather take your chances with the wolves and bears in the woods, or with the bandits and brigands on the trails leading to the next town. 

You barely make it past the next tree before he barrels into you and takes you both to the ground, the world spinning as you fall down. He angles his body to take the brunt of the impact, but you still cry out when your hip hits the ground hard. The way he pulls you into his chest just barely keeps your head from slamming into a rock. 

“Goddamn it, woman,” John spits. “Where d’ya think you’re even going? There ain’t nowhere to run out here!”

Your head spins. When you open your mouth, all you can taste is rust and salt, sweat dripping off your upper lip. You can feel the heat of his chest against your back and he doesn’t give you a chance to gather your bearings before hauling you to your feet, tugging both of your arms behind your back. 

“Let me go!” you scream, trying to wrestle out of his hold to no avail. 

You know he doesn’t understand, but you can’t help the way you try to fight your way out of his hold. There’s no explanation that’ll make sense to him other than the truth, which you clamp tight in your chest. There's no telling if he already knows, if maybe Graves finally tracked him down or if someone else brought their suspicions to his attention, but you won't go spilling the truth yourself. 

He’s a solid mass behind you, breath labored from hours spent tracking you. You wonder if he noticed mere moments after you took Buttercup and left or whether he came back to the sheriff’s office only to find the two of you gone. 

John holds your wrists in one big hand at the small of your back and gives you a mean shake. “I don’t know what’s got you so riled up, but you better fix this attitude of yours and explain yourself before we get home or so help me God, I’ll take my belt to your ass.”

The mention of him belting your backside makes your hands go clammy, but you must have abandoned your common sense a mile back because your mouth keeps running. “I’ll gut you like a pig if you touch a hair on my head!” 

“We’ll just see about that,” he grunts, and you can hear the raw edged smirk in his voice and the anger behind it. 

When he leads you stumbling towards the horses waiting in the middle of the trail, you realize that capture had always been an inevitability in your mind. Maybe it even comes as a relief to know that the jig is up. 

You just hadn’t realized that it would be someone else hauling you back by your hair.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x you #price x reader #john price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you

[draconic-desire]

Gosh i just loved your Sunday fic.. 😫

Im wondering what about a naive type darling? With so much isolation, it has made darling insecure. Darling thinks Sunday deserves a better woman and just ups and leaves Sunday when he isnt home. But ofc is soon found not long after 😋

ohhhh so personally i imagine this happening after sunday uses the harmony one too many times on poor reader…you never saw it coming, never would have thought sunday would hurt you despite being isolated for so long. any thoughts you had about escaping, even going outside to see friends, are obliterated. sunday becomes your whole world.

Yan!Sunday x Naive!Gn!Reader

You’ve been standing in front of Sunday’s door, fist raised and poised to knock, for twenty minutes now.

For what feels like the millionth time, you lower your hand, worrying your lip.

He’s been in there all day. Sunday is a busy man, his schedule constantly filled with meetings and Family affairs, but never too occupied that he would ignore you for an entire day.

Your mind fears the worst; even those initial days of being drowned in the Harmony, before you realized Sunday was trying to help you adjust to your life with him, is preferable to this. Did you do something wrong? Who is he in there with? Is he ignoring you?

Has he…grown tired of you?

The mere thought chills your heart and fills your veins with ice as you take a step back, inhaling sharply.

The wooden door before you is polished to a fault, bright enough that you can see your faint outline. It bitterly reminds you of how inferior you are compared to him, a mere speck of dust, a fleeting shadow on the wall.

You start to spiral. Surely Sunday, the most handsome and sought after man in Penacony, could have his pick of anyone—so why would he settle on you? Why did he bring you here, trap you in this mansion, keep you by his side, if only to throw you away in the end?

Did he never love you?

Why does that thought hurt you so much?

Heart pounding and tears blurring your vision, you quickly turn and flee, your knock forgotten.

~*~

It has long grown dark on the streets of the Golden Hour.

The normally bustling city is slumbering, the only light provided by the plethora of flashing billboards that never sleep. The few individuals you have passed are either drunks stumbling home or the stray Intellitron. You’ve been walking aimlessly for hours, wiping away tears and fruitlessly searching for a way to escape to reality.

After all your time mulling in your sadness and insecurities, you have come to the conclusion that you should relieve Sunday of his care of you. He’s much better off without you, or rather with a better individual than you. He should be dating royalty, a celebrity, an angel. The type of person who would have knocked on that door, would have strutted confidently into his office and sat directly into his lap to—

Another pair of footsteps echo behind you.

You almost don’t hear them at first, but you most definitely see the haloed shadow on the wall in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, (Y/n)?”

You immediately freeze, your breathing becoming erratic and shallow. His voice sends little butterflies pounding against your chest, begging to fly to him.

“Do you really think this pathetic attempt to escape would succeed?” A hand wraps around your waist, spinning you around to meet golden eyes rimmed in violet. You expect them to be filled with anger, perhaps even loathing, but you’re shocked to discover they are brimming with nothing but thinly veiled panic.

His grip tightens when you don’t respond immediately. “Answer me, (Y/n).” His voice cracks as he says your name again. “Where have you been?”

Words clog in your throat. “I—I thought—you were—you didn’t want—”

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you. You weren’t thinking. I believed we had moved beyond your futile attempts to leave, that you understood that you are mine—”

“But what if I don’t deserve to be yours!”

The two of you freeze in the wake of your outburst. His breath hitches as you lower your head and whisper softly, “I thought you stopped loving me the same as I love you.”

For once, you’ve caught Sunday off guard. His beautiful gaze widens in shock as he truly takes in your form—shivering, tears rolling down your cheeks, nails digging into your palms—and realizes his mistake.

You left because you thought he didn’t want you.

The mere idea baffles him. Standing before him is the most beautiful individual he has ever seen. Every fiber of his being screams for him to lock you in a birdcage and throw away the key—you are a precious treasure, meant to sing only for him. He has created you to be the perfect devotee in his very image.

And all of his efforts have succeeded, because you said you loved him.

His anger and fear immediately melt into softness as he holds your face between both hands, his forehead lowered to press against yours. “Oh, darling, no. You cannot fathom the adoration I harbor for you, the multitude of praises I wish to preach each day in your name.”

His voice takes on a nearly holy reverence, but his eyes shine with an untamed desire. “There is nowhere you belong except for by my side. Finding you missing this evening nearly tore my heart out. You must never venture out again, do you understand, my precious dove?”

You sniff and lean into his touch, a smile parting the river of your tears. Yes, that’s right. That’s what the Harmony said before, too: your purpose is to please Sunday, to serve Sunday, to live for Sunday.

Why would you ever doubt his love?

Why would you ever want to leave him? What a silly idea.

You think you feel a tiny pull at the back of your mind, a hook that wants to tether you to reality. But a quick slash of a knife severs the line, leaving you floating in a sea of multicolored bliss.

“I’ll never doubt you again, Sunday. I love you.”

Sunday’s lips curl into a smirk as he lifts your chin and examines the rainbows dancing in your eyes. “I love you, too, (Y/n).”

#yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday x you #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere #yandere headcanons #yanderecore #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere imagines #yandere male #honkai star rail imagines #honkai x reader #honkai star rail #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Autumn has been introduced to the world but there’s something more special for a first appearance: Monaco GP Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 3.7k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two

The white noise in the nursery threatened to put you to sleep too but there were still dozens of messages to get through. There had been a constant stream of well wishes to your inbox since the announcement to the world but one had been left on read for three days now and a little rage built each time you reread it.

It didn’t take long for new ‘exclusive’ information to pop up in the gossip pages, along with the photo you had taken and sent to Jos. It wasn’t a surprise at all, but it still hurt to read what he had said. Trusted sources close to Y/N say she is being monitored for Post Natal Depression and Psychosis, as it is no secret she has had trouble with mental health in the past.

“You are lucky, my love,” you whispered to your daughter who slept soundly in your arms. “Your fathers love you so much.”

You carefully stood up from the rocking chair beside her cot but the moment you started to lower her to the mattress she began to stir.

“Already a little arm princess, aren’t you?” you chuckled, settling back into the chair to start rocking again.

You didn’t mind getting these rare moments alone with her, even if you were exhausted from waking up to breastfeed her all through the night. As soon as Charles and Lando finished their Zoom Meetings with their teams they would be stealing her away for their own snuggles. It was safe to say everyone was smitten with her. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. The front door barely closed before another visitor came, and Max had taken up permanent residence on the couch when he wasn’t needed elsewhere.

“Is she sleeping?” P whispered loudly as she stuck her head in the door.

“She is, but you can come in.”

Max trailed in after her having let himself in the apartment with his spare key. Your mother was out grocery shopping again so she could do more baking for the visitors of the day. You had told her she didn’t need to but she was enjoying the company and feeding a small army.

“Have you eaten?” Max asked as he knelt down beside P who gently stroked the blanket Autumn was swaddled in.

“You’re as bad as my mother.”

“I’m just checking. Kel said everyone comes to see the baby but no one asks how the mum is doing. I want to make sure my sister is okay too.”

“Now you’ve done it,” you croaked as you started to cry. “I’m over these damn hormones. I was fine until you arrived.”

Max laughed and rocked side to side. “You’ll get over it. Should we go to the living room or do you like sitting in the dark?”

You accepted his hand and let him pull you to your feet since he had long ago mastered the art of carrying a baby one-handed. “You’re going to have your hands full when Vicki drops.”

“I have two arms. Unless you're planning on having another one right away?”

“Max, I love you, but I will punch you if you ask that again. I am still having to sit on ice pads because no one warned me about the goddamn haemorrhoids-”

“Okay, okay, fuck, stop!” he begged with a disgusted look on his screwed up face. 

Satisfied he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, you went to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water and a juice box for Penelope. 

“So Toto still hasn’t confirmed anyone for Lewis’ seat next year,” you said, passing him one bottle before taking a seat with P. 

“You’ve been talking to him?”

“And others,” you admitted. A few more of the Team Principals had sent their congratulations and the ones with empty seats for 2025 expressed an interest, asking what your plans were. “As soon as my six week check up gets signed off Kristian is going to become my worst nightmare again.”

“Do your boyfriends know that’s your plan?”

You shrugged. It had been spoken about before Autumn was born but they all thought having her in your arms would change your mind about returning to racing. None of the other parents on the grid gave up their careers to grow their families, and while there were still empty seats in the teams you were going to shoot your shot until every last one was taken. 

“Never let them know your next move,” you joked before sobering up and sighing. “Working mums are normal in every other business. Plus, I’m only talking about sim racing this year and if I can impress someone with the data then we can go from there.”

Max nodded along as his eyes traced over Autumn’s features, finding Charles’ dimples when her lips pursed with a soft whimper in her sleep. Penelope had finished her drink and turned all her attention to your daughter, giggling whenever Autumn sucked on her own lip.

“Can I have a baby sister?” she asked Max with bright, hopeful eyes.

“Maybe one day, P. You would make a great big sister.” She grinned at the compliment and snuggled closer until she was half on Max’s lap and holding Autumn too.

Monaco GP

“Ma fifille, tellement belle,” Charles gushed as Lando stepped out of the nursery with Autumn in his arms. She smelt sweet from the baby oil that hydrated her skin and fresh since Lando had changed her diaper before finding the prettiest dress in her closet for her first paddock entrance.

“I’m surprised he didn’t try to sneak her into McLaren gear,” you commented as you packed the baby bag with extra supplies for the day. Gone were the days of arriving at the paddock with just your phone, now there were a million things to remember since no one wanted to try to return home with the insane traffic that came with the road closures for the Monaco race.

“I hid them all,” Charles confessed with a sly smile before stealing a kiss from Lando’s pouting lips. “If she can’t wear Ferrari then she definitely isn’t wearing McLaren, mon cher.”

“One day when you are at Maranello…” Lando warned with a wink.

“You can finish this squabble later, we have a whole camera crew waiting outside.” The tone wasn’t quite as light as you hoped and it drew the attention of both of them straight to you. The joking smiles fell and Lando lay Autumn in her stroller and clipped in the buckles with a frown. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

“You only gave birth four weeks ago, love, it’s okay if you’re not ready to go to the track yet.”

“We wouldn’t be upset if you watched from here,” Charles added.

“It’s Monaco and I am fine, just a little nervous.” Your blasé shrug didn’t fool either of them.

“Of what?”

Charles took over rocking the stroller back and forth so Lando could pull you into his arms. The warmth and security of his embrace was always enough to spill whatever was on your mind.

“The crowd, the cameras, your fans - take your pick.” You looked down at your clothes. They weren’t the designer dresses the other women would wear to the paddock but the maternity jeans and breastfeeding friendly shirt were tidy enough. You couldn’t help noticing the pouch where your belly sagged like a deflated balloon.

“Hey,” Lando murmured, catching your chin with his finger and guiding your head back up to face him. “Do we need to remind you how beautiful we think you are? I don’t mind being late. Charles?”

“I am more than happy to take a penalty.”

You chuckled at the enthusiasm but shook your head. “I would love nothing more than to drag you both back to the bedroom but save it for the six week sign off, you horny devils.”

“We can still show you how sexy we find you without fucking you,” Lando whispered in your ear and Charles’ eyes darkened at the little catch in your breathing.

“Don’t tempt me, but there’s still the problem of the camera crew outside and you’d be on your own explaining to them why we were late.”

“Mon amour, that is the man who asked Stroll if he could wank after breaking his wrists. Would you really trust him with that task?”

“I mean…I would find it funny. Zak might blow a gasket though,” you admitted with a grin. Feeling a bit more at ease after a laugh, you stepped out of Lando’s arms and took a steadying breath. “I’m going to grab a hoodie and we can go.”

Neither commented as you hid your body in an oversized Quadrant hoodie despite the summer heat but you barely made it halfway down the street before you asked Charles if you could push the stroller. There were too many people and too many screams for autographs that your heart started to beat erratically and your breath burned in your lungs.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked, ignoring the people beyond the security team that surrounded your group.

“Let her push, Charles,” Lando urged as he saw a sight he was familiar with in the mirror. It was rare for him in recent years now that he had you and Charles but he could remember the feeling of being out of control and the panic that came with it.

You grabbed the handlebar of the stroller and held on with a death grip in case someone broke through the security guards and knocked into it. Your knuckles changed colour from how tight you handled it and your legs pumped faster with the urge to get to the track and inside the walls of a team hospitality.

From the corner of your eye a shadow slipped through the bodies and your elbow flew out as your mind went straight to the worst case scenario. Was it an overzealous fan wanting a picture or a fanatic wanting to hurt your family?

“Ow, zusje, what the fuck?” Max asked as he rubbed at his ribs.

“Jesus Christ, Max, what are you doing? Don’t jump out at me like that.”

“She’s a little on edge right now,” Charles said quietly, acutely aware of all the cameras pointed their way.

“I can see that. Is it the crowd? Do you want me to call in reinforcements?”

Charles shook his head and walked quicker to catch back up to you. “We would probably be there by the time anyone came.”

Lactic acid burned your calves and reminded you just how hard you were going to have to work to get back to your pre-baby fitness but it felt good too. It brought you back to yourself in a way you had forgotten since becoming a mother and the endorphins from the exercise began to relax your body and mind.

Your pace began to slow and Lando smiled proudly like you had won a world championship. “Now can I hold your hand, love?”

You shifted your hold to the centre of the handlebar so you could still navigate the stroller and placed your hand in his. “Thank you,” you murmured as he kissed your knuckles.

“I would tell you not to worry but I don’t think it will make a difference,” he replied between waving to his fans.

“Aren’t you worried? There’s so many things that could go wrong.”

Lando stopped and turned with a serious look on his face that was only softened by the untamed curl that fell over his brow. “Of course I’m worried too, babe, this is our family and Autumn is the most precious part of it. But, I have to trust that we have done enough to protect her and you and Charles,” he said with a wave towards the security guards. “Do you remember how nervous you were before your first race? You could barely keep your food down and Pierre thought you were actually going to pass out during the Anthem.”

You rolled your eyes but a small smile leaked through. “Don’t remind me.”

“I would have caught you.”

“You were six inches shorter than me.”

Lando stood straighter and looked down at you. “That’s beside the point, I’ve more than made up for it now.”

“Yes, you have,” you said with a wink. “Much more than six inches.”

Charles interrupted the appreciative gaze you dragged over your boyfriend’s body. “Will you two please behave?”

A devilish smirk grew on Lando’s face. “Never, but I will go and sign some autographs before I get in more trouble.”

“Is it me or is he even more cocky?”

“Winning does that to a guy.”

Charles scoffed and curled an arm around your waist. “I will have to remind him what second place feels like, it’s my turn to win Monaco.”

Max laughed, reminding you that he was still there as you approached the paddock gates. “Half the grid thinks the same thing.”

“Well they have a chance with you starting P2,” you teased your brother before grinning at Charles who took pole position. “Take that chequered flag.”

You scanned your ID and the pass for Autumn too as everyone else did and clustered together on the other side again.

“Where are you going to be watching from?” Max asked as you approached his hospitality first.

“Homeboys box, but Toto wants a word so I’ll take bub there first.”

Max looked like he wanted to say something but his name was called out from his team waiting by the dark blue entrance. Instead he stepped forward and kissed your cheek before kissing Autumn’s and tickling her toes. “Tot zeins, mooi meisje.”

“She’s going to speak Dutch before me at this rate,” you complained as he walked away, still not knowing what he said to her.

“Learn quicker then.”

You threw him the middle finger that made him laugh before he disappeared and then it was your turn to say goodbye. Mercedes was the next garage followed by Ferrari then McLaren.

“We will see you before the race,” you promised as you unbuckled Autumn from her stroller and held her to your chest. The garages were tight enough as it was without trying to fit the pram inside too. “Say bye-bye daddy,” you said with a wave of Autumn’s little hand as she woke from her nap. “Love you.”

Charles and Lando both kissed her cheeks and said their goodbye before you received your own chaste kiss on the lips. “Call us if you need anything, I will keep my phone with me,” Charles promised before stepping away.

“Same, and these guys are going with you too,” Lando said with a nod to the security shadowing your sides. Your entourage joined you in Mercedes but thankfully took a wider perimeter since there was a fairly strict policy in who could enter the garages. Toto didn’t seem to mind the additions since you came bearing a pretty great gift.

“You are a beautiful time waster,” he said sweetly as he cradled Autumn to his chest. “I have work to do, little lady, yes, I do, but I’m not ready to hand you over, no, I am not.”

“I get the feeling that Jack will be getting a sibling soon enough,” you said to Lewis who swung back and forth on his chair with his headphones half on his head.

“I don’t think it’s Toto that needs convincing,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not his career that goes on hold, you know that.”

“I never would have said it before, but she’s worth it,” you admitted. “Still not sold on doing it again though, got one more championship to win.”

“I know that feeling,” he said wistfully. “Charles had better bring her to Maranello too.”

“I don’t think much work would get done if she was there,” you pointed out. “And like you said, you have a championship to win.”

Autumn suddenly decided that she was starving and started to cry as she nuzzled into Toto’s shirt and you laughed as you got up to retrieve her. “Sorry, bub, there’s no milk in those titties,” you teased as you picked her up. “Is there somewhere I can feed her?”

Toto looked around and shrugged. “Wherever you’re comfortable. There’s rooms down the hall if you want.”

“I’ve learned it’s not about my own comfort.”

“If anyone’s got a problem they are free to leave,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear and return to their work.

You took your seat again beside Lewis and unzipped the discrete opening on your shirt before unclipping the small window on your bra.

“Come on, man, she’s just trying to feed her baby. Get those cameras out of here,” Lewis said as he blocked the lens and started to herd the Netflix crew back out of the garage.

It had taken a week of trial and error before mastering the art of latching but now you had a routine and Autumn quickly fell back to sleep despite trying to keep her awake. Lando had joked he would sleep better if that was his routine too, at least you thought he was joking.

“Can you hold her please?”

Lewis didn’t need to be asked, he had been patiently waiting his turn since you walked in the garage. He even knew to draw soothing circles and pat her back to bring up her wind. “There’s those famous Uncle skills you bragged about.”

“Told you, I’m just down the road if you guys want a babysitter for date night.”

“I might take you up on that in a few weeks.” You looked over to Toto who was speaking to Bono and jutted your chin his way. “Has he mentioned anything about who’s in line for your seat?”

“Nothing set in stone, just lots of talk - or at least that’s what he told me.”

“Fair enough, you’re the enemy now,” you teased.

“Netflix is going to love this season. Did you see Nando re-signed?”

“Mhmm, I sent him a pot plant and instructions to wipe the floor with Lance. I think he’s taken it on board.” Fernando already had nearly four times as many points in the driver championship so far and you expected that to increase after the race.

“There’s rumours Lance is going to WEC next year, maybe there'll be another seat opening.”

“Fuck that,” you scoffed. “If I get a seat it’s going to be with a team that has some sense of loyalty. I’m sick of being dropped like a hot potato the second anything goes wrong. I’m desperate, but not that desperate.”

Lewis was about to be called for the driver parade and you realised just how quickly time had passed. “I should let you finish your rituals, we still have a few stops to make before the race.”

He handed Autumn back and gave you a hug. “Don’t lose that glow stressing about getting a seat, mama, enjoy your time with this little beauty. Che sarà, sarà.”

“Practising Italian already, huh?” you teased as you buckled Autumn into the stroller where she promptly fell asleep after the movement disturbed her. “I will keep your wise words in mind.”

The paddock was quieter as you made your way down the line of garages. Most guests would already be in the viewing spaces above the pit lane to watch the drivers parade so there weren’t many people for security to part.

“Ma’am,” the head guard called as he stood in front of an imposing suited figure. “He wants a word.”

You nodded your head and he moved to let the man through. “I’m kind of running late, Lawrence.”

“I just want to say congratulations,” your old boss said as he looked into the stroller and removed his sunglasses. “She’s very cute, you must be proud.”

“You could have sent a text message.”

Lawrence sighed at the frosty tone. “In hindsight things may have been handled a little callously but you should understand it was for your own good. This isn’t an office job that can be worked while pregnant, it would have been irresponsible as an employer.”

“I understand that, it was the fact you fired me without even talking to me first - I had to find out through the tabloids - and before that the way you let your son get away with treating his team is actually despicable.”

Lawrence pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned his glasses as he stared off into the distance. “You’re not wrong, but we are working on his attitude and behaviour - discreetly.”

You raised an eyebrow but he wasn’t going to share anything further, instead he took one last look at Autumn and put the aviators back on his nose. Maybe there was some weight behind the rumours.

“Hopefully we’ll see you back on the grid at some point. You were one hell of a racer.”

“Am, Mr Stroll,” you corrected as you turned the brake off the pram. “I am one hell of a racer.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader

[sunrizef1]

The Alchemy

Pairing: Logan sargeant x singer!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Authors note: recently realized that every time i include Logan in a fic, he gets points. That is me manifesting xx Not edited, ill edit later. Very loosely based on the alchemy by Taylor swift. This album has me in a chokehold. Also!! Tysm for 1k, I’ve been trying to think of something to do for that xx

Word count: 7.6k (took way too long, thanks Tay)

———————————————————

“Do you want to go to the f1 race in Miami? Ferrari invited you.”

Your head snaps to your publicist who tilts her head with a questioning look on her face. You set your guitar down, putting an end to your idle strumming. It rests on top of your notebook filled with random lyrics and doodles.

“I didn’t know I was allowed to do that,” you reply, laying back onto the couch you were sat on, shifting to sit in the seat more comfortably.

Your publicist, Aimee, rolls her eyes at your response, clicking away quickly on her phone, “I mean, you’re one of the biggest stars in the world, you could technically do whatever you wanted. It’s just never been in your image to go to sports or whatever. But everyone is gonna be there.”

There it is, the real reason you’d be allowed to go to a race was to be amongst the famous people that Aimee would, no doubt, want you to mingle with. Mingling wasn’t your strong suit.

“Ill think about it,” you give her a tight-lipped smile which she hums in response to, sliding out of the room without another glance at you.

The second she's gone, you collapse against the leather couch, eyes locked onto the ceiling of your studio.

The real reason you wanted to think about going to the race wasn't because Aimee only wanted you to go to get good pr but, instead, it was because of your own personal connection with one of the drivers.

You'd met Logan a year ago at the previous Miami Grand Prix. Noone knew you were there and you had intended to keep it that way before you ran into the driver.

You got in fairly easy, Mercedes VIP pass wrapped around your neck. You were close friends with Lewis who promised he could get you in and out with it still remaining a secret. You had your jacket hood up above your head, hair pulled back away from your face and a pair of sunglasses resting on your nose.

You hadn't thought about how many people you knew would be there. Your eyes stayed trained on the ground for the most part, hoping that it you didn't look up, no one you knew would notice you.

Because you weren't looking where you were going, you didn't see yourself run straight into a taller figure, landing against his hard chest.

Both of you stumble back a bit from the impact and you immediately open your mouth to apologize to the man in front of you but when you look up, the words die in your throat. Your eyes trace the features of the blond man, soaking up every little detail of his pretty face. You can tell he's muscular through his blue t-shirt and your breath catches slightly.

He's speechless when he sees you as well but for a completely different reason. You may not have been in your flashiest clothes or have your usual makeup or hair but anyone with a brain could recognize you if they actually bothered to look. Your music had been everywhere for so long and Logan would be lying if he said he hadn't had a crush on you for the longest time.

When you look up at his face and see him gaping slightly in an attempt to make sure you're actually you, you grasp his hand and start to pull him along before he can blow your cover. You pull him along until you reach a quiet corner, quickly pushing him away from the eyes of other people.

He leans against the wall behind him, crossing his toned arms across his chest and you find yourself gazing again.

“So,” he starts, voice filled with humor, “What is Americas sweetheart doing at a Formula 1 race... Undercover?”

You roll your eyes but cant help the grin that starts to form from the mans words, “I'm not actually supposed to be here.”

“Oh and that's why I got dragged into a dark corner?” the man asks, grin splitting his pretty face.

You laugh but don't catch the pleased look on the man's face, “Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't want anyone to, I don't know, mob me or something.”

“I get it,” when he says it, you can't help but believe he really does get it for some reason. For all you knew, this man might just work PR for…you glance down at his t-shirt to check, Williams Racing!

“Well, thank you for cooperating…?”

The man raises his eyebrows at your questioning tone, “Logan.”

“Thank you for cooperating Logan. I know a lot of people that probably would've fought me for grabbing them like that.”

Logan laughs, head leaning back against the wall gently as the noise leaves his throat, “Its no problem. Are you in the Mercedes garage today?”

You nod at his words, glancing back out to make sure the both of you are still hidden from the outside, “Lewis said he could sneak me in.”

“He didn't do a very good job, then. If I found you out,” Logan grins, leaning away from the wall.

“Maybe not. But you're not gonna tell, are you?” you tilt your head teasingly at the blond, eyes crinkling with the weight of your smile.

He laughs again, sticking his pinky out between the two of you, “I won't, pinky promise.”

You giggle and Logan decides its the only noise he cares to hear from now on. You stick your hand out as well, wrapping your pinky around his and the two of you just stand there for a second, gazing toward the other.

But eventually, both of you seem to remember that there were time-sensitive events about to happen just about 10 meters from where you're stood. You break away from him, smile stuck on your features.

He walks away first, his grin replicating yours. He turns toward you as he walks away, pulling a hand up to wave goodbye slightly as he slides out of the corner.

“See you later, y/n,” he smirks before disappearing from view and something in you tells you you will be seeing him later.

You hurry to the Mercedes garage, having told Lewis you were there 15 minutes ago. He ushers you into his drivers room, telling you that you could chill there until the race started, only a slight bit of concern for your previous whereabouts written on his face. You don’t tell him you think you’d just fallen in love with some random teams random employee, deciding that was a bit too off topic for the currently rushing Lewis who was practically running around his room trying to get his stuff together. He wasn’t stressed since he was, of course, Lewis Hamilton, but this was the most frazzled you’d seen him

“Ill be back before the race starts,” Lewis nods toward you while he opens the door, things clutched in his tattooed hands.

“Have fun, Lew!” you call out, collapsing against his couch the moment he leaves.

You pass the time scrolling through your phone, scribbling random lyrics into your notes app and trying not to fall asleep. Lewis comes back quick enough, sneaking you into the garage with your hood pulled tightly over your hair and sunglasses sat firmly on your face.

No one spares you a second glance and if they do, they know better than to question Lewis Hamilton.

Your eyes are drawn to one of the screens above you, the drivers all stood out in a line together for the national anthem and your eyebrows raise when they land on a certain blond man. Right in front of your eyes, Logan is stood in Williams blue and white next to his teammate as the national anthem plays behind them.

Oh, that cheeky bastard.

Well, at least you now knew where to find him after the race. When the race starts, you try your hardest to stay focused on the Mercedes and cheer for Lewis but you can’t help but let your eyes trace the path of a certain blue car instead.

When the race ends and Logan’s in p8, you find yourself anxiously waiting for Lewis to get back so you can dip. You bounce passively on your heels, fingers picking at the fraying edge of your jacket. The Miami sun beats down relentlessly, making sure you stay safely in the shaded garage.

Lewis gets back quick enough, having not been on the podium this race. You give him a quick hug and a congratulations, telling him you’ll text him if you ended up wanting to get dinner later. You didn’t give him a concrete dinner plan since you had a feeling you’d be busy later.

You practically sprint out of the garage in your effort to find Logan before he leaves, missing the confused look you leave on Lewis’ face as he watches you run.

You honestly had no idea where the Williams garage was but when you see the familiar blue, you stop in your tracks outside the exit. You lean on the wall just outside the door, hoping no one will see you as they leave.

A driver in orange passes you, Oscar maybe, giving you a perplexed look as he walks by. You just dip your head farther, hoping he didn’t recognize you. Or worse, think you’re some kind of stalker.

But before the kid can call any security or ask you for a picture, a familiar laugh sounds out as someone opens the door next to you. You glance up and see Logan exiting and you reach over and grasp his wrist. Logan looks up to see you, his infinite smile seemingly stretching even wider as he see your concealed state.

“Hi, y/n,” he laughs dopily, abandoning whoever he’d been walking out with. You glance over his shoulder to see Oscar with his eyebrows furrowed and you pray any of his concern had disappeared when he saw Logan’s positive reaction.

“Hi, Logan,” you smile back, pulling him away from the garage and hopefully away from anyone at all, ending up in a corner not dissimilar to the what you had pushed him into earlier that day, “Congrats on the points. Can’t believe I thought you worked PR or something.”

He grins again, carding a hand through his sweaty hair. Your eyes trace the fireproofs he hadn’t taken off yet, trying not to ogle the muscles under the shirt.

“Thanks, I’m pretty sure both parts of those are compliments?” your eyes snap back to his and away from his chest. You can tell from the smirk on his face, he had noticed your stare and you try your best to control your blush.

As you two stand in the corner quietly for a moment, you’re surprised when Logan’s the one to break the silence.

“Do you want to get dinner later?” Your eyebrows shoot up in shock at his confidence but they quickly settle as you smile softly.

“I’d love to.”

Logan grins once again, shoulders obviously relaxing at your response, “My phones in my room… or I’d get your number.”

You laugh slightly as he leans back against the wall behind him, his own blush covering his cheeks as you giggle.

“I’ll go with you,” you state simply, shrugging your shoulders and watching as his own eyebrows raise.

“You sure?”

You laugh as he leans closer to you, “yeah I’m sure, Logan. I’ll give you my number and you can send me dinner plans and we can have a great time. Celebrate your win.”

“I didn’t win,” Logan’s face looks somewhere between a grimace and a smile. His hands moved to wrest against his hips. Right where his race suit was also sat.

“You got points. Close enough to a win in my book,” you shrug, smiling big.

Logan laughs loudly, head leaning back against the brick wall behind him and your own laugh joins his, creating a chorus of joy that wasn’t to common on these parts of the paddock.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you then. Come on, I need to shower,” he says to you, returning the previous favor by grasping your wrist in his and pulling you along to his drivers room. When he starts walking, you slide your wrist out of his grasp and intertwine your fingers instead, pretending not to see the grin that splits his face.

When you get to his room, you quickly put your number in his phone before exiting. As much as you wish you could’ve stayed, you had places to be and if you were going on a date, you'd need a few hours.

Logan texts you the minute you're in the car back to your place and you grin stupidly at the words on your screen, texting back quickly.

The date goes well, Logan being a perfect gentleman the whole time. He had picked a nice steakhouse he had no doubt been to a couple times growing up, considering you knew how he’d grown up. You had definitely not pulled his Wikipedia up the second your feet hit the floor of your room.

He sips his wine passively, much more interested in the stories you were telling about being on tour and the time one of your backup dancers had accidentally hooked up with one of the drivers. He offers to cut your steak for you and you let him, simply because none of your ex’s would have ever done something as small as that. He reads the dessert menu to you, asking the waiter for a second fork when you order the chocolate cake despite your objections about having your own slice. You both laugh but you shake your head when he offers to get a different piece. He picks up the bill despite your protests, sliding his card into the check and handing it back before you can even attempt to grab it from him. Then he walks you back to the car, arm around your shoulders as you try not to trip in your heels. When he drops you off, he moves to walk away from your doorstep but you’re quick to grasp his wrist, pulling him in and slamming the door behind the both of you.

That had been a year ago and you were still in love with Logan.

A year of Logan sneaking you in and out of the garage and a year of coincidentally scheduling tour shows to line up with race weekends. You’d released two albums about him. Not even your own manager knew who the songs were about. The only person who knew about the relationship was Lewis, who figured it out pretty quickly when you didn’t text him to get dinner that very first night. He was actually quite helpful in getting you in and out of the paddocks all across the world. He was pretty private to begin with so no one asked him many questions about where he was sneaking off to.

It’s not that you didn’t want to world to know about your relationship. It’s more that it was nice to have something you loved be private for once. Every boyfriend you’d ever had was inevitably mobbed by fans every time they stepped outside. Not that you were too empathetic. Half of your ex’s were contractually obligated to date you by your agency and the other half just sucked as people.

Logan was the first boyfriend you truly loved and got to choose to be with every day. Also, if your agency found out you’d secretly been dating someone and sneaking around for a year, you’d never hear the end of it and you’d probably get dropped for breach of contract, or whatever.

You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid. You would've but Logan dissuaded you after telling you that none of them could keep a secret for their lives.

So, the second Aimee left the room, your first calls is to Logan.

“Hey baby,” Logans voice echoes across the phone. You can hear a bit of exhaustion in his voice and recall him telling you he was about to work out, “Whats up?”

You can't help the heat that rises to your cheeks at even his simplest words, “Hey, are you free to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, just finished working out with Benny,” He replies, and you car hear the beep of a car unlocking and the door opening before closing, “Everything okay?”

You hum, shifting in your seat, “Yeah, I'm fine. Aimee just asked if I wanted to go to the Miami gp with Ferrari.”

There's a few seconds of silence from Logans end of the phone before he responds, “Do you want to?”

“It’d be nice to go and not have to hide in the back of Mercedes,” you sigh, weighing the pros and cons, “But I don't want to go with Ferrari.”

“You can't pick the garage?”

“I’ll try but I feel like Aimee will just stick me in whatever garage she wants me in,” you sigh again, sinking dejectedly into the couch, “Not sure I'd get much of a choice.”

“I’d love to have you there,” you can hear the slight smile in his voice and you laugh warmly despite your previous annoyance.

“Ill try and convince her. I'll see you there Logan,” you smile, sitting up in your seat. You fiddle with a piece of your hair, glancing around the small room you're in. You weren't super confident you could convince Aimee but if Logan wanted you there, you'd try your hardest to get in the Williams garage.

Logan laughs, “See you there, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Logan hangs up and you smile, tossing your phone down next to you. You're quick to pick it back up though, texting Aimee to ask if you can be in the Williams garage instead.

When the day of the Miami GP arrives and your stood in the Williams garage, its as much of a surprise to you as it is to everyone else. You had spent the past month trying to convince Aimee to let you sit in Williams instead of Ferrari. She had spent the past month telling you that it’d be better for your image to be in Ferrari.

You hadn't told Logan you’d be in his garage since, until that morning, you didn’t know you would be. You weren’t initially sure what made her change her mind but when you entered the garage and saw several celebrities almost more famous than yourself, it made sense. Of course she’d only agree to get you to be seen interacting with more a-listers. Jokes on her, though, because instead of staying in the garage for the next few hours, you decided to walk around. You were actually hoping to find Lewis in something other than a dark corner for once.

On the other side of the paddock, Logan had ended up in Ferraris hospitality after Oscar had dragged him along to meet up with Lando who was meeting up with Carlos who was meeting up with Charles who was meeting up with Max. So, in the end, Logan felt out of his element.

He chair sat slightly away from the others as they all talked about Miami, a place that Logan honestly didn’t have much to say about anymore. Maybe if someone asked, he’d say something. But he honestly wasn’t feeling it. He’d be more enthused if you were stood in his garage instead of Charles’, cheering him on. But, no, Aimee had you stuck in the red and yellow.

“Did you guys hear that y/n l/n is here?” A Spanish accent rings out from across the little circle of chairs, causing Logan’s head to snap up.

Lando’s head shoots up as well, eyes locking onto Carlos’, “You’re kidding! I love her!”

Carlos nods his head at the Brit, grinning widely, “Yeah, I heard some engineers talking about her earlier!”

Max snorts, shaking his head in disbelief, “If she was here, one of us would’ve seen her already. She’s not in either of our garages,” Max gestures between him and Charles who’s sat with an agreeable look on his face, nodding at Max’s words.

“I’m gonna ask around. If she’s here there’s no way I’m not giving her my number,” Lando laughs, already looking around for someone to interrogate. Logan has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Although it was weird Charles hadn’t seen you. Maybe he’d just left before you’d arrived.

“You sure she’s even single, mate?” Oscar asks the brunette man, laughing slightly as he turns around toward the Aussie with a smirk on his face.

“She hasn’t been seen with anyone in like a year and a half and there’s definitely no shortage of men in love with her. I’m about to jump on that before anyone else here snatches her up,” Lando laughs again, standing up from his chair quickly almost as if he’s about to sprint out but suddenly Lewis appears beside the little group, catching Lando before he can.

“What are you guys doing?” Lewis asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes surveying the group before they stop on Logan. Logan glances away from the older man quickly, choosing instead to stare at the ground.

“Talking about y/n l/n. Apparently she’s here and Landos so in love with her that he’s about to sprint out and find her. I’d want her number too but Lando seems more passionate,” Carlos laughs and Charles nods along with a grin. Lewis’ eyes land back on Logan with a small smirk gracing his features.

“Yeah but we’re not sure she’s even here, we all think she would’ve been in one of our garages if she was here,” Max continues, gesturing toward his fellow drivers. Logan has a sneaking suspicion he meant every garage beside Williams.

Logan grins again, pushing Lando softly back into his seat. Logan can feel the man’s gaze on his lowered head as he respond, “Well, she’s is here. She’s in the Williams garage.”

With that, Logan’s head snaps up to meet Lewis eyes and the eyes of all the other drivers move quickly toward Logan who’s too busy looking at Lewis to sink under their piercing gazes.

“She’s looking for you,” Lewis nods at Logan who’s quickly to stand from his seat, six pairs of eyes on his back as he turns away.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath as he starts to walk away from the group, his movements quickly turning into a run.

Back in the little circle, Lando sits with a pouty look on his face while everyone besides Lewis sits with incredulous looks on their faces. Lewis sits proudly, a small smirk on his face. Oscar is the one to break the silence.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Logan reaches the garage quick enough, hearing whispers of your name echo between engineers and PR workers alike, all mumbling about your surprising presence in the garage.

He jogs lightly over to Alex, slinging an arm around the taller drivers shoulders. The man turns away from the conversation he was having with Lily, furrowing an eyebrow at the weirdly exhausted American.

“What’s up mate?”

“Have you seen y/n?” Logan says through labored breaths, eyes tracing every corner of the building in search of a sign of you.

Alex shakes his head, glancing back toward his girlfriend, both with matching confused looks on their faces, “Nah mate, apparently we’ve just missed her.”

Logan groans dramatically, sliding away from Alex and moving toward the exit once again, correctly assuming you must be looking for Lewis. Alex turns back to Lily whose confusion mirrors his.

“What was that about?”

“No idea.”

Logan’s once again jogging through the paddock in search of you, praying he gets there before Lando can thoroughly weird you out or flirt enough to give you trauma.

His heads bowed to shield himself from the Miami heat so he doesn’t see himself run straight into someone. He reaches out to catch whoever he’s just thrown toward the ground and when he looks up he’s met with your pretty face. He’s honestly never been more relieved to see someone.

“Hi,” you smile softly as he leans you back to standing, arms still wrapped gently around your torso.

“Hi,” he laughs, out of breath from his jog. You both stand and stare in each others eyes for a moment, adoration in the air between you.

“That felt quite familiar,” you break the trance, laughing as his arms finally move away from you in order to keep a little decorum.

Logan barks a laugh, hand moving to run through his blonde hair as he glances toward the ground abashedly, “Yeah, except this time, you’re not pulling me into a dark corner.”

You glance around at the bustling people around you, realizing how little you cared about people seeing you interact. A weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders at the fact you don’t have to hide your conversations around here anymore. It actually felt quite freeing.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you reply, smiling as sunlight hits the side of your face, eyes not catching the loving stare Logan is sending your way as you bask in the Miami sun.

Logan grins, eventually pulling you away from the sun as he grasps your wrist. You lean into his side slightly, keeping a reasonable distance for people to think you’re just close friends. You’d already talked about how mad your agency would be if they found out you were dating. So you both agreed interactions in the paddock would be kept to platonic.

But as much as you tried to keep them so, you could only do so much. It was hard to keep the love out of your eyes as you stared at Logan, eyes tracing the side of his face. Anyone with eyes could see how gently he held you, with all the love and care in the world.

As you arrived back at the Williams garage, Logan kept walking and pulled the two of you back into his room as quietly as he could. Shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as the doors closed, your hand is wrapping around the side of his face and pulling him down to meet him in a gentle kiss.

He smiles into it, arms wrapping around your shoulders as you walk the two of you back to the couch, both flopping down onto it. You lean back against the arm rest as he lays against your chest, the exhaustion of a race weekend finally catching up with him.

“Go to sleep baby,” you say quietly, fingers carding through his sun-bleached hair, “You’ve got more than a few hours. I’ll wake you up when someone comes to get you.”

Logan hums half-heartedly, eyes already closing as he shifts to sit against you more comfortably, sleep quickly overtaking him. You scratch his head passively as he sleeps, almost petting him as if he was a golden retriever. You slide your phone open, mumbling lyrics and rhythms under your breath. You mange to type a few verses into your phone with one hand, occasionally having to pull your other hand away from his head momentarily. Every time you did, though, he’d shift in his sleep and your hand would go right back.

It’s a few hours of this before anyone comes to disrupt his nap, the door sliding open without a knock. Your eyes catch Alex’ and you quickly raise your hand with a shushing motion, gesturing down at the man sleeping on top of you. Although, Alex seems more preoccupied with your presence than Logan’s sleeping state, mouth dropping open as he takes in you and his teammates predicament.

“The team needs Logan, they’re about to start getting ready,” Alex manages to spit out, eyes still bouncing between the two of you. You nod, moving one hand to tap at Logan’s face lightly. The man groans through his tiredness, eyes cracking open slowly.

“Teams getting ready, they need you,” you smile down at him. He glances up at you with a small smile, eventually rolling off of you to stand up with a yawn.

Only then do his eyes catch on his teammate stood by the door, shock and confusion lacing his figure. Logan just waves slightly, drowsiness still fogging his mind. Alex blinks, arms frozen to his side.

When Logan grabs his stuff and steps out of the small room, stopping to give you a kiss on his way out, Alex finally snaps out of his haze.

“What the hell, man?” Alex manages to spit out.

Logan yawns as he walks by his teammate, a hand reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, “Huh?”

Alex splutters through his words incredulously, “Why were you sleeping on top of y/n l/n? One of the biggest stars in the world was just hanging out in your room!?”

Logan hums, running a hand over the lines that had appeared on his face during his nap, “That’s my girl, man.”

Alex stops in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock, “What!?”

Logan rolls his eyes at his teammates dramatics, dragging him along next to him and also gesturing for Alex to keep his volume down, “Yeah, we’ve been together for a year and a few months.”

“Mate, what? She’s released like 3 albums in that time,” Alex starts before he seems to come to a realization, eyes snapping back to Logan again, “Oh my god, is reputation about you!?”

When Logan concedes and nods in response, a grin break out on his teammates face, “What about Lover? Or nonsense? Or espresso? Oh my god, so many of her songs must be about you!”

Logan holds back his annoyance, blaming his exasperation on his quite recent wake up call, taking a moment to remind himself that Alex was just surprised. If this had been any other day, he’d take any chance to talk about how cool you were or how much he loved you. But after everything with Landos crush and the boys thinking you’d only ever been seen in their garages, he was honestly annoyed. Not at you, of course, just at how everyone was acting without any tact.

“Yeah, come on, the team needs us,” Logan yawns, dragging his teammate down the hall, the latter still with a stupid grin on his face.

You stepped back into the garage again eventually, eyes scanning the parts of the garage you hadn’t seen before while hidden in the corners. Of course, the Williams garage was completely unfamiliar. But you hoped it wouldn’t be unfamiliar anymore after today.

You can feel the cameras and questioning glances on you, wondering why you’d be at an f1 race, let alone Williams. Everyone thought you’d be in Red Bull or Ferrari or at the least, Alpine, since several of your athlete friends had invested.

You’re not sure what the rules are for drivers going into garages that aren’t theirs but you’re ninety-nine percent sure Lando wasn’t supposed to be here. It didn’t help that he seemed to have dragged Oscar, Max and Charles along with him.

“Oh my god, y/n l/n!” You hear the Brit call out first, giddiness lacing his words. You glance over to see the four drivers approaching, turning your gaze back to the team momentarily to check if this was allowed. There’s uneasy looks on their faces but none of them move to kick them out so you turn back to the quartet.

“Hi?” You smile with a raised eyebrow and you swear you see Lando blush. Oscar rolls his eyes as the older driver starts dramatically fanning himself.

Charles is the first person to respond normally, sticking out his hand as he leans toward you, “It’s nice to meet you, we’re big fans. Some of us obviously more than others.”

You laugh as Charles side-eyes Lando who responds by sticking his tongue out. Their interactions made sense considering you were pretty sure half of them never graduated high school. You reach out and shake Charles’ hand before dropping it as Max reaches out his own.

“I’m Max, not sure how much you know about F1,” Max states, tilting his head. If only he knew just how many races you'd been to.

You nod your head with a small smile, ignoring the way Lando is staring with a dopey look on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I've actually watched a lot of races, so I've seen you win a lot haha.”

Max smirks slightly, shaking his head. Lando frowns as Oscar elbows him and mumbles something under his breath, “She’s never seen you win, mate.”

Your head snaps toward the drivers in papaya as Lando practically tackles Oscar, putting the Aussie in a headlock. You tilt your head toward Charles who’s watching with a frown but makes no effort to separate the pair, “This happen a lot?”

He hums, nodding his head, not taking his gaze away from the thing 1 and thing 2 now on the ground in front of you, “Yeah, they’re like puppies, got to let them get their energy out somehow. No ones been seriously maimed. Yet.”

You snort, finally looking away from the idiots as you hear someone walk up behind you, Charles and Max, the latter turning around as well.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” The commanding voice of the Williams team principal rings out, causing the two mclarens to halt their movements, immediately separating as they stand up.

James surveys the little group for a few moments and you look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of blond hair before it disappears.

“Now,” James starts, scanning the drivers in front of him, all in varying colors of team shirts, “I could probably get you all in trouble for being in my garage but since I’ve heard a lot of excitement about our guest today, I’ll let it slide.”

You looks back to the man in front of you when you hear a mention of yourself, skin heating as several pairs of eyes all look to you. You look away and back to where you’d seen Logan, hoping for a quick escape. You find him but you watch as he makes eye contact with Lando before turning away as quick as he can. Lando, on the other hand, shoots a hand out to point at the driver, moving forward toward him.

“Logan!” He yells as the aforementioned driver turns away, making himself busy with pretending to be helping Alex, “I need to know what he did to get you in his garage!”

Lando gestures at you before moving to walk past you. He only makes it a few steps before James is stepping in front of him, pushing the lighter man back slightly, “I actually believe you will all be going back to your own garages, yes? It’s almost time for the race.”

Lando frowns with a suspicious look on his face, planting his feet firmly in the ground beneath him as if challenging James to move him. Oscar rolls his eyes before grabbing the brunettes wrist and dragging him out of the room, waving slightly at Logan as he exits.

Charles and Max both wave at you as they leave but Max is the one calling out, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

You smile at the pair, waving them goodbye. You sigh as you turn around, tiredness filling your face. James stops you before you can stalk off to your seat for the race, hands grasping your shoulders lightly.

“It’s nice to finally meet my drivers girlfriend,” there’s a knowing look on the man’s face and you open your mouth to respond but he beats you to it, “He didn’t tell me. But I saw you two in the hall earlier, the boy had love written on his face, it would’ve been hard to miss.”

You blush, looking down toward the ground with a smile, “Thanks Mr Vowles, it’s nice to meet you as well.”

James laughs, ruffling your hair as he leans away, “Have a fun day, kid. Maybe you’re his lucky charm. And you can call me James.”

You smile as you walk away, smoothing your hair back to place. You weren’t too annoyed by the antics since it was pretty windy anyway, your hair had already been going wild.

“Thanks, James. Good luck, today.”

He just nods in response before slipping away, no doubt to get ready for the race. You turn to talk to Logan but he’s already been swept up in the chaos of the pre-race so you leave him to it, finally making it to your designated seat for the day.

It’s not long before it’s lights out and away we go.

P3. P fucking 3. Logan had just gotten a podium.

You don’t think you’d ever screamed as loud as you had when he crossed the line. Luckily, Alex’ girlfriend, Lily seems just as excited as you, jumping up and down as the team celebrated around you. Fortunately, Alex had had a good race as well, finishing in fifth.

You didn’t bother wiping the tears that were falling from your eyes, too busy trying not to fall over in your expensive heels as Lily dragged you to where the team was meeting at the barriers. Sun shines brightly down on you all, painting your faces with a warming light. Williams employees revel in joy from all around you, pure happiness gracing their usually joy-deprived faces.

The crowd seems to part as you and Lily make your way to the barriers, grasping at each other tightly, trying to make sure this was all real.

Tears stream down your face, no doubt taking your mascara with them. You have to gasp for air more than a couple times, pure elation taking over your breath. You watch as the blue car rolls in front of you, slowing to a stop. Lily hugs your arm tightly, already having heard about your relationship from Alex. You see Alex’ car out of the corner of your eye but you’re too busy trying not to collapse.

Logan steps out of the car, hands visibly shaking. You can practically see the smile through his helmet as he stands on the nose of his car, the crowds of Miami cheering for their hometown hero.

He jumps down and moves to take off his helmet, gloves coming off with them. He glances around at the crowd above him, taking in the moment he gets to be the hero for once, gets to be revered. But his eyes do move away, tracing the crowd for his team.

When his eyes land on yours, another tear slides down your face and drops off into the warm concrete below you. His grin in that moment could move mountains, filled with enough pure joy to heal any aches and pains you’ve ever felt. You can’t look away from his child-like joy, having never seen him this happy in your entire year of dating. His eyes widen with a warmth you wish you could find a way to stay in forever, almost rivaling the warmth of the Miami sun.

Someone from race control tries to get him to go get weighed but he’s dropping his helmet before taking off in a run. He reaches you and before you can even say a word, he’s grasping your face in his hands and leaning down to put his lips against yours, melting into your embrace.

Screams echo around you but all you can hear is the words Logan whispers as he breaks away, leaning his forehead against yours, “I did it, baby.”

You laugh, leaning toward him as he reaches a hand up and wipes away your tears, “Yeah, you did. I’m so proud of you!”

Logan smiles, closing his eyes momentarily to take in the love between you, “Thank you for coming, I love you so much, baby.”

You tilt his head up to catch his lips in another searing kiss, hoping he can feel just how proud and in love with him you are, “I love you too, so, so much.”

You’re both just grasping at each other, praying to be able to simply hold each other for as long as you can before someone pulls him away. Unfortunately, that comes sooner than you’d hoped as someone from race control pulls him away to get weighed. You finally break from the trance he’d put you in, looking around to see Charles and Max staring at Logan as he walks in front of them, glances shared between the pair in p1 and p2.

Lily wraps an arm around you as Alex walks away from her as well and you lean your head on your shoulder, watching as your boyfriends talk after getting weighed, obvious congratulations and pats on the back being shared between the two.

You knew this would make Aimee mad, but you honestly couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were too busy being young and in love. You could always find a different agency, you were in high demand after all.

Logan’s stood to the side with Alex when Lando walks up, eyebrows furrowed deeply as he surveys the Williams drivers.

“What the hell was that, mate?” Lando calls out to Logan, confusion creeping through his outward disapproval.

Logan laughs at the Brits face, sensing a bit of disappointment in the McLaren drivers demeanor, “The podium?”

Lando rolls his eyes, running a hand through his curls, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Logan laughs again as Alex throws his arm over the younger drivers shoulder, preparing to steer the two of them to interviews, “Just kissing my girlfriend, mate. Nothing else to it.”

Lando seems to be even more confused as the Williams drivers walk away, although he does eventually manage to shout out a final sentence, “How’d you manage that!?”

Logan practically cackles as Alex snorts, knowing as much as he did that it was a miracle he had pulled you, “I’m not sure either!”

They do eventually make it to interviews and then podium, Logan sending a heart down at you with his hands before Charles and Max turn to him, champagne in hand. Logan stands there and takes it, Miami sunlight bounces off the rivulets of alcohol that cascade across his tanned skin, still hot with the warmth that had infected him during the race.

The next morning, you don’t remember much from the night before. You had gone out to celebrate with Logan and of course, it was Miami and you were known so it wasn’t too hard to find the best spots. Drinks flowed and music pumped and you’re pretty sure you were hanging out with pitbull at one point.

Logan was still asleep in your bed in your Miami home, shirt missing and a distinct smell of beer sticking to his skin. His hair was ruffled and random pieces of glitter floated around his skin. His shins were hanging off the edge of the bed and random marks littered his exposed back, scratches and bruises, no doubt your fault, painting his usually blank skin with hues of red and purple. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more in love with him.

You slide from the bed quietly, moving toward your guitar as a sudden bout of lyrics plagues your mind, begging to be released. You strum passively as you sit out on your balcony, humming lyrics under your breath as Logan remains asleep soundly in your bedroom.

“Said it’s still reserved for me … who are we.. fight the alchemy?”

A month later, Logan’s entering the paddock, his phone clutched tightly in his hand and headphone covering his ears. He’s making his way to his garage when he’s suddenly bombarded by the same five drivers from Miami, all talking over each other.

“Calm down, one at a time, please,” Logan sighs, waiting for them to quit speaking at the same time. They all stop, Carlos being the one to speak first.

“Have you heard the new y/n song?” Carlos asks, eyes raised widely. Logan laughs as he asks it, sliding his phone open to Spotify, proudly showcasing your new song playing on loop.

The Alchemy - y/n l/n

Logan slides his phone in his pocket, walking away before Lando can wax poetic about you or complain about Logan stealing you away from him. Logan glances back to see Oscar covering Landos ears as the song starts to play from a nearby speaker. Logan laughs as Charles, max and Carlos do the opposite of helping by deciding to sing it loudly in the Mclaren boys face.

Alex watches his teammate walk up, pulling off his headphones to find the song also playing the garage. Alex laughs, leaning his head back in content, basking in the pure happiness radiating through the atmosphere this weekend.

“Good song,” Alex hums, cracking an eye open to see a wide grin split the younger man’s face.

“Thanks man, it’s about me.”

Alex laughs, leaning back against the chair he was sitting in, watching as Logan sways to the song, lips moving to the words no one else had had time to learn yet.

Alex closes his eyes again, letting the rhythm of the song and Logan’s hums take over his hearing. He wasn’t sure about your relationship at first but he honestly hoped you’d stay together just so he could see Logan this happy every weekend.

You, on the other side of the world, were listening to the song at the very same time, singing the lyrics to yourself and dancing to a song Logan had been hearing for the past month non-stop.

As you danced along, you just knew Logan was out there somewhere, dancing with you.

———————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent fluff #fem!driver!reader

[iluvmattsbeard]

Wet Dreamz (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: smut and swearing

preview: matt and you were partners for a project. he unexpectedly started having sinful dreams about you, suddenly craving you ever since. one thing nobody knew; he was a virgin.

“y/n, you will be partnered with Matt.” the teacher says trying to grab your attention. “y/n? are you listening?” you snap out of your thoughts and look at him. “huh?” you ask. “you’re partnered with Matt for this project.” he replies with an unamused look. you look around before you look back at him. “who’s that?” you ask.

he lets out a sigh before speaking, “Matt raise your hand.” you look around again as you catch the eyes of a brown haired boy. you weren’t mad about it. he looked decent.

you get up and walk to where he was sitting. “next time y/n, i expect you to be paying attention. this project will effect your grade drastically if you do poorly.” you hear the teacher say looking at you. all you do is nod. you were barely passing the class.

Matt’s POV

i got paired with y/n. she didn’t even know who i was. i knew of her because she would get in trouble constantly due to her lack of focus. as she came to sit next to me, we clicked right away. we both dreaded school, but who doesn’t? as much as i didn’t like school, i still paid attention, unlike her, so i had to explain the whole point of the project to her.

we exchanged numbers after class so that we could talk about when we could meet up to work on it. we only had two weeks to complete it. i knew i had to stand on top of it because i know she won’t.

a few days pass, me and y/n still working on the project together, with us having to meet at lunch. i got to know a little bit more about her. she was pretty cool to talk to. we even started texting without talking about the project itself. so when this is done, it’d be cool to hang with her.

meeting during lunch really wasn’t a good idea. there was too much distractions. so i took the opportunity to invite her over to my place after school. she agreed and i ended up driving her with me once the final bell rang.

End of Matt’s POV

you and Matt were in his room as you sat on the floor. you were reading over some information from the website the teacher recommended and you were feeling overwhelmed. “all of this is hurting my head.” you say laying back on the floor. Matt lets out a small laugh as he responds, “me too. i don’t get how this will be beneficial in the future.” you shot up looking at him, “exactly! school is so bullshit to me. they don’t even teach real world shit.” you say sighing. “i agree. but i didn’t put up with almost 12 years of school just to fail.” he says. you groan, “right. it would be wasteful. i’m pretty sure you don’t have anything to worry about. my grades are literally on the edge of failing.” “well, i could help you.” he suggests. all you do is let out a laugh, “trust me, teaching me is hard.”

“i’ve been teaching you these past days. trust me i know.” Matt responds as you both let out a laugh. “it’s hot in here.” you say taking off your hoodie, pulling down your shirt as it lifted a bit. Matt looks at you as he catches a glimpse of your cleavage. he looks away quickly, clearing his throat. where has all of that been hiding? he wonders. “well let’s continue working on this.” he says trying to move past it. all you do is nod as you lay on your stomach continuously reading.

when you weren’t paying attention, Matt would stare at you slightly. he would stare at the way your tits were pressed against the floor, thinking how perfect they were.

after a few hours, Matt takes you home. “thank you for the ride.” you say smiling, slinging your backpack on one shoulder. “yeah of course” he replies. you open the door stepping out, but as you get up, your hoodie raises slightly revealing your thong peeking out above your jeans slightly. Matt catches a glimpse turning red. you shut the door and walk away. he sits there in his car for a bit as he gulps before driving away.

Matt arrives home tidying his room before going to bed. he picks up one of his notebooks as he sees a sticky note on it reading, ‘thank you for dealing with me as a partner - Y/N’.

he smiles at the note as he puts it down on his bed side table, getting into bed. as he lays there, he couldn’t help but think about what his eyes caught from you earlier. your cleavage and your thong. he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Matt stop that.” he whispers to himself before shutting his eyes going to sleep.

Matt’s dream POV

you and Matt were sitting on your bed working on the project. Matt wasn’t paying attention to you as much and you were bothered by it. you took matters into your hands and you closed the book he was studying. you got on top of him, sitting on his lap as he gets caught off guard. you pull him into a passionate kiss and next thing you knew, you were under the covers tangled together naked.

End of Matt’s dream

Matt’s POV

i woke up sitting up quickly with my breathing uneven. what was that?! my heart was racing. did i just have a wet dream?!

i pulled up the covers to see a wet stain on top of the crotch of my sweats. what the fuck. this has never happened before. with y/n?! why? because of what i saw yesterday? i never even had sex before. how could i have easily dreamed of it? i gulp before getting up. i head to the bathroom to clean myself. i really can’t believe that just happened. now all i could do is replay it in my head. i groan at the thought.

after i got ready, i headed straight to school. on the drive there, i still couldn’t stop replaying everything that happened in my dream. even if i tried to distract myself, it wouldn’t go away. i needed it bad.

End of Matt’s POV

you and Matt were in class as you tried to tell him a story. all he was doing was nodding and staying quiet. “Matt? are you okay?” you question. he shakes his head before speaking, “yeah- yeah i’m good. sorry.” you give him a questionable look as you reply, “well you weren’t really paying attention as i spoke.” you laugh a bit. “oh i was.” he says with a nervous smile. “yeah okay.” you say turning your body straight, pretending to pay attention to the teacher.

Matt does the same as he groans quietly to himself. he didn’t know if he should tell you or not about what he imagined. he decided to shrug it off.

it was the end of the day again as you both end up at Matt’s house. you were standing up as you rehearsed your lines on what to say for the presentation. Matt just sat there looking lost. “Matt seriously what is wrong? i can’t do this without you, you know?” you say frustrated. “i’m sorry. i’ve just been having a hard time.” he responds scratching the back of his neck. “well we really need to focus on this. if you need to get something off your chest, do it now so we can continue.” you say. Matt hesitates before speaking, “okay well i sort of had an odd dream last night.” you look at him confused. “okay?” you reply. “it wasn’t a normal dream.” he continues.

“what? were you like having sex or something?” you ask jokingly with a laugh. but he just sits there staying silent with a blank face. “oh. oh! you did!” you exclaim. “who was it about?” asking with curiosity. “some random girl from class.” he says lying through his teeth. “so what’s the big deal?” you ask. “this your first time having a wet dream?” all he does is nod. you widen your eyes, “really? that’s new. i would’ve thought you were like every other guy constantly thinking about sex.” letting out a laugh. “why is it bothering you so much?”

“because, it’s weird. especially with this specific girl.” he responds. you raise an eyebrow before asking a question, “have you ever had sex before?” the question takes Matt by surprise as he responds quickly, “of course i have!” he lies. you let out a laugh. “okay! sorry! well then you shouldn’t be so weirded out. now come on. lets focus.” replying to him.

it still was eating him in the inside.

*time skip*

after the weeks flew by, you and Matt got an ‘A’ for your presentation. you decided to celebrate by treating Matt with fast food. you both sat on his bed eating. “thank you for being such a good partner.” you say with a smile taking a bite from your burger. “no, thank you.” he replies. you couldn’t help but notice he still was acting strange these past days. “Matt don’t tell me you’re still on about the sex dream.” you ask wiping your hands with a napkin. “you should just shoot your shot already since it’s eating you up. maybe she’ll feel the same.” he shakes his head, “i wouldn’t know how to approach her. plus, that’s weird. i had a sex dream about her and what? i just walk up to her and tell her that? that's creepy.” he replies. you laugh at his response. “well not quite but, i don’t like how you’re acting so off.” you say taking another bite.

Matt sighs as he shakes his head, “just forget it y/n. i’m fine.” you stop in your place as you shake your head. “okay that’s it.” placing the unfinished food on his side table. you wipe your mouth with a napkin as you look at him. it was silent for a bit until you spoke up, “do you want to kiss me?” you blurt out. Matt’s eyes widen. “what?” he asks.

Matt’s POV

i hesitated for a bit. “to help distract you.” she says with a small laugh. "uh- uh yeah sure." I say hesitantly. i mean i couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. i scoot closer to her. i’ve only ever kissed one other person and i don’t think it was good so maybe this will be different. i can hear my heart pounding out of my chest. i put my hand on her cheek as i lean in and kiss her softly. she scoots closer without breaking the kiss, putting her hands on my shoulders.

to her she might think this is just a distraction but, little did she know my dream was about her. we continue to kiss as she swings her leg around to straddle me. i put my hands on her waist as the kisses get heavier. i could feel myself get hard beneath her and i could tell she notices. i pull away from embarrassment, “i’m so sorry.” i say. all she does is smile and respond with, “it’s okay.” pulling me into another kiss. i could feel her start to grind against my clothed dick. i let out a small groan from the feeling. i pull away as i lay her down gently. “d-do you want to do this?” i say nervously but, i couldn’t expose the fact this would be my first. she nods as she kisses me again. she takes off my shirt as i do the same for her. i unbutton my jeans and pull them off leaving me in my boxers as she does the same with her pants leaving her in her under garments. i gulp looking at her body. come on Matt play it cool. we kiss again as she rubs my dick through my boxers. i really hope i’m big enough.

i reach into my drawer as i pull out a condom. i bought a box just in case i were to lose it. which i am now, so it was good preparation. i open rip off the deal as i look at her. “uh.. i haven’t done this in a while so.. i might not be as good.” i warn her lying. i’ve never done this at all. i had to prepare her just in case i cum quick. “it’ll be good” she reassures me. she takes the condom from my hand as i take off my boxers slowly. i see her eyes widen a bit as she slowly wraps the condom on my dick. i lay her back down, sliding her panties to the side, and align myself at her entrance. she gives me a smile as i look down at what i’m about to do. i push myself into her slowly as i watch her relax.

i hear her moan softly as i continue to push my full length into her. “shit.” i groan quietly. i watch her face as i start to thrust slowly. she shut her eyes as she bites her lip softly. i can’t believe this is happening. my dream finally coming true. i pick up the pace as i put both my hands on her sides. “yes just like that.” she moans out putting her hands on my chest. i kiss her as i continue to go deeper into her keeping my fast tempo.

“fuck Matt you feel so good.” she moans. every time she spoke i felt my dick twitch. her moans were heavenly. “you’re so perfect.” i whisper to her. i lay myself on her slightly as she scratches my back. her scratches were hard as i feel the slight sting.

all my worries disappear once i find out i’m actually doing a good job. she made me feel a bit more confident. as soon as i was about to cum i pull out because i wanted to keep pleasing her. i pull her by her thighs as i put my head in between her legs. i start licking at her folds softly as she lets out a breath. i then start sliding my tongue up and down, swirling my tongue on her clit. i felt her grip my hair lightly. “oh Matt.” she moans. “you taste so good.” i say continuing to eat her out. “Matt i’m going to cum.” she says as i start to suck on her clit. she throws her head back as she arches her back, shoving her pussy more into my face. “yes Matt just like that!” she screams out as she cums all over my mouth.

i get back up as i lick my lips, realigning myself as i thrust back into her sensitive core. she gasps as she grips onto my arms. i thrust at a fast pace before cumming inside her into the condom. “oh fuck.” i moan out.

we were both catching our breath as i pull out of her. i take off the condom and throw it in the trash. "you must be a pro or something. that was incredible.” she says sitting up putting her clothes on.

good to know. little did she know, i ain't ever did this before.

a/n: not my best work lol. likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! thank you :) - L 🤍

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets imagines #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #Spotify

[wonryllis]

𓈒ㅤ𑁯 YOU KNOW I WANT YOU, ! ˚ യ

is here in your perfect eyes, they're all i can see, just know that these things will never change for us at all. would you lie with me and just forget the world?

lee heeseung with fem!reader in the city of love. ⋆ ARCHIVE? g. fluff, s2l, wordcnt. 550 chasing cars; snow patrol

ROCK BAND FRONTMAN heeseung who also happens to be your NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR, stumbling into you the first time when you're moving your amazon packages you accidentally ordered to his apartment number. caught right in the middle of picking up the last box, your pretty eyes looking up at him all wide and surprised.

like a little bunny caught stealing berries— he's hooked right from the beginning.

"hey, i'm heeseung," ordering his packages to your door so he can start a little something, to know your name, to know what your voice sounds like. to let you know you he is open to talk to you given any chance.

always trying to find opportunities to bump into you, looking through the peephole whenever he's home to see if you'd head out, ready with either 'taking out the trash' or 'going out for groceries' he's so desperate to get close to you, always offering to help you out with anything and everything. sometimes calling you over to listen to a new draft or to have a taste of the new recipe he tried. it shows on his face, just how he feels. and he doesn't mind it, he wants you to know; it's not a secret he tries to hide.

"it's easy, i can teach you," offering to teach you how to play the guitar when you awe over his skills. the thought of having his hands over yours, guiding them to hit the strings right, his face right next to yours, cheeks touching; it was a step closer.

slow and steady was his plan.

but once he knew of how you'd been here only for a one year work program, he realizes there isn't enough time to take it slow. and from then on he's actively pursuing you. asking you out on dates, even though he doesn't specifically tell you it's a date, the things he takes you out for are obvious enough. expensive restaurants and famous bakeries, pretty parks and romantic plays, boating picnics and city tours to show you all the places he'd bring you to every weekend.

waiting right outside the building with breakfast, in the morning when you leave for work to walk with you and drop you off. sometimes he'd wait outside your door but after you told him he doesn't need to do so much for you, he stubbornly opted to wait downstairs, telling you he's heading to work too. his studio on the other side and his 'work' starting whenever he wants it to.

sometimes he would ask you to come over for help because he can't write anything and having you close gives him inspiration. sitting with you out in the balcony, coffee mugs in hand while he makes you laugh, your pretty little smile flooding his mind with hearts and fuzzy feelings.

sending flowers to your workplace at lunch along with little desserts and sweet little notes telling you he'll keep trying until the end.

slowly as you accept him and his love, he'd invite you to his shows, giving you vip passes for backstage so you can be with before and after he's on stage. dedicating songs to a special someone and talking about everything he loves about you, he's smitten; wondering what he'd do when the year is over.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @belowbun @ro-diaries @ms-no1kpopstan @aaa-sia @okwonyo

#enhypen imagines #k-labels #THE FIRST PIC IS TOTALLY HIM WAITING FOR YOU DOWNSTAIRS! #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen drabbles #enhypen reactions #enhypen fluff #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jake imagines #enhypen sunghoon imagines #enhypen sunoo imagines #enhypen jungwon imagines #enhypen niki imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n

[katsukikitten]

Actress reader and Actor Bakugou have to enact a sex scene. Of course they've got one of those little modesty covers for his dick and for you but you'll still look naked in the shot.

But there is just something about the way that he's grinding into you, his cock hard from the action of course and since your characters hate each other (just like in real life) it's supposed to be a rough passionate scene, it's hate fucking after all! Your moaning only gets louder the more he "fucks" into you echoing around the studio with tons of people looking over the two of you but his eyes are trained on you and when he thinks he hears something a little more than the over the top obvious fake sounds your character is meant to give, when it ebbs into something real (fake to real sounds per the script) he gets a little too into his character.

"That's right, take it, take this cock. Mould to me so that every other man knows that you're mine and mine alone, princess."

"You'll have to fuck me harder than that to make me cum, prince." Spitting back the title his character so hates and the nickname you've come to call him off set and in interviews if only to burrow under his skin. His eyes flash with anger and for a moment you think you've regained control.

But his thrusts come harder after that and suddenly you're trying to cover your face with your arms but he moves to pin them to the plush pillow over head. His voice rough, deep, panting out in such a mind numbing growl.

"No, I want to see the exact moment I ruin you."

Covered cock somehow grinding against your clothed slit just right, your clit throbs from the repeated action, making you lock your ankles around his waist.

Head thrown back to expose your throat that he comes down to bite as he "cums" just as he's supposed to although the lines were wholly improvised. Shuddering over top of you with his tongue lapping up the rough teeth marks he's left on your pretty skin. Pulling away to grab your jaw roughly, rutting into you with pained groans as his tongue slips into your mouth "prolonging" your release and his.

"CUT!" Comes the doctor's voice, slicing through the tension reminding you both exactly where you are. Bakugou pulls away but not too quickly, grabbing at the blankets to cover you even if the whole world was going to see your tits bouncing from his rough thrusts thanks to the network allowing borderline soft core porn on air.

"Let's take fifteen to review and recenter!" Comes the directors sharp voice and so Bakugou helps you up on shaking legs, pressing you into his side as he walks around in nothing but that "modesty" covering.

"Wow! That seemed so real you did the fake to real moaning so well!" People linger to pass you compliments until they see Bakugou snarling down at them, rushing away from the always grumpy actor. He makes sure you're sat on the couch in your dressing room, both of you lock eyes for a moment and it's obvious by his smirk that this jackass can't help but stroke his own ego.

"Ya that sure was a performance from you, ya know I almost would have thought it was real, princess." He mocks you, giving you some knowing look as your cheeks still burn from how good he was from grinding alone.

"In your fuckin dreams Prince." He can only suck his teeth and chuckle darkly at your retort. Going to cup his fat length and sac, a squishing sound can be heard and it makes you hyper aware of the wetness between your thighs. He pulls away his hand slowly, silvery strings connect to the thin fabric and his fingers before they snap and he looks up at you. Smiling devilishly, palming his damp cock sticky from more than just you but you don't have to know that.

"Then I must be dreaming huh?"

#bakugou thirst

[aemvnd]

𝓇.cameron. ┆ let the world burn for you.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ based entirely on this song − trust me, you'll fall in love with it… it's very rafe coded . !!! ♡ྀི

"FUCK!!!" rafe screams furiously, boiling with rage because of you for the first time ever in your relationship, as you watch him curling his large, twitching hands into tight fists, his face scrunched up angrily, his cheeks a light shade of pink and a few beads of sweat lining his brow.

you stood frozen, heart racing but barely able to breathe, too in shock to move a single muscle, with your heart thudding rapidly against your ribcage, like a pounding fist—thump, thump, thump.

a long moment of silence passes, but you see rafe start to pace a few feet in front of you, before coming to an abrupt stop, startling you for a moment, causing a nasty, cruel, and amused smirk to curl up on his soft lips, pausing completely in front of you and letting out a breathless, almost lighthearted little chuckle that it's practically menacing, rubbing a large hand over his face.

and then, then, he turns to face you once again, looking even bigger and more intimidating than you've ever seen him before, his face completely blank, eyes dead, emotionless.

"no," rafe answers simply, almost like a soft, mocking purr, before brushing past you and heading into the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom, leaving the door open, as if expecting you to follow along like the sweet, obedient little girl you usually are for him—rafe's head is already racing with ideas on how to convince you, to manipulate that pretty little head of yours to not leave him, he just has to remind you.

yeah, rafe thinks, nodding his head to himself, he'll just have to remind you that you're his and only his, that he'd let the world burn for you if you only asked, and then... a darker thought pierces his head—that if he can't have you, then nobody can.

after a minute, you slowly, and cautiously, follow him into his bathroom, seeing him leaning against the sink, his shoulders tensed up and his face twisted into something dark, something dangerous.

rafe can't understand how you made him like this, this fucking obsessed over you, this need to be with you forever, to always have you by his side and let everyone know that you're his.

and then, rafe realizes something else, causing his face to twist with almost hatred, because look what you've made him become, he thinks darkly, wanting to hurt something, or someone, but never you—you, his sweet, doting, obedient little girl—his, forever his.

without warning, rafe swiftly turns and smashes a large, murderous fist against his bathroom mirror, causing most of it to shatter, letting out a loud, furious scream, not caring or even realizing that you're most likely watching him, too absorbed into his rage to truly notice.

and then, when he hears small, pitiful sniffles and broken, breathy wails, shoulders shaking as you try and hold back your sobs—and god, it feels like something is restricting your throat, unable to breathe, like a fist is wrapped around your delicate neck... squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and then, you gasp softly, noticing his bloodied, dominant hand, your teary eyes focusing on the way he is curling both of his hands into tight fists once again, anger still coursing through his veins, tiny glass shards stuck into his bleeding knuckles.

and perhaps, he may need stitches in his bleeding hand.

fuck, rafe thinks aggravatingly, already knowing that there is fear in your big, bloodshot eyes, all misty and doe-like and innocent, knowing how much you hate violence, especially whenever he is involved, which is most of the time.

"you're not leaving me," rafe then comments casually, as though the last twenty minutes of him screaming and lashing out at you, practically preventing you from leaving tannyhill, begging you not to leave him, that he'll be better, that he'll do better, that he'll change for you, baby, he had said, practically pleading you on his hands and knees, promising you.

that was all before he exploded into a fit of pure rage, after hearing you suggest to him that you guys should just take a short break, that you need some space, that you feel suffocated.

and then, without even glancing at you, rafe begins to walk by you, pausing for a moment in front of you with a thoughtful look on his face, a frown taking over his devilishly handsome features, before he lets out a small, humorless chuckle and presses a long, loving kiss against your forehead, swiftly exiting his bathroom and by extension—you, leaving you all alone, completely and utterly alone without a glance back towards you as he leaves.

#⠀࣪⠀ׅ ♡ ⠀࣪𓂃 #‧ ₊˚ bambi's works 𓂃ෆ #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey prompt #drew starkey drabble #drew starkey angst #drew starkey fluff #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.6k

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defending you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

[daceydeath]

Blood & Sweat

Pairing: Mafia San x Reader Word Count: 1.3K Genre: Mafia Romance, Smut 🔞 Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Explicit Activity, Swearing

San covered in sweat, dirt and blood was a normal event so was helping him clean up.

San coming home covered in sweat, dirt and blood was not unusual, it was a hazard of his job. When you had first met San you had hated that he fought for fun but you accepted it along with the idea that he didn’t really want to tell you about his real job, San had told you he could give you the world as long as you only asked what you absolutely had to know about that side of his life but told you that he made good money and was something called an enforcer. You agreed and never asked what an enforcer actually was or what he actually enforced just pretending that the fighting was his job. 

What made tonight unusual was a couple of things. One he was wearing black pants and a black shirt instead of his usual fight gear, his leather jacket had been thrown on the chair by the bed. Ignoring the drastically different attire you instead just continued like normal helping him clean himself up, look over any wounds and make sure he wasn’t badly injured before making sure he got into bed for you to dote on. And two he wasn’t radiating the normal soft sweet San energy that you were so used to tonight there was something distinctly dark and a little dangerous about him that you had never seen before.

“Baby, I’m not too bad this time you can go to bed if you like, I’ll clean myself up” he smiled fondly at you, one large hand cupping your cheek carefully. His eyes were softer but still serious, almost harsh so you knew that this was not going to be a night where he told you the details of the fight, where he had been or who he was with.

“Sannie, let me see if I need to bandage anything, please” you pressed gently not wanting him to get angry at your actions but you were worried about whether he was actually injured under the dark clothing. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment obviously trying to reign back whatever was on his mind to hide it from you before dropping his hand from your face and letting you check him over.

Unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it as gingerly as you possibly could down his shoulders you looked over his ribs, back and arms not finding any cuts or wounds that would need cleaning, but lingered on his abs absentmindedly running your fingers across the hard muscles that made up most of his perfect body. Next you cupped his handsome face while he patiently waited for you to decide he was alright. You ran your fingers across his cheekbones and lips only finding a small nick from what looked like his own tooth kissing the corner of his lips lightly you stepped away from him chewing on your lower lip. Knowing he was actually fine the worry you were feeling was steadily turning into something much needier at the sight of him half dressed standing before you like a piece of art

“Did I pass my beautiful nurse's inspection?” he teased trying to sound playful, watching you stare at him, his eyes starting to cloud with lust.

“I guess I will let you get cleaned up then” you mumbled stepping back to leave the room.

“Or you could help me wash up?” he smirked, eyes darkening slightly before wetting his lower lip as a flush began creeping across your cheeks. “Just to make sure I’m absolutely fine”. 

Sensually he unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, stepping closer to you so he could help you remove your sleep shirt, dropping it on the floor away from his clothes, his hands coming up to cup your breasts as he leant it to press his lips to yours passionately. Your hands instantly went to his chest bracing yourself while he shimmied your sleep shorts down your hips so you could step out of them and tug his own pants off. Pulling you against him he backed you both into the shower turning the water on and standing in front of the spray until it heated up his hands roaming your flesh squeezing roughly and teasing your skin until you whimpered against his lips.

“Such a good girl taking care of me” he whispered against your mouth lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist so he could run his fingers through your folds easily slipping on finger inside your entrance while his thumb worked your clit.

“Oh god” you whined bucking your hips slightly into his hand needing more stimulation that he was giving you. He smirked again kissing across your cheek and down your neck leaving his mark in the juncture of your neck and shoulder and making you yelp. He slid a second finger into you, massaging your walls and stretching you so you would be ready for him, the tips of his fingers effortlessly finding your g spot and pressing against it getting you closer and closer to your high with each passing second.

“Fuck baby, the noises you make” he groaned slipping his fingers from you and backing you against the wall before you could protest the cold tiles making you gasp as the hot water ran down your chest. San dropped to his knees picking your leg up to rest on his shoulder, his tongue quickly replacing his fingers as he ate your pussy like a man possessed.

“San…ngh…ah” you couldn’t even think of any words all you could think about was the feeling of San’s tongue circling your clit in between him sucking it between his lips. Grabbing his hair you felt him moan into your folds the vibrations on your cunt making you cry out as he worked you to the edge again. Just before you came he stopped again ignoring your whimper at a lost orgasm, picking you up he easily impaled you on his cock holding you so he could control how fast you suck down his length growling when he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck baby, how are you still so tight?” he ground out pressing you further into the wall and snapping his hips into you bruisingly hard making you hiss. San pounded into you, each of his thrusts making your head spin as you clawed at his back to hold on his cock stretching you like he was trying to tear you in half. Panting you could feel fire spreading through you as he pushed you back towards your orgasm, his pace not faltering even when you cried out his name again and again like a prayer.

“I got you baby, come on my cock like a good girl” he grunted his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave bruise marks for days to come.

“Ah…San….San” you screamed your orgasm tearing though you like lightening and making you feel like you had shattered and been fucked back together again. San kept pumping into you while your body spasmed around him, your walls clenching him until he followed you over the edge letting your walls milk him of his seed. Slowly he lowered you back down until you stood on your unsteady legs leaning against him while he rinsed you both off and grabbed a towel to wrap you in.

“Guess I went too hard huh?” he laughed breathily carrying you into the bedroom and laying you on the sheets “Now I’m gonna have to look after you baby”.

“Sannie” you squeaked, hiding your face in your hands as he covered you with the quilt to keep you warm, making him laugh properly all the darkness that had been surrounding him earlier was now gone .He padded still naked to the kitchen to get something to drink for you both before climbing into bed beside you and pulling you to him.

A/N: Thank you for reading my loves, I seem to be on a bit of a mafia kick at the moment (oops). All your love and support is appreciated always xxx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz , @armystay89 , @damnyouficc , @roamingpolar @tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie , @krishastumblernow , @mrsseals16 , @fawnpeaks , @leeknowinggg @uno7 @tanzen-ist-gold

#ateez #choi san x reader #san x reader #choi san smut #san smut #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez mafia au #mafia au #Mafia San #Mafia Choi San

[imaginaryf1shots]

My Girls | Step back

WC: 1.5K

Driver!oc x Max Verstappen

Summery: When Esteban crashes into Cecilia and blames her, Max won’t stand for it.

Warnings: Cursing, crashing, fighting

A.N: Could be read as a stand alone or part of the series.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It’s race day, Cecila was starting P4 Max P3. The weather was good, no rain and it wasn't too hot. There was the possibility of a safety car but the team wasn't holding on to that. Following the team strategy for the week seemed like a good thing. Cecilia was feeling good about the race, and her pace. She had good control of the car and everything was running smoothly, some would say too smoothly. This should’ve been the sign that something will happen.

On lap 48 of 53 she was about to finish P2 just passing the pitlane exit when a car came out of the pitlane fast, this made her try and swerve away so they wouldn't crash but that caused both cars to get off the track. Cecilia cursed as she lost control of the car for a second before she got it under control and the car stopped.

Cecilia

Who the fuck is that? What the hell?

RE

That's Ocon

Cecilia

Seriously what's wrong with him

It's not the first time the frenchman crashed into Cecilia, thankfully he barely touched her car this time and from the looks of it his car sustained damage, Cecilia was able to get back on the track but she had lost her place and was down to P11 he made her loose all the points and any progress she made throughout the race.

Obviously by the end of the race she couldn't make up the positions she lost. Finishing p 9. Cecilia was angry and disappointed. Rightfully so.

She parked the car and got out walking down the pitlane to get weighted and go do her media duty. She didn't bother taking her helmet off until she was off the lane. An fia person was talking to her, they gave Ocon a penalty for going over the speed exiting pit lane and forcing her off track.

They were barely out of the public view when an angry voice called Cecilia. The female was surprised to see that it's Ocon. He had no reason to be angry with her; she literally did nothing.

"What the fuck Cecilia!"

"What are you on about?" She asked him back, her voice angry.

"You just cost me the race." Esteban shouted, moving his hand around, the much taller male was now in arms reach of Cecilia, the FIA person stepped back to let the drivers scream their hearts out at each other.

"I cost YOU the race? you cost me the podium!" She was beyond confused why he was shouting at her for, he's clearly in the wrong.

"You still got points, I came in last!"

"How in the world is that my fault, you better check yourself Ocon because this isn't the first time you've crashed into me." She pointed at him before she crossed her arms feeling defensive, the Frenchman wasn't backing down, in fact he was moving closer.

"Hey, hey calm down mate." Carlos came up behind Cecilia, he stood facing the two fighting drivers, their voices were carrying all over the area.

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, my race is ruined, I got no points and I'm being investigated!"

"None of this is my fault and what you thought coming here to fight me will do what? Huh? What the fuck do you want?" Cecilia was really trying to calm down, but he wasn't helping. "It’s not my fault you can't drive!"

"What the fuck did you just say to -" Carlos placed his hand on Estaban’s shoulder to stop him from coming any closer, but Cecilia didn't take a step back, this irritated Estaban more. He tried to push Carlos off him but the Spaniard was holding him back. Suddenly they were joined with Lewis, the Mercedes driver stood next to his teammate quickly assessing the situation. "You shouldn't even be driving in an F1 car! Only got here because of daddy's money-"

"Woah, woah mate come on it's just one race." Now Lewis tried to stop him. Estaban then switched to French, he was shouting and Cecilia to her credit stopped talking when she saw that nothing was going through to him.

"Stupid fucking spoild brat, ccouldn't even keep it in your pants and-“

"I swear to god Estban shut the fuck up-

“Step back,mate.” Lewis said but it was like he was talking to himself.

"What's the truth!”

"That doesn't have to do with anything, stop being pitty.” Cecilia tried to reason, while also controlling her own anger.

“I'm not pity it's facts, You slu-“

Estaban almost fell on his back, a body was in front of you blocking his view to you, Estaban stumbled back. Since Carlos was holding him back he managed to help him balance himself before he fell. Looking up at who pushed him, he expected Lewis but he saw Max.

And Max is mad, he's pissed. He heard Esteban before he heard your voice and he knew enough French and heard what happened on track quickly from one of the Mercedes engineers that were around to congratulate Lewis on his podium.

"If you can’t drive, it’s your fucking fault, you don’t go around blaming people for your own wrong doings, you crashed into her, not the other way around.” Max spat the words out, he was breathing heavily, and when Cecilia tried to move to his side, Max just moved in front of her again. Lewis shook his head at her, this is now Max’s fight, no man would see another man yelling at his significant other and just stand by. Yes she can hold her own and can protect herself but it’s not about that. Max is dominant by nature and very protective, Cecilia is his and he’s not about to let someone disrespect her like that.

“You’re just saying that because you fuck her.” Once the words left his mouth, Carlos pushed Esteban back, before him and Lewis held Max back, and if they didn’t he would’ve broken his jaw.

“Max! Max, come on, it's not worth it.” Cecilia shouted trying to get her boyfriend to calm down but to no avail, in what felt like ages but in fact under a minute, more people were around breaking the two men away from each other, there was a lot of shouting cursing, Esteban and Max wouldn’t back down. It took Esteban being pulled away by his team to get Max to calm down just enough for him to start hearing what was being said to him. Cecilia held his bicep and placed a hand on his chest, he was heaving, his eyes looking at where Esteban went. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

“Okay, I think we can all get back to work now!” Christian who appeared mid-fight, called for everyone, the crowd started to disperse, Toto who was also present told the female to come find him after she’s done. Christian patted Max’s back and whispered something in his ear before he looked at Cecilia, with a reassuring nod, he left the couple. She can handle Max.

“You okay?” She asked him softly, Max still wouldn’t look at her, placing her hand on his cheek, he finally looked at her.

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” Max’s tone did a 180, this is her Max, the Max only she gets to see.

“Yeah, he hasn’t said anything new, and he’s wrong.” Cecilia shrugged, she’s not friends with Esteban, they don’t really have common friends, but she liked to believe that she’s on good terms with everyone on the grip, but apparently not.

“Still doesn’t make it okay.” Max pushes her hair out of her face, it’s out of the braid and flowing down her back.

“Never said it does, but you know, some men have fragile egos.” Cecilia said with a smile, her hands were on his chest, they were standing very close.

“Yeah, and they better stay away from you.” Max muttered bitterly. “Fuck, I still want to punch him.”

“That makes the two of us, BUT we have a daughter to set an example for so we’ll take the high ground.” Cecilia knew that once she brought the Nathalie card Max would cave, and he knew she knew that, Cecilia giggled at the look he gave her. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

“It’s my job.” Max kissed her forehead and pulled the female in for a hug, they were both sweaty and Max still had champagne all over him but they both needed that hug. They stood there for a few minutes, before they pulled back, they had obligations to do, and both will have to talk to their teams about what happened and the FIA would have to hear about it as well. So a lot of work for both of them.

“I love you.” Cecilia said as they rounded the corner for the media pen.

“I love you too.” Max kissed the back of her hand that was laced in his before they pulled away from each other and were joined by their own team’s PR managers to go into the media pen.

TAGLIST:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader . @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos . @crashingwavesofeuphoria . @mynameisangeloflife . @mirrorball-6 . @skynel09 . @barcelonaloverf1life . @lilipiggytails . @rebelatbay . @christianpulisic10 . @ironmaiden1313 . @dark-night-sky-99 . @amalialeclerc . @bborra . @allsouls-emma . @buckybarns4life . @distancedss . @xoscar03 . @aquangxl .

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #my girls #max verstappen x oc #max x oc #max one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1

[syrupfog]

Sanji who just wants a job as a sous chef but has yet to be hired, but has somehow managed to enter the world of being a private chef for extremely wealthy families. 

He hates them they remind him of childhood but he needs the cash. 

He starts working for Mihawk.

Mihawk who only eats odd, simple foods. Things that Sanji feels insulted to make. A LOT of toast with cream cheese and jam, honestly. 

Sanji’s bored out of his mind (he starts canning the fruit from Mihawk’s garden to pass the time)

Then one day, bursting through the front door come two people his own age, a woman with pink hair and a man with green, DEMANDING to know why Mihawk moved without TELLING THEM, HIS OWN CHILDREN

Sanji immediately pegs them for stuck up assholes. He’s grown to respect Mihawk, at least (he’s better than the Charlottes were). Spoiled rich adult kids who expect their lifestyles to be funded. Ugh. 

Mihawk blinks and says that he DID tell them.

There’s a lot more shouting as Sanji quietly pickles beets in the background. They come to some sort of truce around the idea that Zoro (the green haired one) lost his phone, and Perona (pink hair) blocked his number after Mihawk called at 2am about his yams.

They’re good yams, Sanji thinks. 

He also learns that they were on a “road trip of self discovery”. He’s not sure what that means. It sounds like rich kid speak for “spending spree”.

They integrate into the household though and, after being introduced to Sanji, Perona demands pink. Anything strawberry. 

Zoro says he’ll eat anything. Sanji doubts that. 

He tests it. 

He makes extravagant dishes. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to even notice, eating without complaint.

Honestly it’s good practice. He uses it as an excuse to get back into the hang of the fanciest things Zeff taught. 

But he still doesn’t like them. Rich assholes. Mihawk’s simple toasts get him a pass.

One thing about Zoro though is that he seems to spend all his time working out, so he comes looking for food at the ODDEST times. And SOMETIMES Sanji is ASLEEP. He’s got a room in the old servants’ quarters and Zoro will appear at any hour.

After the third time being awoken at 2am, Sanji snaps. 

“I’m preparing you a fucking shelf full of onigiri,” he says, pointing with a judgmental finger at Zoro’s chest. “That’s going to be your midnight snack from now on! Some of us need our beauty rest!”

Zoro blinks down at the finger. “Okay,” he says. “I mean. You clearly need it.” 

Sanji scoffs in outrage. He’s still half asleep. He aims a kick at Zoro’s head before he can process his one rule (“don’t hurt clients”). 

Zoro dodges. 

His face breaks out into a grin.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Curls,” he says. 

Sanji stumbles. He regains his footing and stomps down the hall, face aflame. 

He makes thirty onigiri. 

Zoro eats seven. 

“There, that’ll last you three more nights,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods. “So what time do I wake you up to get you to fight me again?” 

Sanji splutters. “No!!” He shrieks. “It’s three in the morning! I know you’re a rich fuck with nothing to do but some of us have jobs! I’m on call 24/7 here!” 

…he regrets it as soon as he says it.

Expects to be fired on the spot. 

Zoro frowns. He crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says, tersely. “Go to bed.” 

Sanji… does. He avoids turning his back on Zoro as he leaves the room, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

When he makes breakfast the next morning, he’s expecting to be fired as soon as Mihawk arrives, but Mihawk mentions nothing. 

Neither do Perona or Zoro when they appear, hours later. 

Sanji feels like he’s walking on eggshells until Zoro appears in his kitchen in early afternoon.

“Hey,” says Zoro. “I talked to my dad.” 

Sanji hangs his head. “So I’m fired?” He asks, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Fucking what? No, Jesus. I just said you should have a regular work shift. Only like, ten hours on call.” 

“So you docked my pay,” Sanji says flatly.

“Now you’re being an ass,” Zoro growls. “NO, you’re being paid the same, you’re just going to have time off when I can’t bug you. That cool?” 

Sanji frowns, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” He asks. 

Crossing his arms, Zoro scoffs. “Not getting yelled at at 2am, mostly.”

“You could’ve just not woken me up,” Sanji says. 

“You make it real hard to be nice to you, Cook,” Zoro says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to do something nice.” 

Sanji melts a little, but he’s not willing to give in entirely. “Well thanks,” he says. “For not firing me, too.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “We’ve all had shitty jobs where we want to yell at customers,” He says. 

“Now I KNOW you’re lying,” Sanji argues. “I know how rich you are. I know what Mihawk pays me.”

Zoro looks… funny at him. “Did he ever happen to mention that we’re adopted?” 

Sanji blinks. Thinks of Zeff. “Uh, no?” 

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Fucking Daddy Warbucks situation. I was seventeen. Trust me, I know customer service. Had to work to eat.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Sanji says. “Now I feel like a fucking ass.” 

“You ARE a fucking ass,” Zoro says. “Want to fight when you’re off work? Officially your shift ends at 6 now.” 

“Dinner is for seven so that won’t work.” Sanji says. “Shut up I have a chef’s integrity.”

“You’re not turning down fighting me?” Zoro asks, sounding oddly hopeful. 

“You spend all day working out so it’ll be unfair,” Sanji says. “But sure, I’ll kick your ass. Winner chooses what filling goes in your onigiri.” 

“Spicy salmon,” Zoro says. 

“Pickled plums,” muses Sanji.

They do end up fighting after dinner, out in Mihawk’s fancy topiary garden (he maintains it himself). 

Bruised and panting, they end up making out behind the large rabbit-shaped tree. 

It becomes A Thing.

#zosan #my writing

[jgracie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ WHERE’S THE TROPHY? HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME!

↳ part one!

(american)footballer!jason grace x fem!reader

masterlist | rules

on the radio . . . the alchemy (taylor swift)

an this is dedicated to everyone who said i should write a part 2 thank u for supporting my agenda <3 AND thank you to all the people who helped me understand hs football culture i hope this was a realistic depiction 😓 !!

football never failed to make you feel anxious. before you started dating jason, you didn't really care for it, only showing up for games because you liked the whole 'team spirit' thing and because it was a good excuse to hang out with your friends. now, however, things have changed

since it was jason's whole life, you took it upon yourself to learn all about the rules of the game and the roles of the different players (with a special interest in jason's role for no reason in particular). now, whenever you showed up to a game, you'd actually be watching your school's every move, ignoring your friends' banter and focusing on jason and jason alone

'this is just a friendly match' is the mantra you kept repeating in your head as you watched. you knew that deep down, having a match sprung up on him like this bothered jason, even though it wouldn't count for anything. you also knew that this would affect his skill regarding the game. at this point, you've memorised jason's every move by heart, and you could tell that today just wasn't his day

the rest of the team looked pretty hopeless too. with their captain in this condition, how could they stay positive? they relied on jason to lift their spirits and up their motivation. little did they (and you) know, jason relied on you to lift him up

ever since you started actually paying attention to games, cheering him and only him on, wearing his jersey with his surname plastered on your back, his prowess went from amazing to formidable. there were times when juggling schoolwork, social life and being the captain of the football team really got to him, and he almost considered shutting himself off from the world. but then he'd remember your sugary smile and kind words and addictive lips and he'd feel rejuvenated. just the thought of you alone was like a lifeline to him

this was one of those times. he turned to look at you, sitting all pretty on the bleachers. despite being in the midst of a sea of purple, jason could pinpoint you within a millisecond. he gave you a small grin, and you waved at him as you sported a smile of your own

"go jason!" you yelled, your voice making jason feel like he ate some of the ambrosia greek demigods would in those myths you learnt about in class. all of a sudden, he was full of energy and quickly passed that on to his teammates, hyping them all up for the rest of the game. they could still win this

and they did. others believed it was a miracle, but jason knew what it was. it was you. if you weren't there, they probably would've suffered a scathingly embarrassing loss against CHB high, who'd been shading them for their 'too rigid' style of playing. begrudgingly, their headmaster brought out the trophy, about to present it to jason when he realised the boy had disappeared

jason didn't care about the trophy. instead of collecting it, taking a few pictures and making a speech, he ran over to you - nearly jumping over the barrier between the bleachers and the pitch to give you a very heated kiss. how could he care about the trophy when his real prize had been here all along?

(the picture of the two of you kissing had been passed around school and you'd gotten teased relentlessly afterwards, but you didn't care. you truly were in your own world - who were you to fight the alchemy?)

#jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #jason grace x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #jason grace fanfic #pjo fanfic #jason grace drabble #jason grace blurb #cynwrites

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Jamil Viper - Luxe Couture Vignette

"If I let this opportunity pass me by"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Jamil: So, this is the "world's most beautiful plaza", the luxury shopping arcade Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: It's no wonder that the passage is lined with high-brand shops.

Ace: Woah! I totally dig those clothes in that shop's window! I'ma check 'em out.

Jamil: Hey, Ace! Ah man, I'll go and bring him back.

[Grim, Vil, and Azul look exasperated]

Shop Staff A: Welcome～!

Ace: Woooah! There's a ton of cool-lookin' clothes and accessories! This's so awesome!

Jamil: Hey… Don't just run off on your own. Come on, we're heading back to Vil-senpai.

Ace: It's just a little peek～ I saw somethin' I liked. Like see, like this T-shirt…

Ace: …Urk, it costs 100,000 Madol [1,000 Thaumarks]! That's waaay too expensive for me!

Jamil: That price is fairly standard for a high-brand shop… Hm?

Jamil: This stitching… It's pretty shoddy. Looks like they're using pretty low-quality cotton, too.

Jamil: Strangely, this doesn't look like the sort of thing that would be sold at this price.

Ace: Huh? Aren't T-shirts all made of the same stuff?

Jamil: Sure. But high-brand T-shirts are generally made with high-quality cotton.

Jamil: Better quality cotton is soft and have a nice feel to it.

Jamil: Not only does it not wrinkle easily, but when the cotton is made into T-shirts, it keeps its shape for longer and makes for a nice silhouette.

Jamil: The design of these other shirts isn’t too terrible… But the fabric quality is just too low.

Jamil: There's no way a shop selling at this level can have a store in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Which means… They must have lowered the quality of their material after opening. Did they run into some kind of business issues?

Ace: Hey! That jacket's so rough-lookin' and cool! Excuse me, I'd like to try this on!

Shop Staff B: Ohh my, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that jacket cannot be tried on here.

Jamil: …

Ace: Huh? Really?

Shop Staff B: That's right. That is a really pricey jacket. If it is somehow dirtied or damaged, it would be on the customer to compensate the loss, wouldn't you say?

Jamil: …So essentially, he has to decide to buy it or not without trying it on?

Shop Staff B: Well, I guess that's right.

Jamil: …Would I be allowed to try these slacks on?

Shop Staff A: Unfortunately, that won't be possible either. Sorry.

Jamil: Ah, right. Thought as much.

Ace: C'mon. Isn't that a stupid rule?

Middle-aged Man: Oh nice, this is a pretty nice shop. The prices seem pretty reasonable, too.

Shop Staff B: Oh, what an important looking customer! Welcome～! Is there something in particular you're looking for?

Middle-aged Man: I'm wanting a jacket, see… Think you have something that'll suit me?

Shop Staff A: Well, if that's the case, how about this one? It's one of our most popular designs.

Shop Staff B: I'm sure it will be perfect for you. Please, try it on!

Ace: Wha―!? But when I asked earlier, they said it wasn't allowed to be tried on!!

Shop Staff A: Students like you can't possibly buy something like that, so there's no reason for you to try it on, is there?

Shop Staff B: Please go home before you start to disturb our other customers. We don't have the free time to be dealing with you two.

Ace: Huh...!?

Jamil: …Not only are their products low-quality, but so are the staff's customer service.

Jamil: There's no reason to stick around in a shop like this. Let's go meet up with Vil-senpai and the others.

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Ace: Wha was that all about, treatin' us like dirt just 'cause we're students!? That was terrible service. That pissed me off so much!

Ace: First they shoo us out, then they play all buddy-buddy up to the rich-lookin' guy.

Jamil: I bet that since they've been rubbing elbows with the rich and famous while working at that high-brand store…

Jamil: They've completely started to think that they've improved their own social standing.

Jamil: Thinking about those sorts of folks and getting upset about it is a waste of time. Just shake it off.

Jamil: Only the best brands, in both name and reputation, will flourish here at the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: I can't tell if they had a change in management since opening, or if they've suffered business losses…

Jamil: But from what I saw, I can't imagine that place continuing to be suitable for this passage.

Jamil: Even if we do nothing, I'm sure they'll have no choice but to close down eventually.

Ace: It could ruin a brand's rep if they got kicked out of the Crystal Galleria. That'd feel sooo good to see, though!

―The next day

Jamil: I really can't relax at all while at Vil-senpai's side. I'll have to relax as much as I can during my personal free time here.

Jamil: Maybe I'll check out the café at the far end of the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Hm? This shop looks… I guess I can check it out.

Clerk: Welcome! Please feel free to look around.

Jamil: …This place is completely different than the one yesterday. Now, where's that outfit I saw in the window…?

Jamil: Ah, here it is. I thought it looked like a pretty nice jacket from outside, but the pockets and lining give off a more casual feel.

Jamil: This isn't something I see often. The material is good and the sewing and embroidery is delicately done…

Clerk: Would you like to try it on? Come this way.

Jamil: Thank you.

Jamil: Yeah, the size is good and it fits well. I think this color also actually goes well with the clothes I brought with me, too…

Jamil: …How much is this jacket?

Clerk: That would be 50,000 Madol [500 Thaumarks].

Jamil: I see. Would you allow me to think on it?

Clerk: Of course! And please take your time to look at our other items.

Jamil: A 50,000 Madol jacket… That's a bit of a steep price for me… Hmm…

Jamil: The fabric's quality, the design, and the superb stitching make this very high quality…

Jamil: If I think of those factors, even 50,000 Madol is fairly cheap. Also…

Jamil: I've found this in the Crystal Galleria, of all places. If I let this opportunity pass me by, there won't be another chance to buy something like this.

Jamil: …Excuse me. Could I purchase the jacket I tried on earlier?

Clerk: Absolutely. I'll go fetch a new one for you. Please wait a moment.

Jamil: Sure.

Jamil: …I was able to buy a sensible jacket from a reasonable shop here in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Yeah. I'm definitely satisfied with this. And I'm sure this'll be a great memory.

[Fairest City – Queen's Palace]

Shop Staff A: KYAAA! VIL-SAMAAA! YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!!

Shop Staff B: SO BEAUTIFUL! I JUST HAVE TO GET A PICTURE OF THAT STUNNING FACE!

Jamil: Hm? I think I saw those two screaming fans over there yesterday...

Shop Staff A: Oh, look! Do you think those guys walking alongside Vil-sama are models too? Should we ask for an autograph?

Shop Staff B: EXCUSE ME!! PLEASE GIVE US YOUR AUTOGRAPH!!

Jamil: …Hahah! You sure you want my autograph?

Shop Staff B: Absolutely! …Wait, huh? I feel like I've seen him before…

Shop Staff A: Wait! Isn't he that customer that we turned away yesterday…!?

Jamil: I'm honored that a mere student like myself would stir your recollections.

Shop Staff A: Wh-Who would have thought he'd be so famous to walk the tapis rouge…? And he looks so good in that outfit!

Shop Staff B: If we had sold clothing to those boys yesterday, it might've been such good publicity!!

Shop Staff A: H-Hey! Once you're finished here, would you care to come visit our shop once more?

Shop Staff B: We have a collection of garments that would look fabulous on you! Please allow us to design your new look!

Jamil: I have to decline. Your shop does not have any article of clothing that would suit me.

Jamil: After all, just as you said yesterday, there is no need to try anything on.

Shop Staff A/B: U-Uhhh… So when we said that yesterday, uh…

Jamil: If that is all, perhaps you should head home now? Not only are you bothering others around you…

Jamil: But I also do not have the free time to be dealing with you, either.

Requested by @ordinaryanon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #ace trappola #twst jamil #twst ace #twst translation #twst tapis rouge #mention: vil

[christinebloodwrittings]

To hunt or be hunted #9

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Happy birthday! a late one at that... Warnings: Angst, fluff, bickering.

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @ladyzaunis @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @shamblezzz

Three months passed, no one except Lucifer, Alastor and Charlie became nervous as time went by. Charlie didn't know what else to do about the contract, it protected you from killing yourself during its validity period, but after that she couldn't do anything to avoid it.

"Charlie, can I ask you a question?" She walked over to the stove, accompanying as you finished checking the meat in the pan. “If…if I happened to make it out alive, but your father were the reason for that, or Alastor, how would you feel about it?” Charlie choked on her water, to put it in a nice way.

“You’re asking me permission to go out with my dad?” she laughed, “Depending how okay are you with it” she snickered, “I mean, it would be weird” she started “We’ve been friends for so long, I don’t think I can see you as a step mom” he gave you a playful nudge on your shoulder.

“I don’t plan to play mom with you, I’ve already done it for eight years” you pointed to her bandaged finger you had fixed a few moments before.

“Do you like my dad?” what an interesting question, his advances did in fact made you look forward to spend more time with him, “I’m starting to get fond of him, I want to know if I should push the halt now before it’s too late”.

“And hurt him more than my mom already did? No” she made a pensative face, while the question brew in your stomach, “What if she comes back?” Charlie’s eyes shifted, “I won’t have her back” as a former mother that stung in sympathy for her, as little as that was, “That is what you say now, but I know you, that attitude won’t be there if she stands in front of you” sad but true, you knew her.

“Going back to my father, he’s old enough to decide who he wants to date” you let out a breathy laugh, “I wasn’t asking your permission, I wanted to know how you felt about it, I won’t have my wings broken by you again anyway” she nudged you again.

“If there’s anyone I would know my father would be happy with, you wouldn’t make the first of my list, but you´re there” you made as if there was something piercing your heart, with a stabbing motion of your hand in your chest, “Cold as fuck”.

“You wanted my opinion” she defended herself, “I didn’t say it wasn’t appreciated” you gave her a bite of a stir-fried red pepper, “Y/n, I love you, as friends or an aunt, but I will end what I started when you betrayed me if you hurt him” her horns peeked out of her head, low blow reminding you of how the battle became to be.

“Charlotte, even if he didn’t liked me, I’m ready to fight Jesus fucking Christ for you and this hotel” ‘you and him and Alastor more than anything’ you thought, “Don’t underestimate the growth I had this eight years”.

You plated a portion of the meat, stir-fried veggies and mush potatoes, “You and your dad have the same eating issue, so I’m getting up his dinner after plating for you and the rest” you said as you prepped the plates on a line, “Fun to know the only few things I have in common with my dad are issues” her sarcasm drew a smile on your face.

Her mean/sassy attitude was refreshing after a lot of her sunshine bullshit.

“Also your eyes, the way you hide your feelings from others, your cheeks, that lovely angelic happiness, the way you smile, your theatrics, the list is infinite” you winked at her, “You are his spitting image, the only thing you have from your mother is your hair, the height, and her temper” she groaned a little, “I got my singing from her”.

You hummed a no, “Ezekiel 28:12-13 say how beautiful lucifer was. God created him to be perfect in wisdom and beauty, a spectacle of flawlessness and gave him special capabilities in music and voice, the bible doesn’t lie” she looked at you in awe, “What? He’s proof of everything the darn book says” another blink.

You weren’t a believer until you saw Adam for the first time.

After bidding everyone a good night, you made your way to his room, tray in hand. Charlie warned you to be careful, she had heard some breaking sounds coming from his chambers, she was far too scared of his rage to interfere. Talking of her inner child saying be cautious to her.

"Your highness? You didn't attended dinner, so I brought it to you" you opened the door, the sight unnerved you.

There were rubber ducks that were burned, had their throats cut, were torn to pieces, or even turned to dust. The painting of his wife had claw marks on her face, there were feathers on the ground, his, and other smaller ones that didn't match his colors.

"I'm not hungry" your eyes caught sight of him, sat on the ‘your side of the bed’ facing the window. The light was not working, with the dim light of the city emanating from the window you could see his tattered hair and his wrinkled suit, also a few small drops of shiny golden blood on his arm.

"You have to eat, even if you’re not hungry, Charlie mentioned you didn’t ate much at lunch either” You didn't eat with the rest of the group, for the simple fact that due to your new anatomy you had to eat at least three dishes to be satisfied, and it made you a little embarrassed.

"Say my name" he whispered, his voice low and deeper than his usual, "Excuse me?" you pushed a few things off a table near you to set the tray down.

"It's always my lord or your highness, never my name, say it" his red stare chilled your blood, "Why is it so important?" you swallowed a huge lump to say that, "Then I'm not eating until you say it" he crossed his arms.

"You're being a child” in a matter of second he was inches away from your face, “And you secretive, since when? Have I gave you a reason to not say things to me?" his distorted voice thundered, flinching was so hard to avoid, "No" you bite your own tongue, "Then please, address me by my name" a few flames came out of his mouth.

"I don't negotiate with children throwing a tantrum" you walked around him, trying your best to shake off the sight of his angry face, printed in your mind.

"Why is it so hard to say?" He muttered, "And it's not a tantrum" you chuckled, "Sure it is" you accidentally stepped on a head of a former duck.

"You've still haven't answered, why is it so hard for you to say my name" you didn't had time to answer when his wings carried him to you again,  "Do you fear me?" Your visible flinching giving his demonic form made his eyes widen, immediately shifting back to his simple self.

"You do fear me, wow, I don't... this is new" he plopped against the bed, feeling sad and heavy. "You know? After being almost skin to skin with you, I thought there was a level of trust" your pride stung, "I do trust you" you were going to say that because he is stronger than you, there was some caution in your way of being, but he then said, "But you fear me" "Maybe? Maybe I just respect you" "Oh cut the crap".

"You do that, what the hell happened here?" With a heavy sigh he pointed to an open envelope on the other corner of the room, "Lilith wrote, I thought it was to let us know if she was coming back but there were paperwork" Taking out the first sheet you read divorce agreement, the mess made sense now.

"She could've told me this herself but NO, she sends a cherub to give me the papers already signed" Poor messenger, "She has been in heaven this whole time?" His horns erupted from his head, "I KNOW, RIGHT? Of all the places she could go to" noticing how you took a step back he put in his best efforts to relax again, or as much as possible.

"I already sign them, if I seal the envelope it will be sent back to heaven to processing" You walked to sat by his side, "You want to do this?" He looked up to your face, "I can't force her if she doesn't want to be with me" He waived his left hand, the envelope then flew out your hand to seal itself and in a second it disappeared with a bright white light.

"Give me your hand" he knew which one, so he did, you slid his ring off gently, then kissed his released finger, "Think about it as a chapter of a book, now you inevitably have to pass to the next page" your free hand left the ring on your thigh and went to clean a tear going down his eye.

"Otherwise how you're supposed to know what lies ahead?" He pressed his cheek against your hand, "It hurts" his broken voice sent a needle like pain on your heart, "Mourn this love, you tried your best".

He let out a broken sob, tears streaming down his face.

He remembered how happy he felt when he proposed to her and she said yes, how elated he felt when Charlie's birth took place, and all of his wife's love was true and present. Seven years of sleeping in a bed with an empty space that no longer had his presence or her scent. After the second year he didn't even use her anymore, the memory of when she was happy hurt him a lot.

Now, the cold he felt was erased, you were there to console him. He Intertwined his fingers with yours without taking your hand from his face.

"You've still haven't answered my question, why while being so close I feel you so far away?" You thought about it for a moment, "Sorry Luci, I initially wanted to keep you at arm’s length" he took the ring off your thigh, making it go away.

"I figured, it hurt" there was a slight flash of red in his eyes, "Sorry" he shook his head, standing up "Don't sweat it ducky" breaking the somber angsty moment, you laughed, "Why the laugh?" His smile returned to his face, "Ducky is also slang from my time, means that something is very good", he chuckled at that, he had meant it as a nickname.

"Speaking of very good things, Charlie spilled the beans of forgetting somebody's birthday, it was a few months ago" he had a sing-song tone in the word somebody,  "Oh fuck, tell me she's not putting up balloons" he laughed in your face as he added "And serpentines".

You groaned, falling onto the bed, "I'm in hell".

"Since we already missed it, but tomorrow there will be a celebration, and we are close to the witching hour, I wanted to give you something first" he walked to his side of the bed, taking a red box from under it, "You got me a gift?" He placed the box next near as you sat on the bed.

After taking the lid off, the little girl that lived off hurt and grief awoke from deep within you, a yellow duck plushie sat at the bottom of the box, huggable size.

"Go to bed! You lying, no way!" Your voice took a higher tone as you took the stuffed animal out of the box.

"A plushie, how did you knew?!" You hugged the animal, "You told me, that time you came back drunk" your happiness didn't go away buy you did halted for a second, "What else did I told you? I can be a huge blabbermouth" Indeed you were.

"Your contract with Charlie, and what is about to happen...to you" you took a deep breath, "Oh shit, well I really love this, thank you" what is done is done, you couldn't change the past.

"I'm glad, I thought I made it too fluffy" after he told you he made it for you, the purring started, Lucifer slid on the bed to hear you better, "Oh there's my reward" flushed you hid your face in the plushie, "It ain't that cute" in response he lightly pinched your face, "It's adorable".

"Thank you, Luci" one of his hands took yours, lightly rubbing his thumb on your skin, "Happy birthday Y/n, you don't look a day over 120" he winked, "You were off by twenty years" his bright eyes held so much pain and happiness at the same time, "You also told me to remind you of something" he pushed the plushie down, setting it aside, "Of what?".

In a blink his lips captured yours, gently making pressure as he moved, his hand went from the bed to your cheek. The surprise made you hesitate for a second, your shaky arms passed his shoulders, hugging him closer, making him smile on your lips.

It made you laugh how he took a bit of leverage on you by sitting on your thighs, straddling your hips.

"That" he teased, "Now that was familiar" your hands felt his back, admiring the position, "How much do you remember?" You remembered most things, but you liked to mess with him.

"Bits and bits" he lowered to your cheek, placing a chaste kiss, "Say my name" he whispered, "Is it a kink for you?"  You gasped, his kiss landed on your neck next, "Say it" he moved again, his eyes on yours as you said it, "Lucifer".

His name rolling down your mouth made him crazy. Kissing you again, he felt like making it a little more intense, he pressed your body against the bed towering over you, his tail taking hold of your thigh.

His tongue licked the rim of your lip, asking for permission, "My tongue feels like sandpaper, like a cat" You shook your head, he smiled while snapping his fingers, then your tongue was smooth as normal, "May I now?" You nodded, his lips attaching to yours, finding a small gap to introduce his forked tongue into your mouth.

With one hand he leveled himself over you, while the other snaked his way to the back of your head, pressing you against him.

A small whine called his attention, he wanted to check on you, but when he separated a bit you brought him back, pushing yourself upwards and hugging his back with your arms. He hummed in delight, seeing that he was corresponded.

He made noises of his own, sighing when you took gentle fistfuls of his golden locks into your hands, those sent electric pulses down your core.

After a while, you stopped, pressed your forehead against his.

"You make me so confused" You whispered,  "How so?" Though your hands on his shoulders, you could almost feel his heart beat, "I do feel scared, but in the middle of the day I think about coming back here, with you, and it excites me", and the thing that makes you scared is to lose the warmth again.

Giddy as he could feel, he smiled, "Well I do make a hell of a cuddle buddy". Laugh, that was all you could do. The lights on his room went on again, making the disaster look less worse than you thought.

"Now that you're single, I'm sure Angel can help you out if you would like to get out there again, the lady demons will eat you up with a smile" a direct stab to his heart, one that brushed off with a smile.

"I'm sure they would, but I'm pretty comfortable with you" there was no way he meant it, or was it? "While you look for a partner right?" He shook his head, "Stay...with me" why would he say that? Is already the second time he made that proposal.

"What if you get bored of me?" Worried, he noticed you were, "We sleep on separate beds until we miss each other"  it was his turn to have his hands on your face, brushing off strands of hair, "I'm damaged" he smiled, "So am I, we have so much in common" how he could be so happy when you were so hesitant?

"I have issues and quirks and weirdness" how he could be so loving with you? He just lost his wife forever maybe, "I have depression, I'm weird and have a lot of energy, I may exhaust you one day" the sad look he gave you despite his smile torn apart something deep within you, "You could never" pressing a kiss against his temple made him hum happily, "I don't know if I'm ready for a commitment" you confessed, specially having your heart divided.

"Then, may I court you?" imagine a light, but instead of coming off his body only, it enlightened the whole room with an angelic hue, that’s how exited (nervous), he was. "We could go out, get to know each other, maybe seal the deal if I convince you" he said ever so sly, adding a bit of seduction to the mix, his charm was irresistible, "Okay, but if Charlie asks, it was your idea, I really don't want my horns pulled off again".

"You had horns?" he touched your forehead to try to find any reminiscent of horns, he was confused because he didn’t even found a scar, his eyes flashed a red hue again for a second, then he understood, he was able to see the colorful rim of your seal that kept your real self, hidden away.

He stood up and moved away, his magic aiding him to clean the mess he had done. Afterwards you ordered him to eat his dinner, the one that was kept decently warm under the silver lid. He took a few glances off the food to see you hugging the stuffed animal close to your heart.

How to explain what he was seeing? You, your eyes so lit with a joy that had been taken from you and denied for so long. You held the little animal so close to your heart, your knuckles forcibly white, as if you were afraid that at any moment someone was going to take it away from you.

He saw a girl, the girl that maybe you once were. A happy little girl with a birthday gift that she promises to always use until she wears it out, and maybe love it even if it is in tatters.

"How are you liking the plushie?" he finished eating, making his way to you, "I think he will take your place tonight" he gasped, acting offended, "What? I'm better than a plushie, I come with hugs".

"This might sound weird, because it is, but tomorrow morning, would it be possible for me to brush your hair?" Lucifer couldn’t avoid blushing, his surprise alarming you a little, "It's something I saw some people do for others, I just, okay it's stupid" he smiled, "A couples thing" you nodded, closing your eyes as you saw his face getting closer and closer, until he placed a peck on your nose, "I would love to".

You left a few minutes to eat your portion of dinner, then when you returned, Lucifer was in the middle of the room, only in his brief, short black boxers that made his ass tight.

"Oh hey, I come in the wrong time" you laughed, closing the door and facing it as fast as lighting,  "You're too cute for my health" he laughed, his hoofed feet sounding closer and closer to you, "Look, nothing out of the ordinary" he turned you around, both hands on your hips, your back against the door.

Another set of scars making his sides look greyish, burned patches, by the look on your eyes he couldn’t make out if you wanted to ask about them, kill the person who did them, (not that you could really), or do the crying instead of him.

“Don't mind those” since his hands were already on your hips, he took on the opportunity to hug you, “You know? you asked me why I was bothered with things so earth bound" you bump your head against the door, "Me and my big mouth" his tail went around your leg.

"You should speak your mind more often, also, just so you know, I don’t want you to show me if you don’t want to, but I can see the spell surrounding you" ‘Again, I hate the way you see through me’ you thought, making the spell go away at will for the first time, because the other one was because of anger reasons.

"Alastor saw me like this, I couldn't tell if he was scared or disgusted" he chuckled, "For his own sake, he better not say a fucking insult your way" If he could purr he would, especially taking in your entire appearance at once. Broken brown horns, your wings dragging on the ground, the connection between your back and the bone was clearly loose and broken, you also had several spaces without fur, old brown marks that made his heart cry.

You decided to break the focus the king was on your skin, for two reasons the silence was giving you psychosis and at the rate he was going you would end up biting him, and not in a non-sexy way.  

"Hey Luci, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" he took his cheek off your stomach and frowned in surprise, "Uhm yes, why?", you tried not to laugh in anticipation giving the stupidity you were about to say, "Because your beauty is angelical" but the punchline made you lose it, literally laughing your ass off while he pinched his nose trying to hold his own chuckle.

The next morning, something that came to you like second nature was waking up next to Lucifer. You usually had him hugged your waist like those little parasitic fish that hang from the skin of sharks, except that he was one of the good little fish, or rather a little duck that has a very bad awakening.

If you have seen a Polish chicken and the crazy hairstyle they have, then you can get an idea of what Luci looked like in the mornings.

You'd wake him with a few gentle caresses on his cheek, then watch him join you in the bathroom, heavy eyelids and sharp teeth showing from how much he yawned. For him, having you comb his hair was another level of intimacy that went beyond sex, due to his height his head was at the height of your breasts, he was perfectly fine using you as a pillow while you fixed the pompadour that he liked to wear every day.

He enjoying himself while you were fighting with a lock of hair as proud as him that did not want to fall in line under the hairspray.

Both already dressed, just like the demon on the radio (but don't tell him) Lucifer left his bowtie untied just for you to fix it, the occasional brush strokes of your fingers against his neck getting to puff up his feathers.

Internally you wanted to die, or run away. Charlie is very good at making up for shit she screws up, and forgetting your birthday wasn't necessarily an action that would hurt you, to be honest, since you hadn't celebrated it in a long time, simply no one, not even you, remembered it.

Even the bar had balloons and serpentines, the amount of confetti that came out of the sides of the stairs when you came down was so much that you would be spitting out pieces of colorful paper from now until the anniversary of the deal between you and her.

"Happy belated birthday" here and there, there was even cake, but Nifty had baked it so for safety's sake you didn't take a bite of it, no one in fact. Everyone swore they saw something moving inside the cake.

You and Lucifer agreed to go out that night, Alastor seeing this couldn't help but feel like something was slipping through his fingers. Almost as if he had the deer on the edge of the nose of his rifle and his trigger jammed.

"You look so beautiful, dear, ready for a second part of the celebrations?" ever so harshly he tried to get you away from Lucifer as he could, “Actually, Bambi, she and I will be going out right now” If the king's mocking smile wasn't enough of a kick in the guts for Alastor, the nickname made his blood boil.

“Isn’t it unfair to snatch the birthday girl on her day?” Him and Luci were starting to het dangerously close, “Belated day” you tried to add, “Not that you knew either” lucifer smiled, the air getting thick. “Guys?” you tried again, no reaction, “Big bad Bambi is going to stop me from treating her to a nice evening?” Lucifer bared his fangs to the deer demon, but far from make him retreat, he encouraged him so, the dials in Alastor’s eyes turning a furious shade of red.

“I could offer her something better” the king snorted in response, “Voodoo doll making and killing don’t make much of a date, you know?” the bickering went on like that until Alastor pushed a limit, “How about you go beg your wife for some sympathy instead?” now before Lucifer could utter a single word you put yourself in between them.  

“Alastor, enough” he had to blink a few times to acknowledge you in the middle, “I think I have the right to spend my days however I want, do I not?” he growled a ‘Yes’, “Then we’ll have a drink in your studio once I’m back, how about it?” now it was that or making you angry enough to ignore him again, “Fine”.

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

Stay tuned :3

#alastor x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #cursed cat alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor x lucifer #alastor fanart #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #radioapple #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin #hotel hazbin #hazbin hotel #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel smut #alastor fluff

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 18]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

warning: canon typical violence || vomit

“Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor, lift your open hand - Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling. So, kiss me.”

You hum along with the song playing quietly in your ear as you scrub the bathtub. It is one of your cleaning nights and you are focused on getting everything back to tip-top shape. The tub currently has a bit of a purple tint to it after you tried a new brand of bubble bath for Minnie - you are lucky she isn’t now grape flavored as well - and you would very much like it gone. It is coming off easier than you expected, but it is taking a fair amount of elbow grease. 

It is easy to space out and listen to music as you work. Your cleaning playlist are songs you can vibe to that you don’t really associate with anything in your life - mostly you think about the movies the song has been featured in - but you are finding, as you scrub and romantic lyrics float through your head, a certain name and face keeps appearing in your mind’s eye. 

You know it isn’t wise for you to develop a crush on Matt - just because you have a daughter together does not mean he wants to kiss you. You know you need to squash the feelings down before you get yourself hurt. 

But sometimes it is nice to have silly impossible daydreams while you are cleaning alone at ten at night. Having a goofy little smile while you picture yourself spinning around a garden in a dance isn’t hurting anyone. You have a good grasp on reality - you just sometimes want to pretend to be the lead in a cheesy 90’s teen romcom - is that too much to ask? 

No one else needs to know Matt has replaced the lead actor. It is a secret just for you. 

As you scrub bleach powder around your purple-haze tub drain, you catch movement reflecting in the shine of the spout. You can’t hear anything over your music - even though you only have one earbud in - so you sit up and turn around. Of course, it is Minnie standing in the doorway, clad in her jammies, and dragging Scooby by his big paw.

You pull the earbud out, frowning to your daughter, “Is everything alright, Mouse? Is my music too loud? Did it wake you up?”

She shakes her head, then in the most miserable voice you have ever heard from her, whines, “My tummy hurts.”

Instantly, you set down your sponge and your earbud so you can go to your daughter, “your tummy hurts?” 

You move to pick her up, wanting to comfort her, but it is made clear she doesn’t want this by stepping back and holding up her toy between the two of you. It hurts, but it passes, as you know you don’t like to be touched when you feel sick, so instead, you kneel down to be in front of her and try to find the root of the problem. 

“How does your tummy hurt?”

She sways side to side, face scrunching up as she self-analyzes. You can see the little wheels turning in her head, but then there is a very subtle shift in her eyes that only years of being a mother makes you notice. With lightning speed, you grab Minnie under her arms and spin around to hold her over the toilet just as her dinner begins to regurgitate. 

Your heart breaks as she empties her stomach and you try to soothe her the best you can, rubbing her little back as she coughs and hacks. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, get it all out. Get all the icky out,” you tell her. 

Luckily, her stomach is small and there is not a lot of expel. Once you are sure she is done, you flush the toilet then close the lid, intent on setting Minnie down so you can clean her up, but of course, now she doesn’t want to be put down. She wiggles and turns until she can bury her head into your neck, sniffling and hiccupping, and clinging to you the best she can. 

You can feel bits of vomit on your neck, but since you aren’t completely covered in it, you try to ignore it in favor of your distressed daughter. You begin to rock her gently, humming one of her favorite lullabies as she processes how distressing throwing up is.

You don’t remember when the last time she got sick was, but you have a guess as to what caused this upset - you tried a new ice cream for dessert tonight. It had made your stomach a bit gurgly and you had solved that with a TUMS. 

It hadn’t occurred to you to ask if Minnie needed one, too. 

A lesson for the future.

Minnie doesn’t dissolve into full on tears and after about two minutes, she pulls back and croaks out, “‘cooby?”

She had dropped the toy when you had first picked her up, so you stretch to grab him for her. She quickly switches to clinging to him and you go right for a washcloth. You wipe down your neck first - you can only handle so much - then start on cleaning up your poor Mouse. 

In a blessing from the gods, she only has a little bit of gunk around her mouth and nose. It doesn’t seem like anything got on her clothes. 

Getting her to rinse her mouth out takes a bit of convincing. 

“It will help the icky taste go away,” you promise, but she just clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. You very much get why she wouldn’t want anything in her mouth after throwing up, but you also know she needs a good rinse. She only gives in after you demonstrate what you want of her by brushing your teeth and gargling some water. However, the condition is that you have to brush her teeth for her while she squeezes Scooby for dear life. 

Once her mouth is clean and the only sign she was ever sick is her puffy red eyes, you scoop up your baby and bring her out to the living room. 

“How does your tummy feel now?” you ask as you set her on the couch and begin to cocoon her in the throw blanket you keep there. 

Minnie rests her head on top of Scooby’s, lip jutting out into a pout, “Icky. And Hurty.”

“Icky and hurty?” You sympathize. You know well the aftermath of throwing up and how sometimes the aftermath is worse than the event - your stomach often turns sour and you feel drained. You know certain fluids will help relieve this, so you kiss Mouse’s forehead and tell her, “Let me see if we have any things to help.”

“Blue Pedi-lyte?” she asks and you can’t help but smile over how observant and smart your little one is. She may not have thrown up in recent memory - but other digestive problems have occurred, and she clearly remembers enough that the drink helped. 

“Yeah. Let me go see if we have any, okay? Do you want to put on some Mickey?”

“Goofy,” is her quick, but mumbled reply. 

You turn on the television and bring up some Goofy related shorts, then head to the kitchen, hoping you have some old Pedialyte. 

But you don’t. 

You have leftover drinks Karen brought you and the only thing that is comparable to what you promised Minnie is yellow Gatorade. However, you have nothing to turn it blue. You have the feeling that trying to give it to your little one is not going to go well, but you try, nonetheless. You fill a sippy cup halfway with yellow liquid and mentally cross yourself as you bring it to Mouse on the couch.

She takes one look at it before pouting at you, “That’s yellow.”

“I know, sweetie. But we don’t have any blue Pedialyte. We only have yellow Gatorade. It will help your tummy, too.”

To her credit, she takes it and holds it in her lap, looking down at it with disdain. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then wrinkles up her nose and holds the cup back up to you, “It’s stinky.”

You try to not sigh - lemon-lime is an intense flavor and probably won’t taste the best after vomiting, but it is all you have. You crouch down so you are eye level with your daughter and rub her leg, trying to be encouraging, “I know, but it will help your tummy. Can you try for me?”

She looks between you and the cup about fifteen times, her little eyes full of doubt, before bringing it up to her mouth and taking a sip. She does not swallow - instead she looks disgusted before opening her mouth and letting the drink spill down her chin.

“Oh, no, no, let’s not do that,” you groan. You use your t-shirt - which is luckily your cleaning shirt and gross anyways - to wipe her face and soak up the yellow liquid. 

“Icky,” Mouse informs you, then adds, “I want blue Pedi-lyte. Please?”

You take in your daughter, looking so tiny wrapped up on the couch. How awful it must be to not only be nauseous, but to be so with enhanced senses. You’ve thrown up enough times to know what an unpleasant aftertaste it leaves, so she must be so miserable.

You rub your hands over your face and give in, “Okay, let Mommy go change into real people clothes, and we will go get some for you.”

----

You are no stranger to midnight runs to the bodega two blocks west. You had moved into your current apartment when you were about six months pregnant, and you had spent month seven waddling your way there almost every night for a slice of cake.  The late-night cashier, Sal, practically watched Minnie grow up and he is one of the few people who she will talk to unprompted.  So, you don’t feel embarrassed when you stroll in wearing sweatpants and a band-tank top, with Minnie still in her jammies - Sal has seen you in worse states and at least you aren’t wearing a robe and slippers. 

There’s a couple of college aged boys lingering around the snacks section who smell heavily of marijuana, and they seem more interested in talking about what chips to get than anything, so only your hyper paranoid mind makes you take notice as you make your way to the drink coolers. You pass all the fun things and go to the very back corner of the storefront where the small selection of medicinal goods are. 

Tampons, Tylenol, and band aids are stacked low on the dry goods shelf, and across from them, practically on the floor of the cooler, is one row of Pedialyte. The gods must be smiling on you because it is indeed the blue flavor your daughter is desiring. 

You open the cooler, and with Minnie on your hip, squat down to retrieve your prize. Almost instantly, she starts making grabby hands for it, asking with a bit of a whine, “Mommy, open it.”

“We have to pay for it first, then you can drink it,” you remind her, feeling guilty as you do. You can see the upset in her eyes, and to try and mitigate the damage, you offer, “Do you want to help buy it?”

Mouse, always the eager helper, nods against you, so you hand over the drink, stand, and start making your way to the counter. The stoned boys are debating which chips will leave the least amount of residue on their gaming controllers as you pass them and part of you wants to stop and listen. You don’t have an interest in video games beyond silly ones on your phone, but their passion is intense, and you agree Cheeto dust is one of the worst things in the world. You are lucky Minnie finds them gross and much prefers pretzels as her chip of choice.

As you come up to the checkout, Sal looks up from his phone and gives you a pleasant smile, “Late night snack run?” 

Minnie pipes up before you can, leaning forward as far as she can to hold out the bottle towards him, “I wanna buy this, please, thank you.”

Sal, ever kind, reaches across the counter to get it so you don’t have to try to lean in, “Ahhh, no snacks. Tummy troubles?”

“Tummy troubles,” you confirm. You dig into your purse for your wallet as he begins to ring you up.

Sal clicks his tongue in sympathy, before telling you, “My daughter, Sasha, the tall one, she always had the tummy troubles, too. Turns out, she was allergic to corn. Do you know how much corn is in everything in America?”

You make a face at that because you do, in fact, know how much corn is in everything. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

In your arms, always wanting to mimic you, Minnie gives a solemn nod to Sal, “Sorry to hear.”

Sal laughs warmly, “You are kind. I hope your tummy troubles are not from corn, but too many sweets.” 

That makes Mouse giggle, which warms your heart. When you are told the total, you hand her your card to hand over to Sal. The sweet man swipes it, then addresses Minnie, “Debit or credit?”

Despite not knowing what that means, she instantly replies with, “Credit!” making you smile all the more. 

“Yes, we will charge it,” he says. The receipt prints and he hands that and the card back to you before bagging the Pedialyte in a little black baggie and handing that to Minnie. “Your purchase, little ma’am.” 

“Thank you!” she chimes, and you thank Sal as well. The college boys have finally decided on their snack, so you vacate the counter so they can make their purchase, wishing the cashier a good rest of his night. 

As you exit the bodega, Minnie bonks your arm with the bagged bottle, “Mommy, open it now. We buyed it.” 

“Okay, okay.”

You set her down on the ground, then get the bottle out so you can crack it open. You help your little one take a few careful sips and once she is done, she smacks her lips. 

“Not icky?” You ask and she gives a big nod in response. 

“Not icky.”

“How is your tummy?”

Her fist goes right into her mouth as she thinks over the question. You use the time to recap the drink and drop it back into the bag, then put that into your purse. 

“It feels like jumping dinosaurs,” Mouse finally tells you, “Going ‘bah bah bah’. Like sheepies.”

You have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but you guess that she feels better. She seems more chipper, which isn’t what you need closing in on midnight. If you don’t get home soon and get her back into bed, you are going to have a very grumpy toddler in the morning. 

Which will go great with your expected grumpiness - you still have to finish cleaning the bathroom and who knows how long that is going to take. You’ll need to redo the toilet and throw a load of laundry into the wash. You’ll probably get to bed around two if you are lucky.

So, with the complete intention of tiring your daughter out, you ask her, “Do you want to walk back home holding Mommy’s hand?”

Which completely does the trick and Minnie takes your hand so you can walk back home together, and you begin heading that way. 

Despite being the city that never sleeps, the streets around you are pretty empty. You haven’t come across any other foot traffic and you’ve only seen a few cars roll by, so to you, it seems like a quiet night.

You wonder if that is how Minnie sees it - or in her case - hears it. 

It has been mind boggling learning her range of hearing and how much input she must constantly receive.

Matt is still working on making you his binder - Karen has apparently taken to copy editing it - but he has given you a preview of a few pages and you can barely comprehend it. You think you would go insane if you could hear everyone talking all at once, all the time. Your anxiety would be astronomical, but your sweet Mouse doesn’t seem bothered in day-to-day life.

You’ve been watching her play more and more and you’ve been learning what catches her attention and interests. To your surprise, it has been music. The little wiggles and shakes she sometimes does is apparently her interpretation of dancing and you have been making her a little playlist for her birthday. You think a dance party would be a fun thing to do the night before the zoo trip, to help get out all her energy. You haven’t told her this yet, but you did ask her to let you know when she hears a song she wants to dance to, so you can look into it. 

You don’t want to add anything inappropriate after all. 

You look down at your daughter as you walk, a little smile coming to your face. She’s watching her feet, and it looks like she’s trying to step on her own shadow without making a big deal of it. You’ve seen her do that before or try to walk one foot in front of the other. You aren’t the fastest walker - you tend to stroll - so you never worry about her games slowing you down. 

Plus, if it wears her out, all the better for you. 

You are about half a block away from your building when Minnie suddenly halts and whirls her head back towards the bodega. Curious, you stop as well, wondering what she has heard now. 

“What is it, sweetie?” 

“There’s a hoot-hoot!” She whisper-yells, looking up to you with the biggest, purest smile. 

Your heart practically bursts from your chest with love and your smile grows to match hers, “A hoot-hoot? Can you tell me about the hoot-hoot?”

She nods, then you watch in slow motion as your daughter’s absolute joy morphs into that of horror and before you can even process what is happening, something is ripping you away from Minnie by the base of your neck. 

You are pivoted left and slammed face first into the brownstone staircase you were just walking by. Your vision goes spotty as pain erupts from the center of your forehead - confusion and panic begin to consume you. 

All you can hear is your daughter screaming in fear.

You have no idea what is going on, but all you know is Minnie needs you, and that ignites something deep and primal in your chest.

There is something grabbing and pulling at your top and your purse - which you wear crossbody - and you realize someone is trying to mug you. Fear fills you as you struggle to get away, break free, but whoever it is is stronger than you and keeps slamming you back against the stone.

“Mommy!”

The thing inside your chest bursts to life when you hear Minnie cry for you and you kick backwards best you can, trying to dislodge your attacker. Your foot catches their knee and both of you go tumbling to the ground. You hit the cement hard only to be crushed under the weight of your assailant as they land on top of you. 

You refuse to stay still, squirming and trying to army crawl out from under the mugger, but they easily overpower you. Hands wrap around your throat from behind and you are temporarily overwhelmed by the stench of body odor and filth. You are pressed down into the sidewalk for a split second before being yanked back and you just barely manage to turn your face as you are violently forced back down again. Gravel and glass tear at your cheek. 

Something tangles itself into your hair and your head is once again being pulled back, but you won’t give up. You reach back over your head and grab onto the arm of the person attacking you. You feel flesh, so you curl your fingers and dig your nails in the best you can. 

There is a feral, pained yowl, then your head meets the ground again, but it doesn’t stop. They are trying to push you down into the sidewalk using all their weight, like they are trying to crush your skull.

You kick and buck as hard as you are able to, thrashing desperately in an attempt to break away. The pain is quickly becoming all encompassing, but Minnie is crying, and you need to get to her.

You try to get an arm under you, to try and help to push you up, but there is so much weight and all of it is centered on your upper back and skull.

You can’t get up. 

You can’t get to Minnie. 

You can’t save your daughter.

There is a deep and furious roar, then the crushing weight of your attacker is ripped off of you.  

You gasp for breath as you quickly roll onto your side, terrified you're going to be pushed back into the dirt and smothered. Your vision is swimming, blurry and half black, and everything, everything hurts. 

“DADDY!” 

Your eyes snap open and you try to push yourself up onto shaky arms. You try to turn around to find your daughter, but your body doesn’t want to obey anymore, and you collapse back onto the ground. You force your legs to move the best you can, trying to roll until you can find your daughter. 

“Minnie..” you try to call out but you aren’t sure if any noise escapes your lips.

“Mommy!”

The darkness wraps itself around you and begins to drag you down into its depths. The last thing your mind catches before it switches off is your little Mouse, screaming for you.

“MOMMY!”

“MOMMY!!”

---

:3C

---

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath 

 @allllium

@anehkael

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood@mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you